by Jeff Strand
“Where do you want me to touch you?” he asked. Emily shook her head.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. Matt slid his hands over her shoulders and onto her breasts. She gasped. Her hands moved as if to stop him, but then she forced herself down again.
“You don’t like that?” he asked.
“I do,” she said. “I do.” He resumed what he was doing, slowly building her pleasure, and building himself up at the same time. Her eyes were still clamped tightly shut, but her hands were now open, fingers digging into his jacket sleeves. He decided to make the leap. Keeping one hand on her right breast, he pressed his mouth to the left one and slid his right hand between her thighs. “Oh!” she gasped, shock in her voice.
“Okay?” Matt asked, petting her gently.
“Yeah,” she said. There were tears trickling down her cheeks. Matt slowly began probing with one finger.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Emily just shook her head. “I don’t deserve this,” she whimpered.
“Deserve what?” he asked.
“I don’t deserve for it to be nice.”
Matt took a deep breath and let it out, blowing on her already damp nipple. She shivered.
“Do you really want it to hurt?” he asked.
Emily was nodding before he had finished his sentence. “It’s what I deserve,” she said.
Matt’s right hand remained between her legs and his left moved to open his fly. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.” He lined himself up, then hesitated. He understood what she wanted and why, but it just wasn’t in him to hurt her, even if it was outside of reality. He moved slowly and carefully, checking her responses, until finally, he had managed to get there. “Are you okay?” he asked when he was finally inside her.
Emily groaned in frustration and wrapped her legs around him, hands reaching up and clasping at his arms. “Stop being so nice to me!” she screeched. “Stop it!” Slowly at first, then with building intensity, he began to thrust into her. Her cries fell silent, changing to soft, shallow breathing. Her legs were still clinging to him, but her hands began to move over his shoulders and onto his chest, around his waist and to his back, pulling him closer. His entire body pressed against hers, he could feel her heartbeat, hear her breathing. He froze as he finished and Emily sighed, fingers still digging into his shoulder blades. When he had recovered, he pulled out and sat up. He was still breathing hard as he cleaned himself with his already soiled jacket and tucked himself back into his pants. Emily was sitting up as well. She looked embarrassed, her arms crossed over her breasts.
“Are you alright?” Matt asked quietly. Emily nodded. She reached up and brushed back her hair.
“Was that okay?” she asked. Matt very nearly laughed.
“Beautiful,” he said. “You’re beautiful.” She gave a small and diluted smile, but said nothing. Her eyes turned back down toward her knees. It wasn’t too long before the afterglow faded enough that Matt was able to remember why. They weren’t done. He still had to die. Slowly, he got to his feet and extended a hand toward Emily. She looked at it, but didn’t take it.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she said.
“We’re stuck here if you don’t,” he countered. “Hey look, just do one thing for me, okay?”
She nodded and got to her feet without his help. “Yes?”
Matt tried his best to smile. “Don’t get dressed?”
Emily stared at him for a moment, then laughed. “I won’t,” she said. “Get your fill.” He laughed and sat down on the bench again, trying not to feel the fear that was building inside of him. He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t real, but the more he thought about it the more panicked he became. Emily saw it on his face. She did not walk to the other side of the train, instead staying where she was, standing on his jacket. “Do you still want me to tie you up?” she asked softly.
“I …” Matt trailed off, staring at the scalpel, glinting, across the subway car. “I think maybe you have to.” Emily nodded and went for the zip ties. She left the scalpel on the opposite bench. She sat next to him. He was squirming inside of his own skin. She was about to cut him. She had to. “What do you want me to do?” he asked. Emily shook her head.
“Get comfortable,” she said. “With your hands behind your back and toward the bars.”
“You’ve really thought this out, huh?” He tried to laugh, but it sounded false and strained.
“You do a lot of thinking when you’re like me.”
Matt did as she said, placing his wrists against the lowest bar. He could feel his heart starting to race. Emily went behind him and bound his wrists to the bars.
