The End

by Charlotte E Hart

  My throat growls out in distress as I ratchet the lever, desperate for more alcohol to fuel this panic ridden hatred of myself. That’s all this is. I know that. It’s fucking rage and indecision. A barrage of self-loathing and repugnance, one confused and trapped in its own irrational behaviour. The psychologist in me would tell me to quieten down, fucking mediate or some shit that holds no sense in my world. The monster in me? He’s ready to rut hell into anything that will take me, just so it can imagine her face and abandon the last drops of my resistance into her. Bitch. I hate her. Abhor her ability to do this to me. And yet I would throw myself into a fucking fire to ensure her survival. She’s engrained into me. Embedded. She’s like a worm I can’t pick from my skin, burrowing under it and eating her way to my heart, wakening it from its self-imposed desolation.

  “Blaine?”

  I halt and swing my head, wondering why I can hear her voice. She’s not here. I took her home. I snort, amused with the fact that perhaps I’m finally losing grip of reality. Finally seeing the fucking light and going insane from the constant pressure to cage myself in. I ratchet the lever again and head out onto the deck, ready to walk myself down to the sea. My fucking sea. My chosen despondency in the wilderness. I can’t get anything here, can I? I’m not tempted by fine young things dressed in summer skirts that flaunt themselves in my face thinking pretty thoughts of love. That’s why I stay here, never bringing anything here, never playing with anything on my own. Never contemplating anything more than just this emptiness. Never smiling, never laughing. Never fucking crying like other humans do.

  The sigh that leaves me at the thought has my mind running back to Eloise again as I stumble on, my feet travelling the same sands she laboured through. It makes me see her image in front of me, her voice echoing back as a ghost, laughter filtering through the sun’s rays.

  “Come get me, Sir.”

  She used to say that all the time, her pretty little voice belying the monster inside her, too. I can hear her now. Come get me. Come get me. It calls me further down to the water, the shadows around me barely registering as I stumble through the dunes, searching for a fucking answer to all this. There’s only one, and it all fucking rests in the hands of Alana and her acceptance. A woman who will, with any luck, never come back to curse herself further than she already has done. She’ll die here with me. She’ll fall into these hands, giving me her flawless skin to fuck with, and then she’ll die. I’ll kill her like I did the last.

  My knees give way to the visions that assault my mind, my hands not bothering to break the descent that’s coming. What the fuck does it matter? I’ll just crawl to the sea instead, and find Eloise in there. Let her take me to where I should be so I can fuck her forever in Alana’s place. Death would make it so much easier to manage my thoughts. Nothing matters there. I could fuck anything, strangle anything, cut it open and lick its open weeping wounds until it drains dry.

  My fingers scratch in the sand to turn me over, needing my sea now more than ever. It’s not far, just a few hundred yards and I’ll be there. It’s clear as fucking day to me as the sun rises and another small splash of waves draws me to it. Beautiful rays, beautiful sea. It’s all beautiful. Free of limitation. Free of mayhem. Free of guilt. I just need to keep crawling, need to keep pulling my nails through this sand. Just get there and then this will all be over. It’ll be done.

  The salt of the water feels like a fucking fountain of life as it slips down my throat, the crash of another wave bringing it in. It makes me try harder to get in deeper, my feet pushing my clothed legs onwards. I can hear her calling me, telling me to come in, to come get her. She’s like a fucking angel out there, her voice mesmerising me to follow and finally be free, as the water sluices over my face again. Fucking love. This is where love takes me. It takes me here because of her, to save her, protect her. Love isn’t a fucking fairy-tale for me. Perhaps it never was. I’m undeserving of its effect on me. It’s nothing but a descent into hell. A place that will welcome the likes of me.

  I’m deep now, the water beginning to envelop me as she does. It trickles across me, wrapping its fucking arms around me and letting me float. It’s relaxing, soothing to me. I’d only need the dark and it would all be fucking perfect. I can just close my eyes here, let the waves pull me out, drown my forbidden fucking soul into the depths so I can finally breathe easy.

