Jane always arrived early to class and seated herself in third row in the lecture hall. Her hair, a mundane brown cut, framed her plain looking face. When the professor began she pulled out a pair of boring glasses. The kind a mother would buy for her child because they’re cheap and she knows they’ll either outgrow them or break them quickly. He’d been watching her for a few weeks now, possessed with how simple she could be. He never sat too close to her, but he’d situate himself where he could see her during class and easily follow her out. She never noticed of course, with her dazed gaze and clueless smile. Jane appeared absolutely delicious to him – he craved to know how much she could feel and think. How much her tiny brain could manage to react with. He imaged himself cutting her hair off in large chunks, watching the hair fall to the ground like silk. The horror and sadness that would crawl across her face. He needed to see that look. The stupid look girls get when they realize they’re not beautiful anymore. Thomas would charm his way with her this weekend—she was attending a party at one of the fraternity’s. Dumb, stupid girls and facebook. They’d accept anyone’s friend request if they were decent looking and Jane RSVP’d to all the events she planned on going to. He could follow her movements with such ease, blend into the crowd of people, even enjoy the event a little bit while keeping her in view. After watching her for some time he knew how the night would unravel. Jane and a few of her slutty friends would presumably do shots in one of their rooms. They’d walk out, tipsy, loud, and personalities further obliterated. She’d be wearing a crop top and tightly fitted jeans or yoga pants—bitches loved yoga pants. Then they’d shuffle off to the party with another group and complain about how cold it was as if they didn’t realize their asses and tits were the only thing covered. So that night he arranged to meet with a couple of guys. He didn’t care for them much, but they liked his company. He dressed up in a well-fitting plaid shirt and dark-wash jeans. Thomas knew he was handsome— and people liked attractive people. In private he couldn’t help but burst into laughter at the sheer vanity of it all, how people flocked like pigeons to him. He didn’t drink much while everyone else got hammered, their dicks pressed against their pants as they imagined girls that would never go for them if the lights were brighter and their minds less diluted. Thomas timed everything perfectly, he knew Jane’s group left around 9:30pm to walk to the fraternity houses. So he ushered their drunk asses out around that time so he could follow her into the party. The night was refreshingly chilly after the rain that afternoon. The pavement a darker shade of gray than usual and the moon at half-mass. He liked the odds of that night. Something about the rain made people realize how alone they were. He inspected her walk into the light of a lamppost. She wore a white lace shirt that rested just above her belly button and black leggings then she faded back into the darkness. She spoke loudly, laughing with her friends. They spoke just the kind of gibberish women seem so hung up on. Women open their mouths too much for saying nothing. He never understood why they couldn’t hear themselves. On the inside the air hung heavy and full of sweat as bodies mindlessly pressed against each other and claimed they were dancing. The lights were off except for a few dim blue lights. Unless he tried he couldn’t make out anyone’s face specifically. But he knew where she was. He felt her presence in the room and made his way too her. He pulled her to dance with him, and whispered in her ear “I’m Thomas.” “Jane” she said into his. He finally got to see her face from a close perspective, the dullness and faded look she wore. The black ring of eyeliner around her eyes. The smudged lipstick that gathered at the edges of her lips. He resisted the urge to grip her face tightly and watch her try to squirm away. She was wearing mascara tonight and the thought of black tinted tears rolling down her cheeks made his pulse quicken and he pressed himself against her. Jane beamed at him—a girl like her with a guy like him, she even tossed a drunken wink at one of her friends who came over and asked if she was okay. She slurred out a sloppy, “I’m great, now,” and loosely linked her arms around him. The music sounded always the same with a heavy beat that they could easily dance with. Well-known songs blasted through the speakers as people sung along to songs they’d proclaimed they hated, that they didn’t listen to the radio and pop music, but they knew every fucking lyric. She didn’t dance well, her movements were choppy, and ultimately unappealing. He loved it, it made him want to laugh. Let her dance for me, he thought. It never seemed to stop, the music. He kept track of how many songs had played, and estimated how long each was. Thomas, usually patient, felt uncomfortably excited. He itched for her to grow bored with the scene. She was all over him, though. He let her continue to think she was in control, that she would make the decisions that night. She leaned up to him, sweatier than before, she blinked slowly, “How long have we been dancing for?” “I’m not sure,” he replied. It’d been about an hour. “Um, so like I’m really tired and I live off campus. Do you have a place that’s, like, closer or something?” she looked up at him meaningfully and leaned against him. She didn’t live far off campus, barely a 10-minute walk. Dumb. Horny. “I have a roommate, actually. Why don’t I walk you home, make sure you get home safe?” She frowned, a little confused. He held back his grin and clarified, “let’s go to your place.”
“Oh” she said, the ‘o’ sound extended. He liked the way her mouth made a perfect little circle. A perfect little void. “Oh, okay. That sounds good. Uhh, one moment, I’ll let my friends know we’re leaving.”

He grabbed her wrist and kissed her deeply until she was pushing him against a wall, like the desperate, unnoticed girl she was. He breathed hot breath into her ear, “let’s go.”

The next morning, he waited in a nearby coffee shop for the ambulance to sound. Surely, her roommates would find her soon. Their plain friend who left the party too early, alone, and without a word. Their plain friend who thought she wasn’t ever good enough—well, because she wasn’t. They’d know that she was the friend who wasn’t approached as often, or by attractive guys. He wondered if they could see how dull and uninteresting she was. While she was in the bathroom he had grabbed her phone that night and texted a few girls she seemed to have gone with, with self-pitying messages. He didn’t actually fuck her that night; it would have been too risky. Around 11am, and his second coffee an ambulance drove past, the red-lights and siren frantic. He followed the emergency vehicle just far enough to see it pull down her street. Soon he’d tip off the local newspaper of the devastating tragedy of a young and promising university student who overdosed on alcohol and sleeping pills named Jane.