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Speaking of Bobby, he should be nicely mulched down in the drum of acid in my outbuilding. Chase had heard them talking in the coffee shop that he had been reported missing, but his family didn’t hold out much hope as he tends to disappear a lot and has been suffering from addiction relapses for years. They just don’t know that this time, it's permanent.
I open all the doors to the house to let the air circulate. It smells like shit.
I place my toys on the kitchen counter and take out Chase’s phone from the back pocket of my jeans, to see Wade’s message. He is about half an hour away. I message him back to tell him to come through the back door when he arrives. A wave of excitement and anticipation ripples through me. I can’t stand still. My hands are sweaty from my heart beating so fast. I rub them up and down my thighs, only to get sweaty again. I can taste the blood. The smell of death never gets old, especially when I’m the one providing it. I go out back, unable to stop the fidgeting, and light myself a cigarette as I await Wade's arrival while I look through my photo album, focusing on my dad’s bloody body. It never fails to bring a smile to my face. That fucker deserved it.
After my second cigarette, I hear the low sound of a car engine approaching from the road onto my driveway. I extinguish my nicotine stick, and rush inside to take my position with my bestie baseball bat. I leave the back door open, standing behind it just inside the house, and wait with bated breath.
Footsteps approach, making crunching sounds on the gravel.
“Chase? Babe, are you there?” he calls out and steps into the house. I take a second to watch him search the room, his nosescrunched up in repulsion. My house is just fine, thank you very much. He’s such a classic snob.
“Chase?” he calls out again and takes another step into the house, where I aim the bat into the back of his knees. A loud cry leaves him as he collapses to the floor, rolling side to side to try and relieve the pain. I slam the back door closed and lock it in place.
Holding my bat to the side of my body, I stand tall over him and wait for his reaction. I really need to start filming shit like this.
“What the fuck! You?” he screams at me. I smile in return.
“Yep, me.” I then swing the bat down again, cracking his knee as a loud crunch of smashed bone fills the room. Screams echo as I look at the now deformed knee. Ouch. No way he’ll be able to stand now. His cries are musical perfection, high-pitched and strained. Like the scream will somehow rid him of the pain that's no doubt pulsing through his slimy body.
“Are you seriously going to hurt me like this? What would Chase think? He’d leave your ass and lock you up if he knew what you were doing,” he says, sounding like he’s out of breath. His skin is all blotchy and red, sweat now covering his face in a heavy sheen as a result of the pain he must be in.
I’m not too much into torture, I’ve tried before, but it gets repetitive and boring. I find the final act so much more appealing. I grab him by the arms as he tries to lash out at me with his fists. I roll him onto his front and use the rope I have on the floor next to me to tie his wrists behind him, before pushing him over onto his back again.
“He already knows, fuckhead. And he seemed pretty turned on last night after I told him as I fucked his brains out. Chase really does have the best ass, doesn’t he? I plan to live there for the rest of my life.”
“Bullshit! Chase would never!”
I laugh so loud that tears build up at the back of my eyes. Why is it so hard to believe that Chase is drawn to the bad side? I suppose when you spend so much time living in the light, the darkness fades into the background, so you only focus on what you can see.
“You really don’t know anything about him, do you?” I crouch in front of him, eye to eye, making sure he knows it's me ending his pitiful existence.
“Did you not know he loves a little pain? That he loves to be watched? Loves to be fucked where others can see him? That he craves to be dominated and for his ass to be used so hard he can hardly move.”
I smile at Wade's face. I can all but see the regret of not heeding my warnings, of pushing it, not keeping away. Again, it's all about consequences.
“Rendered you speechless? I must say, for a lawyer, you’re not so good at the verbal sparring.”
“I don’t talk to murderers.”
“You are now.”
Wade tries to move, which obviously causes him to yell out from the knee pain. He really is as dumb as shit.
Placing my bat back onto the countertop, I pick up the long, sharp, thin blade. I bought it yesterday and it's my first time with this beauty. I think I’ll name her Red. You know, because she loves blood all over her.
“Ready to meet Red?” I walk toward Wade and make a show of playing with the blade. It's so damn pretty. I wonder if Chase would be into some blood play?
“I’m begging you, Noah. Please don’t do this. Don’t even think about me, think about Chase. Think about what this would do to him. I swear I’ll stay away.”
“I am thinking about Chase, and I don’t believe you. People like you can never leave it alone, always have to keep pushing.You’ll never win Chase back. He hates you to the core, Wade. I doubt he will shed a single tear for you.”
“You’re wrong. He loved me. He’s too good for me and he is certainly too good for you.”
“Nah, we’re perfect for each other.”
I push Wade until he is fully flat on his back. He grunts from the movement in his leg, but that won't be an issue soon. I grab his hair to lift his head up closer to me.
“I promised you that I’d rip your heart out if you went near him again, but I’m afraid that's too messy. So this is the next best thing.”