  Something grabs at my leg, twisting me over and yanking me backwards. I struggle against it, irritated with whoever the fuck it is who’s trying to save me. Save me? I don’t want fucking saving. Never did. I need to drown. I need to, to save Alana. She has to be free of me, and I need to be free of this mind of mine. Take it of this fucking planet and give the world a chance without me in it.

  I kick out at whatever it is, my legs thrashing and turning, trying to get the fucking thing off me as white crests crash over my face.

  “Fucking idiot,” comes growled at me, something hitting my jaw in the same instance. It sends pain straight to my brain, knocking it around my skull as my head goes under the water. I struggle again, blowing air out of my lungs and trying to kick my way out of the grip of whoever’s holding me. But it keeps dragging at me, wrenching me backwards and away from my fucking sea. And then fingers grasp my hair, yanking on my scalp and reminding me of Alana again. It breaks my fury of murderous thoughts, suddenly helping me see clearly beneath the water. I’m pulled up, my mouth immediately hauling in a breath of air as I turn to face my attacker and try to stand. It’s doesn’t work as Delaney’s face flashes in front of me. In fact, he helps hinder me by pushing me back down again, submerging me before I’ve got a chance for decent breath. It forces panic to set in, a rally for life as I challenge the hold keeping me down here, propelling me upwards as I find my feet. I lever against it, all my muscles racing back for use. Fucking saviour. Who the fuck does he think he is? My fist comes through first, instantly connecting with something hard. Nothing changes, though. The force on my head just shoves me back down again, a leg sweeping mine from beneath me. And this time it pushes down with such weight behind it that my face mangles the stones on the seabed, the crunch of it opening my eyes to the salt water. It burns as I look around, my hands grasping out at a rock so I can destroy the fucker with it. But just as I’m about to kill him, just as the murderous intent comes racing back to me, the weight vanishes. It leaves me staring into the water, letting my body rise of its own accord as I search for answers again. My fucking sea. Mine.

  My mouth slips over the waves, a breath drawn in as I gaze out into the ocean and wonder what the fuck I’m doing. Drowning, living, existing? I don’t know anymore. Nothing’s clear or focused. It’s all as murky as it is beneath my ocean, still as dark as it always was. Still as out of reach. And the sun keeps rising in my eye-line, the vast expanse of the water diminishing around the globe of yellow coming into full view. It focuses me in on it, for once choosing to stare straight into the light as I let my feet land on the seabed again, let its rays penetrate me.

  “You done?” Delaney’s voice asks behind me. Done? Done with what? Killing myself? Probably not, but for now, yes. I turn to him and find him waist deep, his hands idling in the water around him as if its his divine right to come save me. It makes me snarl as I wipe the water away from my face, eventually nodding to acknowledge the help in some way, and then walk past him to make my way back to the house. I didn’t need saving, still don’t. He’s got no right to be here, no reason either. Why the fuck is he here?

  “You can thank Alana for saving your ass,” he calls as I hit dry land and peel my shirt from my body.

  I snort, amused by the fact that she’s had anything to do with my salvation as I cough out some water. She’s the reason I’m here. She’s the very reason I crawled out there in the first place. He doesn’t understand, still, even after the conversations we’ve had. Men like Delaney Priest don’t know how to understand, close as he might be to me. They play, amusing themselves with toys of affection, pushing a boundary
every now and then with something able to take their sadism, but they don’t want to cross the line. They just manage the situation, knowing the line’s there and never endangering because of it. They achieve true dominance because of it. I don’t, not deep down. I simply don’t have the desire to.

  “Christ, Blaine, use Tabitha for an hour or two if it’s that bad. Let off some steam,” he calls after me.

  I look up at the house and see her standing there waiting for me, her body resting on the wall as if she has no care in the world for what my hands could do. I could, I suppose, let some of this angst and confusion dissipate onto skin willing to endure it. The thought makes me scan her over as I keep walking, each step heavier than the last. She smiles at my perusal, rolling a lollipop in her mouth, willing me into her with each passing second.

