“An adventurer with a desire to test the boundaries of society,” Michael repeated, a laugh bubbling up in his throat. It had a nice ring to it. The man certainly had a way with words.
He liked to think that all humans were inherently evil, or, at the very least, ruthless deep down in that primal part of them, where the caveman still existed and still yearned for violence against your fellow man. He bet Adam and Eve’s children had cannibalized each other. He bet they’d sucked the marrow from the bones of their brothers and sisters, slurping it down like jello, warm and cozy with the knowledge that they would survive one more day without the pangs of hunger to contend with.
“My fingerprints weren’t on the murder weapon.” Because Michael hadn’t touched the murder weapon. He hadn’t needed to. It did its job all on its own, guided by an angry teenage boy who had been offended on behalf of the woman the butcher had refused to accommodate.
Taking another bite, another sip from his glass, Michael let himself reminisce for a moment, to remember Miriam and the way she’d pushed him to be as depraved as he’d felt the need to be.
“It was eye opening.” To say the least. “Freeing. Most people try to hold you back. The rules of society say you can’t do this or that and here are all the reasons why.” Michael tapped his fingers against the table, as if to emphasize what he was saying. “These people though? They are beyond what society deems acceptable. They follow their instincts. They give in. They know what they want and they take it.”