“Emily?” he asked. She walked around in front of him.
“Yes?”
He tugged against the ties to make sure that they were tight, then took a deep breath and spoke again. “Look,” he said. “I know you’re freaked out right now, and I’m freaked out too, but please try to enjoy this.” Emily’s eyes widened, but she said nothing. Matt continued. “I don’t mean hurt me more than you have to, I don’t really want that, but I’m pretty sure this is your only chance to live this fantasy. Don’t kill me for nothing, okay? I’m not going to judge you if you let yourself like it.” Emily looked like she might cry again.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m really sorry.” He nodded. She went to get the scalpel. Matt was trying not to start screaming. That would probably just spook her. He couldn’t spook her if he wanted to get out of this train car. He closed his eyes and listened to her as she slowly walked back and sat down beside him on the bench. There was a long moment of silence. Relative silence. There was the soft clicking as Emily uncapped and capped the scalpel.
“Emily?” he asked.
“Yes?”
Matt opened his eyes. The knife was clutched in her hand, capped. “I …” He trailed off, shifting uncomfortably. His stomach felt too exposed and his arms were straining to escape their prison.
“I know,” she said. She uncapped the scalpel and started to touch his stomach with her free hand. Matt was starting to feel lightheaded. She moved the scalpel closer.
“Wait, wait, wait!” he said. Emily stopped. “Wait just a minute. Please wait?” Emily took the knife back and waited. “I’m sorry. I just …”
“If you keep stopping me,” Emily said. “We’re going to be here forever.”
Matt was breathing hard. “I know,” he said. “I know, but I can’t help it.”
Emily thought this over for a moment, then spoke again. “I’m going to stop listening to what you say now, okay?” she said. “So say whatever you want.”
Matt gaped at her. “What do you mean?” She was reaching toward him with the scalpel. “No, wait please!” Emily shook her head. She touched the blade to his stomach.
“I’m gonna press hard,” she said. “I don’t want to have to do it again.”
“Oh my God oh my God,” Matt was panicking. She took the blade off briefly to change her position so that she was sitting on his legs, trapping him. He bit his lip and whimpered. Emily pressed the blade hard against his stomach. It went in easily, but the pain was worse than any that Matt had ever experienced. He wanted to scream, but it went beyond even that. He looked up into Emily’s face. She was staring at the wound in his stomach with an incredible mix of emotions in her eyes. She grabbed his side with her empty hand and began to drag the scalpel across his stomach, cutting a perfect slit from one end of his abdomen to the other. “Ahhhhhhh … nnno,” he moaned. He still couldn’t muster a scream. His every breath was agony. Emily pulled out the knife and tossed it aside. It clattered across the floor of the train car. Matt’s head slumped forward and he watched as blood oozed out of his open stomach. He gave an anguished groan. She’d cut him, sliced his belly all the way across. Why wasn’t he dead?
“This might take a little bit,” she said. Her voice was apologetic, but overshadowed with fascination. “Stomach wounds … they don’t bleed like other places.�
� Her fingers delicately touched the wound. “Can I?” As her fingers toyed with the gash he realized what she wanted.
He swallowed hard, barely managing to find words around his pain. “Yes,” he gasped. Emily’s lips parted and she wrapped her arm around his neck, kissing him hard. While his focus was there, her fingers entered his abdomen. “Aaahhhhh!” Matt turned his head away from her mouth, burying his face in her shoulder. She held his head with her arm.
“Don’t look,” she said. Her voice sounded ecstatic. “You don’t want to see this.”
Matt didn’t need to see. He could feel her fingers weaving around inside of him. He felt their grip in places he had never actively felt anything before. She was exploring his insides, and she was more turned on than he had ever seen any woman in his life. Suddenly, a new sensation.
