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Mother calls out my name as I retreat up the stairs, the fury and fear lacing her voice rattling the walls until I shut them out with a slam of the door. Inhaling, I cast my gaze around the kitchen, overlooking the mess from last night. Had I not been ordered into my room, I would’ve had to scrub and scour this room spotless. That seems to be the only time Mother enjoys my blood, when it shines brightly against pristine white tile.
Kicking a fallen piece of food off to the side, I amble to the opposite end of the room, eyes fixed on the wooden block sitting on the counter. When Mother came back for me, dragging me from my uncle’s door to the broken-down car with her nails digging into my skin, I felt myself shatter into pieces. For the first two weeks, I don’t remember being home. All that filtered through my mind was the agony of being torn off my uncle's leg as I clung to him and the emptiness I felt inside. I was so desperate for the sensations he created inside me that I didn’t think when I grabbed the butcher knife. I didn’t consider the damage I would do to the veins in my arm, and I didn’t feel it when I sliced them open. Not the pain, anyway. All I felt was him again. My mother knew that, so she hid the blades away for a while. But here they are now.
Fingering the black handle, I slowly draw it out, admiring the shine of the stainless steel knife. I toss the blade between my palms, testing the weight of it before deciding against this one. I like chef’s knives, but this one doesn’t feel right for the occasion.
My skin rises with goosebumps as the hiss of the blade hitting the block reaches my ears. Had this been an average day, I might have stayed a while, repeating the sound until it clamored in my mind, but I have people waiting on me.
Quickly, I take inventory of all the knives in the block, shoving them away when none of them meet my requirements. I consider the cleaver for the longest. Grasping the hilt, I hold the edge up to the light, watching the rays bounce across the room before pressing it against my skin to test the sharpness of the blade.
Sighing, “No,” I toss it onto the countertop, irritated that this doesn’t come as easily for me as it did my uncle. We’re family. This is in my blood. So, why do none of these blades feel right? Becoming overwhelmed, I start rifling through drawers, knowing there has to be something my mom keeps hidden away.
The frustration in me grows as I throw useless objects out of the cabinet, listening to them ping off the walls and onto the floor. Nearing the end, my fingers wrap around a cold, rectangular piece of metal. I’m unsure what it is when I hold it up to my eyes, but then the thinnest blade glides out.
Centimeters away from my eye, I admire the tip of the box cutter, instantly drawn to how fine the point is. Like the others, I apply it to my skin, drawing it up the flesh of my thigh. The blade cuts through me with no hesitation, slicing open my tissue with just enough sting to make me smile.
I found it.
Retracting the blade, I tuck the cutter into the waistband of my panties, savoring the shiver that ripples against my skin. I can’t stop myself from touching it over my shirt as I make my way back down the stairs. I need to feel it. Harness all my energy into it before I make it back to them.
From the top of the stairs, I take in Mother’s shivering form, pleased when I see her stare still fixated on Jim’s corpse. Her tears have dried. What a relief because they were fake, to begin with. But, of course, they start again once she spots me there, big, fat crocodile tears pouring from her sockets, threatening to drown me in her false sorrow.
“You know, I pretend to care, too. About me. About you. But what I feel for my uncle, that’s real.”
“No, Maude,” my mother exasperates. “That isn’t real. It’s fucking sick. You’re fucking sick.”
Stopping on the other side of Jim, I peer into her gaze. It’s funny how quickly her eyes have sunken into her skull. It didn’t even take a day in here for her skin to turn a sickly shade of grey and the fight to disappear from her muscles. It’s sad, to stare at her and not see any of me or my uncle reflected back. It’s like she’s not a Greene at all.
Choosing not to respond to her insults, I move to stand over Jim, taking in his stillness before slowly falling to my knees. There’s not a sound to be heard in the room but the rise and fall of our chests. Mother’s is rapid, her heartbeat bouncing off the walls, colliding into me with such ferocity, I can’t help but be rocked.
“Are you watching?” I ask, needing every ounce of her attention on me when I slip the sliver of the box cutter out of my panties. She doesn’t know what to make of it at first, staring at me with confused, worn-out eyes, but it only takes a second of me holding Jim’s right hand for her to put the pieces together.
