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I must’ve not kept close enough to the wall as I paced, because my foot hit the corner of the long bucket that sat beneath the body. Just like that, I stopped pacing, my arms falling to my sides.
Gareth left me in here with his precious blood. Fuck that.
I moved to stand closer to the trough, and then I dropped to my knees. I set both hands on the cold steel, and then I pushed with all of my might. Even though it was dark, I could imagine the mess that would ensue, but I didn’t care.
Fuck this blood Gareth was trying to save. I’d make him regret leaving me in here.
The bucket was heavy—obviously, it was full of blood—but it lifted. It lifted and tipped over, spilling its contents behind it. The sound of the blood surging like water was one I’d never forget.
Once the bucket was empty, I picked it up and whipped it behind me. It clanged on whatever wall it had hit before bouncing off and falling to the floor. The blood that had spilled from the bucket seeped along the floor now, spreading evenly thanks to the level ground. I felt it ooze against my fingers, felt it wet my pants. I brought my hands up, rubbing my fingers together, feeling the wetness of the blood smear against my skin.
The blood was cold. So cold it hadn’t coagulated, it hadn’t gotten thicker.
A normal person might want to vomit if they were in my position. Then again, a normal person would never be in my position to begin with. I… wasn’t normal.
I sat back, leaning my top half down to the ground as I lay down, my eyes staring at the black ceiling. With no light at all, I couldn’t see shit, and yet I could imagine what I looked like, the state of the room, the amount of blood coating the floor and now me.
The human body really could hold so much blood. It was amazing when you thought about it.
I rolled onto my side, the cheek touching the ground also getting coating in blood in the process. My eyes closed. I couldn’t say how long I lay there in the blood, but it was a while. Hours, maybe. Or maybe it was only minutes, and time just was off inside that small, dark room. Either way, it was easy to imagine this wasn’t real, that none of this was really happening.
The blood would stain my hair. I’d have to re-dye it after getting the red out. The blood would stain my clothes, too. As it was, the room was so cold, now I was wet with all of the blood, it wouldn’t dry. I’d be stuck like this until I was let out.
IfI was let out.
No. Gareth had said as much. This wasn’t about killing me. This was about breaking me, breaking my mind, my mental state. He wanted to keep me. He wanted me alive. This was some sick, twisted game to him, a way to put me in my place, make me regret calling the police on him.
Hah. The police. What a joke. What good were police or sheriffs or whatever they were called here in this Podunk town when they were in the richest man’s pocket? I shouldn’t be surprised; that’s how this country was run, after all.
I thought about Gareth, about how smug and certain he was that I was perfect for him. How quickly his good mood could turn sour, how his green-eyed stares were like daggers in your heart. If the devil was an eighteen-year-old boy who murdered people while also going to high school, he’d be it.
I was so mad at him. I hated him. I really did—and yet, I found my mind wandering to places it shouldn’t. To the smooth planes of his face, to the squareness of his jaw and how his lips had felt on my neck… on mine. The way his hands could swallow me up, how they felt when they roamed over every single part of me.
Even though I was locked in a pitch-black room, covered in blood, a mess of my own making, my nipples were suddenly so sensitive to the fabric of my bra, like they’d hardened not because of the cold or the wet blood weighing down my clothes, but because I was thinking about Gareth.
I rolled onto my back again, trying to push away any thoughts of that vicious, cruel, killer boy. But, you know, the harder you tried not to think about something, the more insistent those thoughts became. I couldn’t not think about him.
The way he’d crept into my room, how he’d held me down. My body had reacted on its own, even though I’d fought him. Gareth had taken what he’d wanted from me, claimed me, made me enjoy it even though I shouldn’t have.
And the things he’d said when I’d grabbed the butter knife and held it against his neck…
My thighs squeezed together just thinking about it, thinking about the way his hard cock felt when it was buried inside me, how full I’d felt. Furious and hateful, yes, but oh so full. It wasn’t a bad feeling at all.
Before I knew what I was doing, I was toying with the waistline of my leggings. I didn’t have panties on, so it was all too easy to slip a hand along my body and touch myself the way he’d touched me before. I’d never touched myself like this, so I didn’t know what got into me, but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t pull my hand away.
My thoughts ran wild. There, in the dark, covered in the blood of Gareth’s latest victim, I slipped my fingers along the side of my clit and started to rub. My breathing hitched, my bare toes curling the moment my fingers took on a groove that agreed with the aching longing in my body.
It was a good thing no one could see me right now.
Then again, if I had an audience, I obviously wouldn’t be doing this.
I remembered the way Gareth had held me down. How he’d touched me. The way his cock had entered me like my pussy was its rightful home. The way the shadows had danced across his face as he’d taken up a rhythm that made me moan every single time his cock filled me up deeply.
I didn’t know what came over me. It was like I transformed into this other person, a greedy, desperate girl with a need to find a release. As my fingers rubbed my clit, my other hand snaked under my shirt, finding a breast and running over my perked nipple, sending tiny shockwaves of pleasure all throughout my body.
My hips began to rock in sync with my hand, grinding against it, as if searching for a cock to fill it. In all my life, I’d never felt such abhorrent desperation. In all my damned life, I’d never wanted something so badly.
What was Gareth doing to me?
