“I want to know now. I’ve asked you enough and I think you’ve had plenty of time to think this over, Len,” he says softly. “Do you want to be in my life full time or not?”
“It’s not that simple, E,” I insist as I turn to face him. “I need until the end of this week. If I’m done with what I need to do before then, I’ll let you know, but pushing this as much as you are isn’t earning you any brownie points.”
He looks up at me slowly.
I hold his gaze as his lips curl into a sneer. I can see the anger, hurt, and pain in his eyes and I can understand it, but it won’t make me answer him any faster.
“What exactly is more important to you than us, Len? You seeing someone else on the days I’m not here?” he asks in an accusing tone.
“What?” I ask in shock. “No! Of course not!”
“I think you’re lying,” he seethes as he takes a step closer, “I think you’re fucking someone else and that’s why you won’t move in with me.”
“Enoch, you’re crazy—”
But before I have a chance to finish what I’m saying and assure him that he’s the only man in my life, he wraps a hand around my throat and begins to squeeze.
“I loved you! I fucking loved you!” he shouts as he applies more pressure. I claw at his hand to no avail. He’s wild with anger, he’s distraught with pain, and nothing will stop him from killing me.
My lungs are burning as they struggle to take in air, my hands reaching around for something, anything I can use to get him to stop.
I finally find the one thing that can help me and I grip the handle as best as I can, swinging the boiling pot off the stove and smashing it against the side of his head with as much strength as I have left.
He grunts as he lets go and stumbles on his feet, and I swing the pot again, harder and harder, splashing boiling hot water on myself, onto Enoch.
Until there’s no more life left in his eyes and there’s nothing left to fight for.
AFTER
Epilogue
I hold the blade in my hand, telling myself to be steady. I can’t make a mess of this because this is the last piece that’s needed before the shipment to Beijing is ready for pick up.
I’ve scheduled the courier to come around noon tomorrow. It gave me time to clean up the place, move Enoch into my other spare room and sterilize myself all over again.
I close my eyes and take as deep and steadying of a breath as I can.
I know who’s heart will go to the diplomat. It’s one that’s been newly infected with the virus, not knowing what love felt like until the only person that ever cared for it fell dead at it’s feet.
I angle the mirror and look myself in the face.
You killed the only person that genuinely cared about you, my reflection accuses me as a tear rolls down my cheek.
But I’m infected now.
I know it because my heart broke as I cleaned up my beloved Enoch and left him broken in the room next to this one.
And being infected with the love virus won’t serve my purpose; my business will fail and I’ll never be able to know what it feels like to be in his arms again or feel his lips against my neck.
With a deep breath, I press the scalpel against my chest and smile gently when a drop of blood comes to the surface.
I’ve left strict instructions in an envelope on the coffee table for the courier on how to finish what I’m starting.
I press the blade in deeper and begin to rip myself in a straight a line as I can, down to my belly button before the initial shock wears off and I begin to feel the burning sting of pain. I quickly reach for my pliers, grind my teeth together and start snapping them back as fast as I can, before I fall to my knees.
My lungs are constricting now. Their cage has been broken and they have no restraint to train them to correctly inhale and exhale. I place my hands on the cool ground, the world slowly becoming darker, and a little more hazy, before I shake my head and look back into the full-length mirror and continue snapping the rest of my ribs.
I let out a pained groan as I fall, careful to land on my back and reach into the middle of my chest.
I move my hand away quickly when I realize that I won’t be able to get this out without fucking it up somehow and I let out a tired laugh.
The virus has finally taken over me and I found my heart much too late.
For myself.
For Enoch.
Maybe the person that gets it next will find a much better use for it.
Rigor
Rigor
Never Before Released
The Beauty in Death
The rumors about Jessup Bradshaw have always drawn me to him. There’s just something about the dangerous gleam in his eyes when he watches people from behind his cloud of cigarette smoke, and his brooding demeanor that has me in an invincible vice grip. The way he purposely avoids my eyes whenever I see him in a bar, coffee shop, or even the secondhand shop makes me feel like he’s interested, but rumors always start from some fountain of truth, and that’s why I haven’t approached him yet.
To be honest, a man with a reputation steeped more in mystery than anything else—to have him approach me would give me immediately control of any situation we might find ourselves in.
I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I already have a few ideas for us, but I guess it would have to wait until I could find a way to get his attention. I could be wrong, and that enters my mind more often than not. Maybe the reason he doesn’t look in my direction isn’t that he’s avoiding me out of want, but more simply a disregard for someone that he doesn’t find interesting enough to borrow the precious seconds of time he would lend to a conversation.
Anytime I find myself thinking about him, I can’t help but smile. He’s the embodiment of everything I always wanted. Big blue eyes, pouty, sexy lips, slicked-back blonde hair, and a gaze that would cause a shiver to go through me every time I saw him—even if it never did fall on me directly.
That will change soon, I tell myself confidently.
I have it on good authority that tonight, Jessup will be at the opening of a new hot bar downtown partially because he’s a silent partner in the place, but more so because it will more than likely give him a chance to look for someone new to fuck.
