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“No!” I yell, and there is a slight flicker in Niklas’ eyes that I could have missed if I blinked.
“He needs to die, Suki.” The gun is still pointed at his head.
I am on my feet before I realize it. “No!”
“What the fuck do you mean?! He deserves to die!” The safety of the gun clicks.
“He deserves to suffer and only when his flesh has bled enough will he deserve to die. And his death is mine,” my voice echoes through the cold room and silence falls upon us. Niklas’ eyes glisten with victory and a grin paints his lips as he lowers the gun and clicks back the safety.
Confident, arrogant bastard. This was his plan all along. To push me.
“Table or cross?” The calm, warm, rough voice of the monster before me fills the sterile room. I look to the right at the metal table, then to the left at the St. Andrews cross, weighing in my options.
“Cross.”
Ten minutes, this is all the time it took for him to secure Adrien on the cross, but not before we stripped him, his naked body stretched hard against the metal. Niklas places a metal tub on the floor, pretty much between his legs and I wonder if it is there to contain the spilled blood. He steps back and I am too mesmerized by the view in front of me to look back and see where he went. Something is happening, not in the room, but within me. Something strange. Sweet. Beautiful. Something breaks. The demons howl in excitement and delicious shivers take over my flesh, filling me with a macabre anticipation.
There is a knot in my chest, a knot that has been there for years, one that is loosening up and I feel charged, my back straighter, my shoulders pulled back, my cheeks flushed, and my lips twitch—just on cue, Adrien opens his eyes. I smile.
His lids heavy, they slowly lift, uncovering his brown irises and I can taste the various stages his mind is going through. His eyes squint—confusion; his brows furrow—annoyance; his limbs twitch—anger; his eyes go wide—realization.
I am here, in this room with my nightmare, in this room with what will be my second victim, yet a rapture has taken over me, a beautiful, delightful haze. He starts talking, but I cannot hear him, his expression goes wild, a mix of fear and anger, his tone grows louder. He is shouting now, music to my fucking ears, slithers of fear run down my spine, but it is not my fear. My smile grows bigger and through the song playing in my head, I hear explicit lyrics he is singing and the knot in my chest unravels. And I laugh, tears running down my face as I finally understand what is happening to me.
My mother saw the demons in my eyes my whole life, she knew who I truly was and who I pretended to be and in that brief moment before her soul left her body, I saw it in her eyes—pride. And it disgusted me, because it meant that I was like her. Yet I could not deny it, that decadent pleasure I felt when the blade sliced her flesh, that morbidly satisfying feeling as her blood was pooling at her feet and in that moment, I could feel something. Something I rejected the second it exploded inside of me—an awakening.
I screamed, I bellowed, I cried. Cried for days because I unleashed the demons that lurked in my mind my whole life. That gnawing feeling that I was not who I was supposed to be. I unleashed them and I had to put them back, but how could I, how could I when I knew that by acknowledging them, acknowledging the pleasure her blood gave me, meant that I could never go back. Ever. Yet I sealed that awakening inside me, like a boulder sitting on my chest my whole life. I tied it up, knotting it so tightly because I knew I could never allow myself to be like her, like my mother. I could not lose myself to my unorthodox cravings. I was normal, I was going to live a normal life, have a normal job, a normal boyfriend. I was normal. I repeated that to myself like a mantra for years, until it felt real. And for a second there, maybe it was.
But I was wrong, I amnotnormal.
And I am also, most definitelynotlike my mother.
However, I fear that I am worse. She did what she did her whole life because she was mentally ill. I, however, I am about to finally embrace this awakening because it gives me pleasure. A morbid, sweet pleasure amplified by satisfying vengeance.
The song ends, my smile fades into a subtle grin and I know for a fact—I am ready. No more hiding who I am. No more pretending. No more torturing myself. Especially not here, where I can unleash the demons, not around Niklas. I turn my head around, enough to see him leaning against the far wall, his strong arms crossed in front of his chest, tattoos glistening in the soft, dim light, and he is grinning at me. A knowing grin, a victorious one. This is what he wanted all along, my awakening. He can see it now and I do not know what I appreciate more; the fact that he continuously pushed me to get here or that he gave me this gift, Adrien, for me to unleash it upon.
I return his grin and bring my attention back to Adrien. I have been quiet for a long time. During his angry, fear-filled song, I smiled, I laughed, I cried, and from the outside I probably looked like a crazy person. Inside… well, inside it felt positively insane, deliciously so.
“You stupid fucking bitch, what do you think you will do now? Take revenge? Kill me? Go ahead! Kill me then.” He has a disturbing grin on his face, one laced with fear and challenge.
I cock my head and watch his naked body, studying from head to toe. He is not a bad looking man. Tall, pretty nicely built, more of a swimmer’s body, really, fairly large cock dangling limp between his spread legs. There was a time when I was attracted to him, but now I loathe him. And in this moment, I am thankful because he is my gift and I cannot wait to unwrap him, one strip of flesh at a time.
“Kill me! It doesn’t change the fact that I broke you. I ruined you and even after you kill me, I will stay imprinted in your mind, between your fucking legs in that tight cunt of yours, and on your flesh. The memory of me will stay with you.” He looks towards my branded thigh and gives me his signature disgusting smile that used to make me cower in anticipation for what was to come, yet it does not affect me anymore, so I return the smile and his falters.
“Then, how about we make this memory better.” I smile and take a couple of steps forward. He is challenging me to kill him, because he knows he would not be able to withstand the torture he put me through, or the others before me. I see a slight shiver in his body and he spits at my feet.
“It’s already better,” I laugh at the fear emanating from him. I laugh at the fact that he has only known me as a scared, broken woman. I laugh at the satisfying thought that he is not aware of what secret my past holds and we are about to discover together what else I am capable of.
“I will not kill you, Adrien, not yet.” I turn around and head to the table that holds a few interesting instruments. There aren’t many, Niklas tends to be a simple man when it comes to his tools because his imagination prevails. He enjoys the manual labor and I could not agree more with him in this particular moment. He stands a couple of feet behind the table, still leaning against the wall and he does not interrupt me. Just watches me intently. I pick up each instrument, one by one, turning them over on both sides, analyzing them, seeking inspiration. I see three saws of assorted sizes and inspiration hits me and my smile goes wide. I made a vow to myself on the porch of this house with Niklas kneeling at my feet. I made a vow and I intend to keep it.
There are more on the table: a few knives, small, large, serrated, some quite dainty, lighter fluid, a lighter, pliers, forceps, gags, and a long, narrow piece of fabric. I smile, pick it up and hand it to Niklas.
“Would you mind?”
He does not respond, just keeps that sexy devious grin on his lips as he pushes away from the wall and takes the fabric from me. I would have done it myself, but I am short and Niklas can reach better.
“Mouth open, please. I want to hear him scream, but I would prefer him not spitting on me.” He nods as he obliges.
I hear Adrien shouting at Niklas in the background, but I do not listen to what he has to say. I pick some instruments and put them on a large metal tray sitting on the table. I carry it with me and walk slowly towards the St. Andrews cross, and as he catches the glistening shine of the instruments I have laid out for him, he almost pisses himself. Drips fall into the metal tub beneath his feet and now I understand its purpose. People shit themselves when fear takes over, people shit themselves when they die as well.
