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Crack.
My skin splits again, and the cool air stings, making me cry out loud.
“I’m sorry!” I finally scream, as my body simply collapses against the bed in defeat.
I feel him backing away from me, and I slide down off of the bed, to my knees.
“I’m sorry,” I sob, burying my face in my hands. “P-please forgive me.”
“There, there. Now was that so hard? Hmmm?” he coos softly. His voice is gentle this time. Comforting even. I feel the air shift as he steps around me. Squatting down in front of me, he tips my chin up with his index finger, forcing me to look at him.
“It’s ok precious. I forgive you. I do. But now you need to make it right.”
Make it right?
He pushes up to his feet, standing above me, and I look up at him from the floor, confusion written all over my face. But when his hand moves to his zipper, I understand.
As he pops the button to his slacks, I understand.
As he grips my bicep and tosses me face down on the bed, I understand.
And I don’t fight it. I close my eyes as he presses into me, and I wish he’d kill me instead.
Chapter ten
Travis
Pink circles the drain as I rinse the blood from my skin. It’s everywhere this time. Torturing with knives is messy, but if Teddy has taught me anything, it’s that finding the thing your victim fears the most, is what makes the torture most effective.
Tonight’s victim was a low level Reaper who was caught by Ryker, dealing outside one of our clubs. Dealing on Brotherhood territory. Before making a rash decision to declare an all out war in Havok Hills, my father said we needed to know if he was ordered to sell there, or if he took it upon himself. If he was ordered, we needed to know how many others were given marching orders.
As I slowly unveiled the table of torture toys, I quickly found that tonight’s victim was petrified of knives.
So I chose the longest one, the sharpest one, and I sliced sections of flesh from his body, leaving muscles and nerves exposed to the elements. I carved words into his skin, and cut him in sensitive places that housed major blood vessels and tendons until he finally caved. And then - I killed him anyway.
As it turns out, he was just trying to branch out and make more money on his own, to make himself look good to his boss. To make himself indispensable. And then he died for it.
The dried crimson on my skin cracks and softens, flowing down the drain as I scrub myself with the soapy washcloth. I scrub so hard my skin turns red and angry. Ever since I became this person, I never, ever feel clean. Not anymore.
It’s been a week since I left Lakeview to do this shit full time, and I can’t yet turn it off completely. I can leave the room and escape the terrible things that I do, but I can’t escape the pain and regret in the dark of the night. I can’t escape my nightmares. I can’t escape the guilt that eats me alive. I can’t escape the shattered, jagged edges of my heart that keep slicing up my insides every single time I think about Spencer. And I can’t make myself stop thinking about her. Like a broken record, she’s the song that plays in my head every day. The same single. The same track.
This one week has felt like a lifetime, but it’s only been seven fucking days. Seven days and I feel like I’m dying inside. How will I survive the coming years? They will feel like eternity.
An eternity without her.
An eternity that I will spend collecting regrets like badges of honor. Praised for being sadistic, when all the while I curl up and cry behind closed doors. Mourning the boy I once was, and the man I wanted to be.
Pressing my forehead against the cool tile wall, I’m hypnotized by the blood-tinged water circling the drain. Rolling my head to the side, I lean my back against the tile and I slide to the floor.
Will I feel this way forever? Am I doomed to live nothing but a life of pain?
This right here is exactly why I couldn’t bring her with me. From an innocent boy to a broken man, I could never ask her to turn the other cheek and ignore what I’m becoming. I could never expect her to pick up the pieces of everything I once was.
Swiping the tears from my face, I sniffle and pick myself back up. Because men don’t cry, and if Teddy has any inkling that I’m shedding tears, he will make me wish I didn’t have tear ducts. Turning the shower off, I grab a towel from the rack, wrap it around my hips and step out into the cold bathroom.
Drying myself off, I drop the towel, slide on boxers and a pair of sweatpants, and flick off the lights before crawling into bed. I can't stop thinking about her, so I grab my laptop from the nightstand, lift the lid and open up social media. I don’t maintain a presence, and never have, but Spencer always has, and that's the closest I can possibly get to her right now.
Clicking through the old pictures on her profile, I smile when I think of the memories attached to them. The small moments in time captured with the camera. If this is the only way I can have her, then it’s what I’ll take.