“Ohhhhhh …” he moaned, digging his face harder into her shoulder. She was pulling them out. She was pulling his intestines out. He could feel it. He was awash with pain and nausea the likes of which he had never experienced before. She pulled them away from their proper place and pressed them against her skin, letting the blood touch her breasts, her stomach, her sex. He gagged, spitting a mouthful of blood onto her shoulder. “Em,” he breathed. She leaned back and looked at him, something glowing in her eyes. As soon as she locked eyes with Matt, the glow faded and her face filled with horror. She turned over her shoulder, then gasped.
“Matt,” she hissed. “The knife is gone. I’m sorry.” Matt was sobbing, shoulders lurching. Her eyes flickered with guilt, landing on resolution. “I’m so sorry for this.” Before he had time to react, Emily had forced her hand inside of him again, tearing out more of his insides and piling them onto his lap. He screamed horribly, but the next time she reached, it was with both hands. He could feel the destruction that she was causing both in and out of his body. He could feel her tearing out his internal organs with two fists. He could feel himself getting lightheaded. Her right arm jammed inside him to the elbow. He felt the air forced out of his body. He felt incredible strength and suffering pooling in his chest. Suddenly, a crushing pain that seemed to engulf him, black spots in front of his eyes, Emily’s gasp of pleasure …
“This is Fourteenth Street, Union Square,” a mechanical voice said. “The next stop is Astor Place.” Shaking, Matt drew one unbound hand to his perfectly intact stomach. He closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them, they met with those of Emily. Dressed, but pale and close to tears. She got to her feet and walked to him, leaning over as if to read the subway map.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Matt nodded. Then, he handed her his business card.
“This is Astor Place,” the robotic voice said. Emily got off of the train. Matt watched her go, a strange sense of wonder overcoming him. He was alive. They were both alive, and they were both forever changed. She had acted on a fantasy she had thought impossible, and he had seen something in her that she had thought no one could see. There was incredible beauty in the danger of her, not just in spite of the risk but because of it. He had given her the means to contact him because of the look on her face when she had seen inside of him for the first time. He knew, however, that she would never do it. She was too powerfully shy, too ashamed. She wouldn’t throw his card away, no, she would hold onto that forever. But she would never use it.
It was just over a week later that he was proven wrong. He was out of the office, at lunch, when the phone rang. It was a number he didn’t recognize, and came up as Denver, Colorado. Matt didn’t know anyone in the entire state, but his curiosity got the better of him. Still, he waited until the third ring to answer.
“Hello,” he said. It was not his usual phone greeting, but it would have to do. He somewhat disliked the idea of giving his name to strangers who called his cell. There was a long pause. He could only just hear breathing on the other end of the line. “Hello, can I help you?”
“Matt?”
His heart leapt into his throat, but he tried to keep his voice steady. “Emily?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she replied. “Sorry, I didn’t know what to say when I called so I didn’t call.”
Matt switched ears. “Are you in Denver?”
Emily laughed. “I never got a new cell number when I moved here for college,” she said. She sounded so calm on the phone, so even. Matt felt like he might explode at any moment.
“Oh, when was that?” he asked.
“About three years ago,” she replied. Matt cringed. He had a good eight years on her, at least. “Matt, I just wanted to say again how sorry I am. I never would have—”
“I know.” Matt ran his fingers through his hair and checked his watch. Only ten minutes before he had to be back. “It was my fault, really.”
“You could never have known—”
“I’m an ad man,” he grunted. “It’s my job to know.” At this, Emily laughed.
“Okay, ad man,” she said. “What am I thinking now?”
He decided to take a risk. “You’re thinking dinner,” he said. “Tonight.” The phone picked up the smallest hitch of breath on her end of the line.
“You’re good,” she sighed. “Six o clock?”
“I can make that,” Matt said. Truth was, even if she had asked him to be there in ten minutes he would have found a way to make it work. Although he couldn’t understand why, he was desperate to see her again. They decided on a place and hung up, Matt feeling like he’d won something. Something infinitely valuable and just as dangerous. Five hours until he saw her again, the woman who had killed him.
