Copyright
DEPRAVITY by Natalie Bennett
© 2018 by Natalie Bennett. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where the publisher or author specifically grant permission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design: Jay Aheer
Editing by: Pinpoint Editing
Dedication
To those who dare to be different.
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Upcoming Releases 2019
Crucible-Standalone
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Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Playlist
Blurb
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Prelude
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Part Two
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
Epilogue
Coming Soon
DEGENERATES
Copyright
Prologue
Acknowledgements
Playlist
(Spotify)
Hellyeah-Moth
Tender-Sickness
Tender-Erode
Meg Myers-Hate Me
Meg Myers- The Death Of Me
Meg Myers- Numb
Hey Violet- O.D.D
The Neighbourhood-Heaven
In This Moment-Sick Like Me
Moncrieff- Serial Killer
Ruelle-Monsters
Madilyn Bailey-Mess/Issues
Ava Max-Sweet but Psycho
Eminem, Skylar Grey-Twisted
Bring Me The Horizon-Heart
Bring Me The Horizon-Drown
Sycamour-Angel
NF-Wake Up
Hoizer-Arsonist’s Lullabye
Hoizer-Angel Of Small Death
Mass Of Man-Fallen Angel
Lana Del Rey-Freak
Lana Del Rey-Venice Bitch
Marilyn Manson-Tourniquet
Taylor Dahlia-Straightjacket
Myah-Circus Freak
Melanie Martinez-Gingerbread Man
The Civil Wars-Dust To Dust
Marshmello-Silence
6host-Out Of Luck
Chris, Kiesza-Weird Kid
Gabbie Hanna-Monster
Beartooth-Disease
Billie Eilish-When The Party’s Over
Billie Eilish-Six Feet Under
Akine- Devil Like Me
Niykee Heaton-Bad Intentions
Halestorm-Not An Angel
Sophie Simmons-Burn Me Down
Broods, Tove Lo-Freak Of Nature
Icon For Hire- Supposed To Be
XYLO-Afterlife
Allie X-Paper Love
Lauren Daigle-You Say
Jungleboi-Prisoner
Ellie Goulding-My Blood
Sam Smith-Party Of One
Evanescence- Imperfection
My Chemical Romance-Helena
Blurb
I was born an ordinary girl with a tiny seed of sickness.
As I got older it grew bigger, the roots sunk deeper.
Mama told me to lock it away and let it wither.
Solitude became my closest companion.
Solo, single, lonely.
Until Declan.
Until Ethan.
They were drawn to my sickness like moths to a flame.
With them, I was nurtured into something special.
With them, I flourished in depths of decay and darkness.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This is a story about one wonderfully strange girl and two very warped men.
I’m going to forego my usual detailed warning for this book, but I will say that after Part 2…
There will be scenes of ménage (mm/mmf/mfm/), and explicitly gruesome, often detailed scenes of horror/torture.
That aside, Depravity is far from contemporary or conventional.
Buuut, this is a love story, just a bloody one that lacks all sense of morality tied up with a HEA. ;)
Prelude
I was born sick.
Not with cancer, a blood disease, or life-threatening infection.
I wasn’t contagious.
And there was no cure.
My sickness was not treatable with the pills Mother forced me to swallow, or the arsenic words she spat at me when gazing upon my person for too long.
My sickness could not be placated by old wives tales, bible scriptures, or home remedies.
None of that mattered much, though
Not to Mother.
None of that stopped her from trying to fix something that was simply unfixable.
I bore the weight of her judgment daily, silently, and much to her dismay emotionlessly.
I knew Mother did her best to try and love the thing that had once swollen her womb, but she was terrified of what lurked within the trenches of my soul.
Call it intuition or nothing other than maternal instinct…but she was the only one who seemed to know what everyone else didn’t.
She claimed the moment she held me was the moment she knew.
I was born sick.
A tiny seed of depravity was lodged in my brain. From as early as I could remember she’d told me to lock it away.
Let it die, let it wither.
I couldn’t. I didn’t know how.
So I hid it.
In a dark, neglected corner of my mind, roots grew.
As I got older, they sank deeper, manifesting into something sinister.
I had yet to learn that with proper nourishment, my sickness would flourish.
Part One
“Solitude was my only consolation - deep, dark, deathlike solitude.”
―Mary W. Shelley
Chapter One
Helena
The change of season brought the unexpected harvest of a new beginning.
