I shake my head. “You’re not. You’re just a weak pussy little bitch who liked hurting people who couldn’t fight back.”
He tries to speak. His mouth works around broken bone and split skin. Nothing useful comes out.
I lean in a little closer. “You’re not who you thought you were. And you’re definitely not who I thought you were.”
I yank him upright again when he starts to slump.
“Not yet, bitch,” I chuckle against his ear. “You’re staying awake for this part.”
He twitches in my grip, blood coating his face, soaking into his shirt, painting the floor. He earns this. Every fucking second of it.
“Here’s what’s going to happen next,” I tell him. “Your body’s about to get real confused. Shock’s knocking on the door, but we’re not letting it in yet.”
I stab him low. Not deep enough.
He howls and arches against the chair.
“That one won’t kill you, painful though.”
Another stab.
“I’m avoiding anything important. See, I want you to last. Your body’s going to start shaking soon. Muscles firing without permission. You’ll feel cold even though you’re bleeding everywhere.”
His legs twitch. Then they stop listening to him altogether.
I feel it when his strength drains. The fight leaks out of him as his nervous system misfires. His breaths hitch, then stutter, like something inside him is unplugging piece by piece.
I straighten, letting him slump at last, his body folding in on itself as the shock finally starts to settle in.
I don’t rush the next part. I’ve got time.
I crouch next to him and slap his cheek.
“Hey. No naps yet, champ. We’re just getting started.”
He flinches. Useless, blind reflex. I watch the muscles in his jaw seize up. He wants to scream again, but he’s saving it. Or maybe he’s lost his voice with all the fucking screaming already. Either way, I’m not done.
“Now, your liver’s here.” I jab the blade into his right side. Not deep. “Not touching it, don’t worry. Wouldn’t want you bleeding out too fast. But the nerves in that area? Fireworks. You’re about to fucking feel them.”
He tries to move. I drive my boot into his knee. He shrieks.
“Your body’s going into shock,” I explain. “You’ve lost so much blood, your organs are going to stop functioning. But don’t worry. You’re not quite there yet.”
I sit him up, grab his other hand and stretch his arm out straight. I plunge the blade through the meat of his back, twist it, and pull. Muscle separates. A scream tears out of him.
He starts coughing. His own blood floods his mouth and sprays the floor in strings of red.
“Your body’s fighting to stay awake. It thinks you still have a chance. Spoiler alert: You don’t.”
I tilt his chin toward me. What’s left of his face is an oozing mess. Blood slicks his cheeks, his nose, his open mouth.
“I want you to know why you’re dying? You’re dying because you are a pathetic piece of shit. You thought you could hurt her. You thought you were invincible.”
He moans. That’s all he has left.
I stab him again. Below the ribcage this time.
“Wrong,” I whisper. “You’re just a corpse now.”