  “Did she contact you?” I mumble, unable to stop blue eyes haunting the vision in front of me, for some reason telling me to stop myself.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “She was worried about you.” The thought makes me smile and gaze back at the sand, regardless of the fact I nearly killed myself for her. It makes my heart ache again for something I shouldn’t have and don’t deserve.

  He jogs up to my side, the sight of his shoes in my space making me want to kill him for his interference in my plans. I stop and face him, wondering why she was worried. I did nothing to provoke concern. I was level headed, calm. I gave her the space she needed to begin understanding what I’d told her, thinking about it.

  “You think she can’t see inside you?” he says, a smile creeping up his face as he strips his t-shirt off and slaps me on the back. “The right ones always can, Blaine. It’s what made me let Flick go.” He nods at Tabitha. “The wrong ones don’t bite in the same.” I frown at him, searching his eyes for more information. He doesn’t give any, just winks and walks away from me, his body as calm as day, like nothing happened out there in my sea ten minutes ago. “You’re fucking welcome, by the way.”

  Fuck him.

  I turn back again and gaze at the ocean as it taunts me back to it, the calm swell of it ebbing and flowing, tempting me to go back in and find my peace there instead of using Alana.

  “Any drink left?” Delaney calls. “We’ve got a conversation to have.”

  The thought makes me sigh, a slight smile rising at the thought of hours of deliberating facts and truths with him. We’ve done it so many times already. There is fucking involved sometimes, and other times just a drink until we’re shitfaced and basking in our own debauched glory. It causes a sneer to descend at Tabitha’s proximity. She’s not welcome near my truths, not now that I can see Alana in my mind overwhelming her.

  I turn and head back again, ready to have conversations about subjects I don’t comprehend, and give Tabitha a wide enough berth on my way past to let her know I’m not interested in her kind of help. “Tell your pet to go,” I snap, weaving my way past him and scanning the chaos I’ve caused in my own home. “I don’t want her here.” The only woman I want here I’ve forced away. She’s miles from me again and probably still thinking about what we should be. She’s as fucking lost in this as I am now that she knows what I’ve done. I’ve made her that way, given her the truths she wanted, and left her with them. Left her to deal with the horror of it on her own.

  “Blaine, you could calm down if—”

  “OUT.” It roars from me, her fucking voice interfering with my visions of the woman I want near me. I swing back at her, making her frame shudder and scamper away from me. “Fuck you. Your cunt is of no fucking use to me. Get out before I force you out.”

  Delaney’s hand lands on my shoulder instantly, making me snarl, ready to shove him out of the door, too.

  “Leave, Tabby cat,” he says, slowly putting himself in front of me. She smiles over his shoulder at me, tempting me with the fury that’s rising again. It’s sickly sweet and full of an intent she has no fucking clue about. I glare at it, and then at Delaney, dismissing her for the real possibility in front of me rather than her bones that will crush with little thought. “Where’s the drink?” he asks, pushing me backwards slightly. Booze, yes. Get fucking drunk and let all this confusion dissipate, let it rest. Tabitha begins walking away from us, her body as tempting now as it’s ever been irrespective of my own inner dialogue. I can feel it in the sound of her heels clipping against my pristine floors, and the way she keeps looking at me, still smiling as her fingers twirl the lollipop she has in her mouth. It reminds me of Alana’s eyes again as she glides past, not a care in her debauched little world of fun. My little dove doesn’t look like that. She has eyes that draw me into them, that make me want to hold on as I devastate her, go with her even.

  “Quicker, Tabby cat,” Delaney orders, his fingers gripping my shoulder tighter now as I watch her leaving. Leaving. Maybe she shouldn’t go after all. Maybe Delaney’s right. I should lose myself for a while, enjoy the offering she’s giving me. I lick my lips at the thought, my cock remembering it’s alive and willing to indulge itself as I follow the madam’s movements. It swings me round to her, her ass calling me to take hold of it, use my den for some time, put her in the ropes I’ve barely used with Alana’s naïve frame. What would it matter? She’s offering. Delaney’s offering. I could indulge these fantasies, make them a reality again and set them free. It makes me smile at her as she gets to the door, tempting her back to me again. It takes nothing for her to stop in the doorway, her head tilting to question my moves as she runs her tongue over the ball of pink in her mouth.

