"Jules is my chef. He's famous, as a matter of fact. He makes an amazing chocolate cake. I'd offer to have him make you one, but you've already had your last meal. Hope it was a good one."
"Last meal?" Her eyes closed, and her head fell to the side. I huffed as I finished preparing to tattoo. I dragged my tray over and reached for her forehead, deciding to start there. I pinched her temples between my thumb and forefinger and moved her head to face forward.
The moment the needle met her skin, her eyes flew open and she began to panic.
"What—Emile? What's going on? What are you doing?" She moved her head side to side, and I allowed her for a moment before standing and holding her head down.
"What did you used to say to me? I would address you by Dad's rank?" I carved the insignia for rank O-5 into her forehead. She screamed and sobbed as I did so, making ithard for me to make smooth lines, but that wasn't the point here.
"What next, Mother?" I reached for the hand mirror to show her the new tattoo. She saw her reflection and let out a blood-curdling scream.
"What did you do? Emile, what are you doing?"
"I'm just giving you a tiny taste of the pain you put me through for five long years. I was just a kid when you started pimping me out to your friends. What should we do next? Do you have any requests? Maybe a dolphin or angel wings?"
"You're sick." Her chin trembled. "You're so sick, Emile. You're not my son. I never loved you. You know that? I can finally tell you the truth. I never wanted you. The moment you came out of my body, I wished you hadn't. I made a mistake, getting pregnant. The only reason you weren't smothered was because your father would have known."
I dipped my needles in ink and tilted her head. I was going to go for all the pain points today. The needles connecting with her neck caused her words to be cut off and exchanged for screams. I carved my name into her neck.
Every time I finished a tattoo, she seemed to come back to life. She spit at me, berated me, and told me how awful it was to have been my mother, and how she'd wished I'd never been born.
"I knew you were cutting yourself up, and I didn't care. I would lay in bed, hoping that one day you'd hit a vein and I'd find you dead in the morning. I planned whole speeches on what I'd tell your father, my friends, the news. How do you think I wrote my bestselling book so fast? I'd been preparing for years."
Teenage me would have listened to her words with his whole heart. He would have let them affect him. But years in prison, years of hurt, moments of knowing true, honest lovewith Daisy, had hardened me. Her words were just words, nothing more.
She screamed at me for hours, until finally something she said struck me.
"You know, I was tempted to use you myself. The wives all sung your praises, about how good you were at going down on them. That you always asked them not to make you do it, but it only made them hornier to force you. I wanted to feel that power, too. There were many times I almost pulled you out of bed to do it, but I didn't want you to think I loved you."
I stopped tattooing her ribs.
"That's right," she said gleefully. "Maybe I should have. I probably could have fucked you into submission."
I stood and slapped her so hard against the face her head spun. I pulled my gloves off and rushed to the trash, throwing up in it.
"Aw, can't handle the idea of your own mother forcing you between her legs? You'd be so fucking lucky, son."
I couldn’t handle her words. Storming out of the room, I sprinted down the stairs to find Jules. He saw the look on my face when I rushed into the kitchen and immediately followed me upstairs.
"I'll take care of her, sir," he said, hurrying to unlock her for me. I couldn't touch her. "I'll start dinner at once. She will suffer."
"No," I said, from the corner in which I was huddled, my head in my hands. "I don't want her alive any longer."
There was a pause, but I couldn't look up. Thankfully, he'd shoved a rag into her mouth and taped over it.
"What are you thinking then, sir?"
"Cut her head off, shove it between her legs, and serve it to the guests that way."
"Yes, of course." He dragged her out of the room. Shefought him every step of the way. I could hear her in the hallway, her muffled screams bouncing off the wall. Only once it was silent again did I stand. I looked around the room, and rage filled me. I slammed my fists onto the chair she'd just been in, and I began to destroy the room.
I couldn't have any memory of her left in this room. I needed a fresh start. No more of my victims. I tore everything from the room, tossing it in the hallway for my staff to remove and replace. I collapsed on the floor, just as Jules entered to tell me the deed was done.
"Your mother is dead," he said.
"Thank fuck," I said, closing my eyes.
Now, finally, I was at peace.