And even though I wouldn’t be someone new to him, I fully intended on being the girl that he takes home tonight.
My gut is telling me that this isn’t the best idea I’ve ever had, but my heart is telling me to go full steam. Hearts are meant to be broken and shattered but are still designed to keep on beating until time decides it no longer is of use to us. Maybe we control our fates—maybe we don’t, but I’ve got a good handle on what my heart is telling me to do and because of that, I’m going to try my damnedest to get his attention tonight.
That was earlier. Those were the thoughts of self-doubt that plagued me because with as confident as I felt going into that fucking bar to find him, I wasn’t so sure I’d finally get his attention.
But it worked.
I used the easiest thing to lure a man with—and it worked.
It wasn't very hard to get him to come home with me because no man would ever turn down free sex, right? It was the guise I lured him back home under, even though I had a much different plan for how our evening would go.
I guess because I got the one thing I wanted, and I didn’t know what to do with it exactly, I decided to play a little game with him.
Our evening started simple enough. A glass of blood-red wine in the dimly lit living room, sitting closely together on my white leather couch.
I like leather for one reason only; it was something that had to be skinned from another living thing to make something beautiful.
From the death of one creature comes something magnificent and I’ve always wanted to give it a try, but I never could muster up the nerve.
Until now.
I take his glass back into the kitchen and tell him that we could both use another gl
ass before we got even more comfortable, only I’m not drinking from the same bottle he is. I had one made especially for him laced with laudanum in the event that I ever had the nerve to get him back home.
See, I knew that the taste would be masked by the wine because it would dilute it just enough to hide the bitterness. It took a great deal of hell to get my hand on an actual bottle of the opiate, but it seems to be working nicely because his eyes closed longer on blinks than they should have if he didn't have it in his system.
I have to be careful though. Too much will result in death and I don’t want to be faced with getting rid of a body instead of making exquisite things from someone beautiful.
I don't want to waste him; I wanted to use his body and soul, but I knew that I had to move quickly because if he woke up and broke free, there would be no way I could do this. I wouldn't be able to look into his eyes as he died because I was worried it would haunt me forever.
I should probably just get this over with.
I've been sitting on the couch now for the past twenty minutes watching his sleeping body, suspended by a rope around his wrists from the sturdy chandelier in my living room. He’s such a beautiful creature when he sleeps. So unassuming, so trusting, so unaware of what the very near future holds for him. I look at the variety of sharp objects sitting on the table in front of me and wonder which will make the cleanest cuts. I won't use the meat cleaver just yet; I want to save that for any other pieces of him I decided would be worth keeping.
What will happen isn’t anything more than a lesson he needs to learn. He needs to understand that he’s just a normal man like the rest of us mere mortals and that walking around with his nose in the air isn’t winning him any friends or favors.
With a sigh, I settle on the cutlet knife. It’s definitely sharp enough to make the incisions I needed to make, and small enough for me to handle easily. I walk over to his sleeping form and use the knife to begin slicing his light blue t-shirt off. I make the rookie mistake of placing a hand on his stomach to steady myself and feel the lines formed on his body by years of dedication. I quickly tear the shirt up to the middle and move it to the sides, watching his chest moving slowly up and down, unsteadily, raggedly.
It would be so easy to just slip this in ... I trail the edge of the sharp blade down his neck, his muscular chest, over his stomach, and rest it gently underneath the bulge in his pants. Does he really need this now? Probably not, but I decide not to part him from his cock for the time being. Because even though he may not need it, it doesn’t mean I can’t put him to good use before it’s all said and done.
His body suddenly jerks and I pull the knife away, timidly hiding it behind my back so that he can’t see it. He shouldn’t have to know what’s going to happen to him; he just needs to feel it.
“What’s going on?” he mumbles groggily.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you to wake up,” I reply quietly. “It’ll be much easier for both of us if you just go back to sleep.”
“But ... What’s going on?” he asks again.
“I’m going to make you live forever,” I say in a slightly more confident tone than I mean to. “You’ll get to stay here with me forever.”
He mumbles something else I don’t quite comprehend and I step a little close to him. The knife is still hidden behind me and I push myself up onto my tiptoes and glance up into his ruggedly handsome face. Maybe I don’t have to do it this way; maybe he’ll just want to stay.
Maybe Jessup Bradshaw, The Mighty, will finally see me for the first time since I laid eyes on him since he doesn’t have his usual cloud of smoke to hide behind.
“Do you know what it’s like to want something you can’t have?” I ask, stepping back.
No. I have to do this. It’s the only way I know he’ll be mine. It’s the only way to make him understand that he’s no better than anyone else.
A small drop of saliva escapes his lips, landing on his shirt and forming a small pool. I can’t help myself. I lean up and give it a gentle lick eager to taste the man I’ve wanted for so long. With a satisfied sigh, I rest back onto the soles of my feet and bring the knife forward. If that small bit of him tastes as divine as it did, I find myself wondering what a little extra would taste like.