  “Blaine, drink?” Screw the drinks. I don’t want a drink. I want to breathe life into the slut making me greedy for pain she knows nothing of. I want screams and howls, begging. I want the fucking silence after the begging’s stopped. I want the lights dimming until there’s nothing left but prone flesh for me to play with, revive if I choose to. “Blaine?”

  I shrug his grip from my shoulder, my feet moving without thought to anything other than the here and now. Fuck it all. I was about to kill myself. I still can, but maybe after this rather than before. In fact, I could take her cunt out there with me when it’s over, let her drown and know the feeling she pushes me for in that way.

  Delaney’s in front of her before I’ve got chance to move forward any further, his body protecting her like a good little Dom should. Fuck him, too. Saving me? For what? So I can keep doing this to anything that gets in my way? He’s not saved me; he’s fucking condemned Alana. That’s all he’s done. He’s enabled me. Given me another chance to hurt her.

  I pull in a breath and watch him watching me, his brow rising in challenge, some fucking authority or symbol of friendship I should be honouring. Fool. The psychology professor isn’t here anymore. He’s gone. Abandoned because of the wench sucking still, her eyes looking at me, taunting me towards her. Friendship and loyalty don’t live in my monster; they hold no relevance to his needs. And Delaney can join in anyway if he has to, see what happens when he lets himself loose rather than maintaining the façade he uses to cajole and please his subs.

  “One more step and we’ll both leave, Blaine.” I snarl at his words, irritated with his weakness for the skin that hovers behind him. “Let me help you.” She doesn’t want to go, she wants to stay and play like good little cunts always do when I smile at them. She wants to feel me on her, just as she always has done. Constant little remarks each time she’s seen me, occasional touches when Delaney’s not been nearby, the glances, the lip licking as she’s watched me. Fuck, she was even there the first time I sank myself inside Alana, watching the way I fucked her, panting for it to happen to her, too.

  “Your little cunt’s interested, Delaney. Don’t fucking kid yourself.”

  “She might be, but not in this fucking mood, you don’t,” he says, backing away from me as I advance on them. “You’re not killing mine.”

  He pushes her backwards, his body acting as a continued shield as they both disappear out of the doorway. Not killing his. It halt
s the unrelenting footsteps I was going to take after them, shaking me from whatever fucking cloud had begun descending and making me scan the room again.

  Debris from my expulsion litters the floor, broken ornaments and paintings, upturned chairs and trashed tables. It’s a volatile reaction, one that makes me smile and remember the way she causes such aggravation with nothing but her fucking mouth and her unrelenting push.

  “Push, push, push.” It falls from my lips as I reach for a shard of ceramic, the edges of it sharp enough to slice skin. It’s cracked and sheared, the half section only barely resembling the piece it once was. Cracked and sheared, splintered in two. Only part of what it used to be. Fragmented by a substance more significant than the sum of its own original quantity. I smile wider as the answer hovers in the distance somewhere, beckoning me with songs of love attached to moonlight wanderings. I’m broken in two. My monster and my professor, both so distanced from each other, unable to form coherent thoughts. I lower to the floor, searching for a matching part to pair the two back together. Unite them, find a balance. I keep pushing her away, don’t I? Keep making her think for the sake of her own health. Maybe it’s time not to anymore. Maybe I should just let it be whatever it evolves into, no thought for the consequence of the inevitable fall. She fucking knows now. Knows what she’s got in front of her, and still she was worried enough to phone Delaney.

  “You calm?”

  “No.”

  I’m a riot of emotions, ones that chase and burn through me, limiting my psychologist’s response to situations such as these. Fuck, I can hardly breathe as the answer finally dawns on me and I see the other side of the ceramic under the cupboard. I should just show her it all, just let her feel it and be done with any recrimination that occurs because of it. No more hiding from my little dove. No more cowering or protecting. We’ll just fuse, like idiosyncrasies that do not conform to anything but each other. We’ll become the imperfection that enables the perfect, and lose ourselves within it.