Sitting on a worn tire tethered to a tree, I stared at the kaleidoscope of colors covering the ground.
Overhead, geese called to one another as they began their migration for warmer weather. I envied their ability to belong so easily.
Beneath their honking, raised voices carried on a breeze. Buddy had overindulged in his drinking again, igniting the nightly argument between him and
Mother.
It was a good thing we didn’t have neighbors, or someone would’ve long since complained.
Often during these times, I wandered the fields, but this evening I didn’t feel up to it.
A gust of air slipped around my back, and I pulled my arms deeper into the holes of my sweater.
The days had grown shorter as the nights grew longer. As a result, the sun was making an early departure behind the hills, taking the temperature with it.
I was ready to go inside. I’d been out of the house since breakfast time.
If I waited an hour or so more, Buddy and Mother would be done. It wasn’t wise to intrude before they finished. Their anger always turned on me when I interrupted.
The sting of Mother’s hand had been felt for two days after she struck me last time, her uneven nails’ split my lower lip.
When in a mood, she made sure to remind me that I was her burden, the curse of the devil.
I was the chronically sick child she loathed, constantly blaming me for the current state of her affairs now that Daddy was gone. He left, and I was the accused as to why.
Whatever ultimatum was given in the throes of their last heated debate forced him to leave me behind nearly twelve months ago. Buddy had filled the space in Mother’s bed since.
Running nimble fingers up strands of fraying rope, I lifted myself from the tire swing, thinking I’d wander the fields after all.
A sudden stillness derailed the idea. It was as if the wind itself had halted to accompany the silence. It shattered not a minute later, a shrill scream coming from inside.
Without a doubt it was Mother, but I’d never heard her make this sound before.
When all was quiet again, I began to walk towards the meager shack of a house, taking the long way so that I could enter through the mudroom.
If I went to the front door, I would walk right into the living room where they usually tended to be.
The saggy porch groaned beneath the weight of my tattered sneakers. Beyond the back door, I could hear Buddy talking to himself, a jumble of drunken words that made very little to no sense from where I stood.
Slowly entering the house, I was careful not to knock over the ax Buddy used for his wood chopping.
My shoes’ moved silently across the worn wooden floor.
I passed through the kitchen littered with cans from the twelve pack Buddy had wholly consumed, pausing at the threshold of the living area. With curtains drawn it was always the darkest room in our house.
Grey’s anatomy was playing on the box-set, volume muted.
Light from the television screen illuminated a red stain expanding beneath Mother’s head. As I stared at it, something didn’t look right to me. One side seemed deflated, like a balloon that had begun to lose its air.
I looked at the disturbed coffee table and saw that it was now missing a corner piece of wood. Buddy must have slammed her into it.
Crouched over her unmoving body, voice lower than it had been a few minutes ago, he whispered an apology over and over again.
I didn’t understand.
Couldn’t he see she was broken now?
Everything was.
But I could fix it.
Turning away from them, I walked through the house, returning to the mudroom so I could retrieve the ax.
It was lighter than I remembered it being. The wood was still smooth after years of use, blade sharp but rusting.
This had been Daddy’s favorite tool.
I carried it with loving hands all the way back to the living room.
Buddy was still crouched over Mother’s broken body. I waited for him to turn and greet me, but he didn’t.
Not a single word of acknowledgment was spoken.
I lifted the ax high above my head and swung.
Buddy chose that moment to peer over his shoulder, his eyes widening a second before the blade connected with the side of his neck.
An odd sound came from his mouth as I twisted the ax’s handle, tugging it free from his flesh.
Staggering like the drunkard he was, I watched him crawl forward on all fours, dripping blood on Mother’s corpse.
Using the toe of my shoe, I nudged her bare feet apart and took a step forward, adjusting my grip on the ax.
With a little grunt, I swung again. This time, the blade went into his shoulder, nearly severing his entire right arm.
Another sound came from his mouth.
I think he called for help.
He was making an even bigger mess now, pulling himself forward with one arm as the other dangled by a few strings of tendons.
“Don’t worry; I’ll fix you.” I promised, lining the ax up with the center of his balding scalp.
Swinging with more gusto than before, I hit my mark.
Something cracked, and two halves split. Buddy didn’t move again.
“I’ll fix you,” I repeated, tugging the ax from in between his skull.
