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The follies of love.
The violence of lust.
He gestures to Lik with his chin, and I feel the latter settle on the other side of the table by my feet. I can’t see him because I’m unable to sit up; Simon’s dead body is still crushing me into the table.
Then, they move him. One grabs his legs, the other his armpits. Finally. I heave a breath into my deflated lungs. I try to sit up, but Sam’s hand is already in my hair, pulling me back down. I’m naked, covered in blood, completely exposed. A shyness comes over me even if I know they both saw everything last week.
It was different. Rachel was here, and I was doing it for her and the pleasure she was bringing me. I was in another state, with lust and love running through my veins then.
I cross my legs and bring my arms across my chest since I know I won’t have the strength to untangle Sam’s fingers from my strands. I still manage to turn and look at Simon on the floor.
Guilt floods me. He didn’t do anything wrong.
“What did you do,” I croak. “He…he was a good guy.”
Sam chuckles above me. “Me?” He pats my head with his free hand. “I didn’t do anything, Rose. That was all you. Sacrificing a man with the aim to hurt me.”
He squats so his lips are in my ear. “Because that’s why you did it, isn’t it? You wanted to show me you’re free to do whatever you want. You wanted to make me jealous. You wanted revenge because Rachel slipped from your fingers and right into my palm.”
“Fuck you!” I rage. I kick and twist, attempting to free myself aimlessly.
Lik even grabs my legs to make sure I can’t move anymore.
“I didn’t think you would kill him, you fucking bastard.” My jaw is tight with frustration, words barely filtering through my gritted teeth.
“That’s what you do, isn’t it?” He gets up again. “You use everyone as you see fit. Women are for your gratification, and men are tools for revenge. I am done pretending I don’t want to kill every motherfucker who looks at you, Rose. I am done keeping you safe from me.”
There is a certain acceptance in his words. An irrevocability to them. His tone is firm but not too firm. He’s not trying to convince me or scare me. It’s not even a warning. A warning is so you can attempt to stop something, to protect yourself from it. There is no more protecting my being from Sam.
He wants me. All of me. And he will have it.
It starts in my guts, spreads up my chest, tickling my lungs with a need to scream. It rasps up my throat, squeezing my vocal cords. And it settles at the back of my mouth, tasting acidic.
The fear.
Because I genuinely see it in his gaze, luring above me and ready to pounce; that sick need to hurt me.
That’s how Sam loves. That’s how he expresses his passion and lust. He hurts, he carves, he marks. He bites and bruises. He makes you entirely his until you’re just a poor creature begging for his mercy. And in all that, he makes it feel too good to want it to stop. Or so I’ve always understood.
He sees the fear enveloping my body, seeping through every pore in my skin. Mainly, he must see the reluctance in my eyes. He feeds off of it.
I’m not ready, my eyes say when my lips can’t move.
I’m not ready to break the protective bond he had over me. I’m not ready for him to destroy my entire being, my spirit. I’ve always wanted safety and support from him. I don’t know if I can take the devastating lust.
He sees it all. My prayers, my calls for him to slow down and let me take it at my own pace.
And he smiles.
That’s when I understand, my fate is sealed.
So I scream.
Before he even touches me, I scream at the top of my lungs, bathing the room with my terror.
He grabs me under my armpits, locking me in his arms. Lik captures my legs, exactly like they had Simon. His blood is still covering me, the first layer half-dried by now.
Without a word to the other, they carry me to the bedroom. They’re a team, they know what they’re doing even if they’ve never done it before.
