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“I’m sorry. Did you say something? I can’t—I can’t understand you.”
Leaning into his gaping, gasping mouth, I nod my head, pretending to listen to him cursing my name as my smile grows. “Did I ruin the mood? Is that what you want to say to me? We don’t have to stop, Jim. I was actually really beginning to enjoy you.”
I’m not worried when I let go of his hands. He’s too weak to hurt me now. Instead, it feeds something in me, watching the life bleed from his throat as I reach back, massaging his still-firm erection. Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed with the need tofeel.Without taking my eyes from his dimming ones, I lift, finally letting the moans pass as I slide onto his length.
Head thrown back, I rock against him, grinning as hot, heavy streaks of blood run between the valley of my breasts. Pressing my hands down harder on his heaving chest, I feel his heartbeat slowing. I ache to reach through the layer of skin, past the ribs that cage the dying organ, just so I can hold it as it goes. I bet it would be beautiful. I know my uncle would think so.
Thinking of him has me closing my eyes. Sighing, I slide my hands off Jim’s chest, reaching forward to tangle our fingers together before pressing them against my sticky chest. Like this, it almost feels like I’m back with him, that these are his rough-padded fingertips on my nipples, his hard cock stiff inside me. Even the blood, that’s more than familiar. When it wasn’t mine, it was someone else’s. But I never figured out whose.
It doesn’t matter. I loved it.
“Don’t you love it, Jim? Tell me this doesn’t feel fucking incredible.” His silence is the perfect answer. His unmoving form, a euphoric response. I ride that wave of pleasure until my toes curl, and the climax I held off earlier tips me over the edge. I don’t scream, not wanting to wake or alert Mother, so I bite my tongue, swallowing the blood dripping down my throat while my orgasm coats his length.
Breathing heavily, I roll my head forward, slowly opening my eyes to reveal a deceased Jim. I expect to feel wounded,scaredto see he’s gone, and I’m the reason. I prepared myself to overpower the potential guilt, but I’m pleased to see that it never comes. He was going to take me away, farther from my uncle than I already am. I couldn’t let that happen.
Still, I feel I should end this night the way I started.
Pretending.
“I’m sorry, Jim. I really,reallyhate to have hurt you.”
If my uncle were here, he would have told me not to lie. He hates that. And I would hate to disappoint him. It’s the only thing that makes me sick to my stomach, but I vow, speaking it into Jim’s empty, gaping mouth, that this is the last time. No more lies.
Now it’s time for Mother to know the truth.
CHAPTER SIX
It’s still dark by the time I finish cleaning the mess Jim made. I was as quiet as possible, searching the house for the disinfectant Mother hides away, still naked, covered in his drying blood. I ended up finding the sprays and bleach in the closet at the end of the hall. They were hidden beside boxes labeled “Tessa, age six.”
Curious, I set the products to my left and dug through the crates. There wasn’t much to look at; old photos, some books, and at the very bottom, clothes—torn, dirty, bloody kid’s clothes.
I stared at them for far too long, studying those deep splatters until my knees ached and legs went numb. By the time I put everything back in its place, I had conjured up too many visuals of how those stains had gotten there. Did she bleed for my uncle the way I had? The thought infuriates me. How dare she deny me when she’s received the same kind of love?
Howdareshe?!
That rage had me cleaning my floors until they were spotless, gleaming with my gruesome reflection. Jim was propped up in the corner of the room, watching me with unseeing eyes. I spoke to him off and on throughout my scrubbing and vented about what a heartless, cold bitch my mother was, how I saved him from her, and her soul-sucking personality. He actually made an excellent companion. For once, I didn’t feel so lonely. My heart didn’t feel as heavy.
I kind of wish I could have left him there. Then, maybe, if my idea doesn’t end up working, I’d have someone to talk to always. But it isn’t smart, and for this to work, I need to be brilliant.
Through all the sounds I made tonight, I’m surprised most that Mother didn’t wake for this one. Each thunk of Jim’s corpse hitting the stairs grows louder and louder. I ignore the pulling, fiery pain in my arms as his skull splits against the edges, leaving traces of blood and hair on the splinters of wood sticking out. I apologize after each step, making sure to keep my eyes on my footing instead of the emptiness in his stare. I’m grateful for the darkness surrounding us. I don’t want to see my reflection in his eyes. I’m not sure what I would see staring back at me.
Muted red droplets of sweat fall from my brow onto the concrete floor. They smear into thin strips as I drag Jim to the darkest corner of the room. Luckily, Mother is a hoarder, so he blends perfectly in between the ceiling-high boxes and random broken furniture. You can’t even see him, not unless you were looking.
Wiping away the moisture from my palm across my back, I stand to my full height and pull the switch to the lights above me. Finally, I take in all of Jim, or what’s left. In the heat of the moment, I didn’t realize all I had done. I figured it was a simple slice across the throat, that he died because he bled out. But looking at him—reallylooking at him—I see how wrong I was.
Absentmindedly, I run my hands up my arms, squeezing every notch of pain until I reach my shoulders. Is that why they hurt? Because I didn’t just slice his neck. I cut deep enough to see bone, and I dragged that blade down his chest, splitting his fragile skin in two.
Hands shaking, I place my fingers on top of my lips, tasting the blood left on my skin. My stomach coils at the flavor, twisting painfully until I retch at his feet.
“You taste nothing like love.” He sickens me, and my mother does as well. How could she think this could even come close to what my uncle offers? No one deserves such mediocrity in their lives. She’ll thank me later when I show her what real love can feel like.
That’s my thought as I flick the light off, leaving Jim to rest alone in the dark…“I’ll show you real love.”The same kind that Uncle gave me. It’s glorious; then, she’ll have no excuse to deny me what I’ve been begging for these past few years. She’ll need it, just as severely as I do, and then we’ll leave. We’ll go back, and I can be whole again.
Walking into my room is a different experience than it was before. Though it’s not there now, I can still see the blood puddling between the cracks. I’m stepping into it, spinning, twirling, and dancing, inching my way closer back to home. A giggle escapes me as I reach the end of my bed. I can’t believe I’mthisclose. I never thought I would be.
Silently, I squeal into the air, hopping on the tips of my toes while I slide my oversized white shirt back over my body. It doesn’t take long for the bleached material to stain red, but I pay it no mind. I think it looks kind of nice.
CHAPTER SEVEN