This is when the first thought of actually eating a piece of his flesh enters my mind. I can have him inside of me after all, even if it’s not the way he thought it would be. I’m not exactly interested in fucking him; that could happen at any time and if I cut around him carefully enough, I could still do it later.
No. I ... Won’t. I’m not kind of person, am I?
“Here goes nothing,” I say under my breath as I insert the blade into one of the carefully etched lines of his body and begin to pull down. He lets out a quick, pained scream and I step away. This isn’t like the movies. Holy shit, this isn’t like anything I was fucking expecting. I was awaiting the blow-back of blood, the spatter, but it’s not like that at all. The blood forms like a thick line before it pools over and starts to slide down the body. Almost as if the body is leaking slowly and I drop the knife.
Maybe I can patch him up and we can forget all about this.
“You ... You fucking bitch! You stabbed me,” he sputters angrily.
I raise an eyebrow up at him as I slowly lean back down to retrieve the knife. I had been willing, not a moment ago, to let him live, but I didn’t like being called names. Least of all by someone who didn’t know me and especially by not someone who assumes himself my better.
I take a deep breath and plunge the knife back into him, grabbing the handle with both hands, and pulling down as much as I can, blocking out his screams of anguish. I’ll show him that manners get you a long way further than rude insults ever will.
When I feel that the cut is deep enough, I reach in with the tips of my fingers and pull back two bloodied fingertips, bring them to my lips, and gently lick the crimson. Another cascade of blood flows from him and he screams even louder as he suddenly comes to terms with the fact that maybe he should have picked someone else’s head to fuck with tonight.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I finally admit in defeat. There’s no way in fucking hell I’ll be able to skin him. I didn’t have the right tools for it and he’ flailing too damn much each time I stick the knife into his flesh.
“Oh well!”
With a shrug, I decide to cut the lines of his stomach off of his body. Almost like a puzzle piece that I can dry out and put back together later if I want to.
More blood, more screaming, and more of me not giving a fuck. I’ve never gone through as many emotions so quickly as I just did, and I’m losing the feeling of remorse I started to feel for bringing him here. If anything, this is sending shock-wave after shock-wave of euphoria through me. I’ve heard of killers getting sexual gratification from their work, but I always thought it was bullshit.
Besides, I’m no killer. I’m just a girl looking for a little bit of fun with the sexiest guy in town.
“This is actually kinda fun!” I say brightly as I finish severing the last piece from his body.
He coughs above me and there’s the spatter I had been assuming would happen. Right on the top of my head, wetting my carefully done hair, and I can feel myself getting angry.
“What did you do that for?” I ask him, using the back of my hand to try and wipe it out of my hair. “You’re so rude!”
With a furious rage that I never knew I could feel, I begin to rapidly stab the knife into the gaping hole that was once his stomach. There’s a menagerie of screaming and I can hear myself, but I’m not quite sure if it’s me, him, or a symphony that only the two of us could make in a moment like this.
I stop for a moment when he begins to beg me for his life. I stop when I decide that maybe he’s worth more to me alive than dead.
I reach down and unzip his pants, pulling them down to his knees, his boxers following suit.
I sigh as I see that he’s hard. It’s interesti
ng to me and sad at the same time. Every emotion we have ever felt is born from death. Pain, anger, sorrow, or the occasional joy, love or happiness, all happen because someone died, yet he’s still clinging to life and aroused by it.
Maybe it’s angel lust starting to set in, maybe it’s an actual want to fuck me, but I don’t want to find out.
Not like this.
I drop the knife for a moment and put my hands on his stomach. Maybe some pressure will help and if I can use the scraps of his shirt to make a tourniquet, then perhaps he’ll be okay and we can start over.
“I’m sorry, Jessup. This isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” I say to him softly, my eyes lingering on his exposed manhood. “I wanted this to be normal—I wanted us to have a nice conversation over wine, and maybe a little bit more, but I guess I’ve gone too far now.”
“Wait,” he gasps. “Wait.”
I raise an eyebrow as I straddle him, the feeling of his erection pressing against me and I do as he asks.
I wait, but only for a moment.
“I will if you say my name,” I reply softly. I want to make sure that he’s learned his lesson and that this doesn’t need to go any further. I want him to see me as his equal and not as a one-off conquest.
My breaths are ragged as he looks up at me in hazy confusion. I feel like I have sulfur in my lungs, corroding me from the inside out—burning away all hope of keeping him for myself. I can tell he doesn’t remember what my name is and it hurts me for some reason.
“I … I’ll do anything you want. Please,” he whimpers, closing his eyes as fresh tears begin to pour down his cheeks.
I sigh again and shake my head, reaching down for the knife beside me.
It’s over a lot faster than I thought it would be. And definitely a hell of a lot quicker than I had originally planned. I drop the knife onto the carpet and go back into the kitchen, blood-covered but satisfied with what’s transpired tonight. Another glass of wine is poured and I walk back into the living room and sit on my crimson-stained, white couch and sigh. It’s becoming obvious to me that I have to burn it along with his body, but I’ll have to wait for him to die.
The Immoral Ones- a Sinister Set Page 8