Five minutes until he saw her again. Matt approached their agreed upon meeting place with a slow and meaningful stride. There was still something of worry in him. He knew in his heart that she was not dangerous, not now, but she had killed him only a week before. Brutally. And liked it. True, they had known that none of it mattered in the real world, but somehow it mattered anyway. They both knew what it would be like now … the murder. He wondered if it had sated or ignited her need.
When he walked into the cafe, he saw her immediately. She was sitting in a corner booth, dressed as a high schooler might dress for a date. Modest, a lavender dress and white cardigan. A hardcover book was open on the table in front of her and she seemed lost in it. There was something so beautiful about her when she was relaxed, her features calm and smooth, but engaged. What would it be like to glance up from his own reading at home and see that on the couch next to him? He shook the thought out of his mind with a twitch of his head.
“Emily,” he said. She jerked to attention.
“Matt!” she said. “I … I thought you might not come.” She snapped the book shut and stuffed it into her backpack, which was resting under the table, but not before Matt got a look at the title. Misery. Fitting. He had seen the movie and it made his skin crawl just thinking about it. Kathy Bates with her hammer. That was the kind of thing that turned this girl on.
“Why did you think that?” He sat down and opened his menu, but didn’t look at it. He had chosen this place because he already knew his order. Less to think about. If he felt up to eating anything at all.
Emily just shrugged. “I guess … I don’t know.” Matt took a sip of his water and waited. “I killed you.”
“I’m still here,” he replied.
“But why?” she asked. “If I were you, I’d have run for the hills. I don’t even understand why you gave me your card.” Matt opened his mouth, but the waiter had made a silent approach during her last sentence.
“Can I get you two started off with something to drink?” he asked. Matt turned his face to the menu, but Emily looked up.
“I’m fine with …” She trailed off. It was a long moment before Matt looked up, but when he did he saw that her eyes were still on the waiter. Her mouth was still open. He glanced up and immediately saw why.
Standing alongside their table was the man from the train. He was still wearing his suit, a white apron the only addition. In his hand he held the same small box th
at had held the ties and the blade. Out of the corner of his eye, Matt saw Emily’s hand reach up to cover her mouth.
“I’m sorry,” the stranger said, a sly smile on his impeccable face. “Did you two need a few minutes to decide?”
“I don’t think we do,” Matt said, surprising himself. The world around them had gone uncomfortably silent. He didn’t look, but he felt sure that if he did he would find them alone in the restaurant with this man.
“No we don’t,” she snapped. When she spoke again, her words overlapped with his. “Please leave us alone.”
“We’ll do it,” Matt said. Emily gaped.
“What?” she screeched. “He can’t make us do that again. He can’t make you do that again!” Matt swallowed hard. His mouth was dry, but he felt oddly calm.
“No one is making me do anything,” he said. He reached out and took the hand that was still resting on the table. “It’s what you want, isn’t it?” She was shaking her head before he had even finished the sentence.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said. “I told you that.”
“But what if I wasn’t real?” he asked. “If I didn’t matter? If I was just an illusion?” Emily was chewing her lip. “You’d do it, wouldn’t you?” She extracted her hand from his and smudged out a tear as it began its journey down her cheek. Then she reached for him again. His thumb traced a little circle on the back of her hand. “Would you do it, Emily? If I wasn’t real?”
“Yes,” she choked. “Fuck. Yes I would. I’m sorry.” Matt chanced a look at the stranger standing tableside. His hand, with the box, was still extended and there was an amused look in his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You just …” Matt trailed off. He didn’t want her to hurt him either. Not really. But how could he express what he did want? Why he would let her hurt him a million times over? “You have no idea how beautiful you look when you see blood, do you?” She looked at him as though his words had thrown the floodlights on in front of her eyes. Her breathing was quick and shallow, with either arousal or panic. She wanted it as much as he did. More than he did. He had only to convince her that he wanted it at all.