A fatty-like substance spilled out behind the removal of the blade, dropping onto our tribal area rug.
I sat the ax on the coffee table and then headed to retrieve my sewing kit. Luckily for me, it was still too early for Mother to have bolted the basement off from the main part of the house.
Otherwise, I’d need to go outside and through the storm doors to access my room, and that would cost me precious minutes with the bodies.
I entered from the kitchen, inhaling the familiar aroma of dust and dank as I descended rickety stairs.
I’d had a room up top when Daddy was here. It was a mess of extra closet space now. Mother didn’t trust me in the house while she slept.
Light from the kitchen dimly lit the tiny space, so I didn’t bother pulling the chain that dangled from the ceiling. It wouldn’t have made much of a difference or mattered.
I could find my way around my room blind if I had to. There was nothing in it but a twin bed, worn dresser, and a chest.
I obtained the kit from the bottom drawer, wedging it beneath one arm.
I went over to my antique chest and lifted the lid.
I allowed myself a minute to survey the variety of stuffed teddies and dollies that I’d accumulated over the years, choosing a large brown bear with button eyes.
I carried both items to the living room and set them down on the couch before doubling back to the kitchen.
Another few minutes passed as I searched for what I needed, opening cupboards, digging through junk filled drawers.
Eyes shifting around the room when I came up empty handed, I settled my gaze on the sink where a fleet of gnats was currently feasting and laying eggs.
I didn’t want to disturb them but I needed what was in there. Cautiously approaching the stack of dirty dishes, I attempted to be as gentle as possible.
I swatted at my cheeks and screwed up my nose as some took flight.
Their tiny forms came at my face, buzzing in my ears.’
“Sorry,” I mumbled, slapping another away as I pulled what I wanted from beneath a dirty bowl.
Refusing to waste another moment, I returned to the living room.
Now I could begin.
Chapter Two
Helena
There was no one around to help me lift Mother and Buddy onto the couch. The task alone took a great deal of my energy.
Buddy’s head was still leaking. Mother’s was beginning to slow.
Both spilled on my sweater.
Once I had them in place, side by side, I removed a thin needle from my sewing kit and a black spool of thread.
I hovered in front of Mother’s face, using my thumb and index finger to pinch her lips together.
Pushing the needle tip through the lower lip to the top, I used my teeth to assist when need be.
It was effortless, really. The skin gave way with little resistance each time it was pierced.
Mother bled a bit as I worked; her dull green eyes kept track of what I was doing.
I didn’t have those. Mine were blue, like Daddy�
��s. My hair was the same as his too. Light golden brown. Mother didn’t like that much either.
I hoped she would appreciate this. It was the least I could do after all.
When I was finished with her face, I bit the thread and tied it off.
I took a step backward, stretching in the process. A small ache had formed in my lower back from being stooped over so long.
Mother was smiling now, though. That made the minor pain worth it.
I glanced over at Buddy, taking in his blank expression and empty stare.
He should be smiling too.
Wiping the bloodied needle on my now rust-colored sweater, I fed it another piece of thread and made quick work of Buddy’s lips.
When done, I looked him over, satisfied with the outcome.
Setting my sewing materials aside, I picked up the butcher knife and gutted my teddy-bear until I had almost all of his stuffing in a pile.
This is where the work would get a little more difficult.
I threaded another needle, and then scooped up a handful of bear guts.
Going to Buddy’s injured arm, I stuffed the yellowing fluff between the empty space and exposed tendons.
When I felt I had added enough, I used one hand to hold everything together and sewed with the other.
With his arm reattached he would be one step closer to better.
Next, I did his neck, slipping my digits between the two flaps of skin to plant the stuffing.
My grip began to slip as blood accumulated on the needle and the tips of my fingers’.
As I continued to work, my lids started to droop; my stomach growled louder by the hour. I longed for the comfort of my bed and a pack of Ramen, but I had to finish this first.
It took me most of the night to get everything perfect. My fingers felt numb, both feet were fast asleep, and the coffee table was covered in the extra pieces of Mother and Buddy I couldn’t salvage.
I uselessly wiped my hands on my sweater then took a few steps back, taking a seat on the floor
There was an aroma permeating the air that I couldn’t relate to anything I’d ever smelled before.
It wasn’t bad by any means. In fact, it reminded me again that I had missed dinner. My stomach decided then to release another growl.
DEPRAVITY: Love Depraved Page 1