“Maude… Maude, don’t you fu—”
“You really know how to pick them, Mom. Jim here, he loved touching me. He did it all night long with this finger, right here.” I hold it in my fist, giving her a tight wave with the rigid digit. It hardly moves. Rigor has well been set in, making him stiffer than the cock he fucked me with earlier. Thinking of that, I rub my center over his groin, letting out the softest chuckle when I feel it’s nothing but dead, empty flesh.
Quieting, I tilt my head, feeling my hair brush against the bruises on my neck. “He isn’t here to show you how good it feels to be loved. So, please believe me when I say I’m sorry that it has to be done this way.” Before she has a chance to protest, I swipe the blade up, shivering at the sound of its hissing. The savory sound continues as I push the steel as high as it can go. She watches it with a fixed, steadfast stare. Silently, I thank her for that. I wouldn’t want my mother to miss the shine of the silver before I bring it to rest against Jim’s cold skin.
The sloped edge fits perfectly in the space between his knuckles. I hardly have to move to press it nicely against the bone. Through the pounding in my ears, I hear the beginnings of Mother’s pleading. It isn’t loud like before, not full of harsh, spitting slurs. Her pitiful mewls remind me of my first night with my uncle. Sighing, I relive those memories, slightly saddened that she won’t get to see what I do. This experience won’t even come close to what he gave me. But maybe a glimpse is all I need.
The first slice of the blade leaves me disappointed. I had hoped for blood, but all of it has pooled to his back. I see the deep blackish-purple puddling against his skin, leaving me nothing as I saw his flesh to the bone.
Each rock of the blade ricochets up my arm, causing my muscles to spasm and shake. My jerky movements ruin what should have been a clean cut, stripping the flesh off the bone in ragged, irregular pieces. I watch the skin come apart with my tongue trapped between my teeth, doing my best not to make more of a mess than I already am. It’s a difficult process with his stiffened muscles. They make it a challenge to get to where I need, but once there, it’s not hard to snap the bone with the sharp ridge of the blade.
“Look at that,” I mutter, holding the now-detached finger up to the light. “I thought it’d be harder.” Giddy, I extend the digit toward her, wiggling it faintly to bring her attention up instead of on his fragmented hand. Disgust replaces the shock on her expression as she takes in the broken piece, turning her a putrid green moment before the contents of her stomach spill to her right. I don’t move as the splatter touches the tips of my toes, content to gaze at the yellowish bile as it covers other various stains from my time down here.
After she finishes retching, I throw my leg over Jim’s torso, crawling on my hands and knees to my mother’s quaking limbs. I never noticed the speckles of green dotting the inside of her ocean eyes, but as I slither up her form, resting my pelvis on hers, I can’t help but find them beautiful. Lifting my free hand from my side, I twirl the end of her hair around my finger, observing the coarse strands before moving to stroke through the roots.
“Shh. Shh. Don’t worry,” I whisper once soft whimpers vibrate up her throat. “I’ll make all this go away.” Mother flinches as my nails scrape against her scalp, shocking her back into the moment with a ferocity that lashes against my skin.
“You stay the fuck away from me! Don’t you fucking touch me, Maude! Don’t you fucking touch me!” I take her punching, clawing, and smacking with tight lips as I was trained to do. It doesn’t bother me. It hasn’t since I was a child. But Mother has to know she isn’t in charge here. She doesn’t make the rules anymore. The only rules I’m following now—
“Okay, Mother. I won’t touch you.” —are his.
CHAPTER NINE
My body grows warm as a calm detachment settles inside me. Mother continues swinging at my face, chaotically throwing her fists around while I rise from her lap. I don’t think she notices my absence, too busy shrieking for help with her eyes closed. Unphased, I tuck both the box cutter and Jim’s finger back into the waistband of my panties, ensuring they’re fixed in place before strolling to the edge of the room.
The cuffs on the wall aren’t the only chains at my disposal. Connected to the water heater only a few feet ahead, two more shackles are evenly spaced apart.
