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I scream at the top of my lungs, awoken by acute pain.
Everything is on fire. He kept hurting me while I was unconscious.My arms are tied behind my back, and I'm lying down on the floor. The scarred monster looming over me smirks, holding a knife. I try to move, but he's sitting on my lap, pinning me down with the hand he's not using to carve into me.
There's already a half moon cut under my belly button, and he presses his knife against my skin again.
"Shhh. It'll be over soon."
That's exactly what I fear.
I scream again as he slices twice, marking an invertedV.
It burns. I cry, beg, and scream for help as loud as I can.
"We're gonna match," the man tells me, cheerfully. "Wanna see?"
He tugs his sweater above his abs, revealing more scars, along with a noticeable mark. Six letters, even and artfully drawn, like the person cutting it into him took his time as he wrote his name.
Camden.
Camden carved his name on his chest and he's doing the same to me.
"Your writing sucks," I rasp, feeling pressure on my chest when I speak.
He's killing me either way. No reason to be polite.
The punch is instant, coming on my right side. My ears are ring at the impact. I'm not going to make a pretty corpse when he's done.
"You know what, let's see if it's the only thing that sucks over here," he snickers.
Then he starts playing with his belt. He wants me to suck him off? Good. I'll bite his cock off.
He shifts over me to get to my face, and I immediately kick out my legs, trying to roll onto my hands and knees to get up, but slim as he is, he's strong. He keeps my throat down in an iron fist.
I'm reminded of the way Camden tightens his hand to choke me when he's deep inside me. How different it feels. I guess I had to live through actual abuse to really understand what it's like toplay.
When he pulls his pants down and reveals a tiny cock not even two inches tall, I don't giggle. Ihowlwith laugher.
"So that's why you're angry at the world? Your micro-dick?"
I don't even mind the punch that remark earns me.
"You could have tried being a nice guy," I sneer between my teeth. "Maybe learned how to use your hands and tongue. But no, you had to be a psycho."
I don't know why I'm egging him on. He intends to kill me and hurt me—badly—first. I guess I'm trying to make him stop one way or another, even though what that means is that he'll end this sooner. I can't take much more pain.
This isn't like the teasing slaps against my clit or ass. This is torture, and apparently, I'm too weak to take it.
"You fucking bitch!" He lifts his knife to strike, and I close my eyes.
They fly open again, as the deafening sound of a single gunshot reverberates through the site.
The monster's hand is still up in the air, holding his weapon poised to stab me, but there's a hole in his face, and blood trickles out of it at first, then starts to pour like water from a tap, dripping all over my face.
He falls on top of me, his dead weight crushing me. I scream, in horror and panic, as I detangle myself from the dead monster.
Then I sit, and I cry, so hard I don't see a thing. Moments ago, I was almost certain I was going to die. I figured Camden would get to the bottom of what happened and avenge me, but I never would have thought he'd get to me on time.
"Morgan?"
