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It worked like a charm, as she was now fast asleep at one in the morning. I stand over her in her room after I cut their alarm system and let myself in. She looks so peaceful. I look around her room, taking my time while she sleeps. I make a mental note of everything. Things she has that look most important to her, a raggy old doll she must have had since she was a little girl and pictures of her and Cindy.
I make my way back over to her, and when she turns under her covers, she faces me, still fast asleep; the covers fall down her stomach, exposing her breasts in a loose tank top. How subtle and amazingly plump they are.
With the sedative in her system, she will be out cold until morning. So, I take it upon myself to scratch the itch. She may not know me, but her body will remember me after tonight.
I caress her breasts in my hands and squeeze, making sure to replace the yellowing bruises left by Parker with my own branding. I smile sadistically as I make my way down her body, removing her comforter, and am pleased to see her in pajama shorts. Reaching my hand between her thighs, I find her pantyless. I squeeze and grab and mark her inner thighs as hard as I can. That’s when I noticed that her arousal was beginning to drip from her center.
She lets out a moan from her slumber, and I go weak in the knees. The power she has over me. She could ask the world of me, and I would burn it all down for her. I would accept every demon of hers as my own. There is no part of her I do not want.
I look around her room to see if she has any toys for her pleasure and find nothing. I look around to see if there is anything I can use, but fall short and place my hand on my 1911 pistol. I know exactly what to do. I unlock it from its holster and make sure the safety is on before I swipe my two fingers deep inside her folds, coating them in her sweetness. I then rub it along the barrel of the gun and stick it in my mouth, licking some off and coating it with my saliva.
I gently slide the barrel of the gun into her pussy, and when she squirms, twisting her hips so she could allow more of the pistol in her, I know she is as hungry for me as I am for her. I move the barrel in and out of her, massaging her inner wall, coating her with death as I have used this weapon many times before to bring people to their knees and their ends. She is my little canary, but tonight, I am her grim reaper.
I can see the restlessness on her face. She wants to come in her sleep. I wonder what she is dreaming about. Is she thinking of one of them or a masked man in the shadows giving her this moment of bliss? If only she knew how often I dream of her. How she haunts me.
I deny her the satisfaction of coming on my gun. If she is going to come, she is going to be awake and begging me for it. I pull out my death bringer and once again place the barrel in my mouth and savor her sin.
I place the pistol back into my holster and decide to leave a little remembrance that I was here. That I own her. I take out my pocket knife. It's an open skull skeleton with a claw wing blade, and as I take the tip of the blade to her skin, I am hypnotized by the blood my carving brings. A simple W is left on her bikini line. I take the blade and coat my lips with her crimson.
“Fuck” I let out in a growl.
forty-two
abigail
Iwakeupwithwhat feels like a massive hangover. I’m groggy; all I want is food—eggs, sausage, pancakes, and mountains of bacon. I don’t remember the last time I was ever hungry like this.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed to get up but am stunned by the pain. It’s everything. My body hurts like I wrestled an alligator. I reach down below my bed sheets and rub my legs. I can’t remember my dreams now; years of trauma had suppressed that ability when I was a little girl I could. I would dream about being able to fly and run super-fast, so much so that I would wake up and my legs would be sore. But this is not like that.
This is an agonizing pain.
I rip back the comforter, and bruises cover my hips and thighs. New ones have replaced bruises that were once fading from Parker.
Did I do this to myself? How could I?
A dark red spot on my shorts grabs my attention. I had my period earlier this month; I’m not due for another week or so. What the hell? Besides that, it's not anywhere near where a period stain would be.
I reach below, tugging my hemline down, and I gasp.
An open cut is along my bikini line. I jump to my feet and rush over to my full-length mirror to get a better look, and there it is—a cut in the shape of two triangles coated in dried blood.
“What the fuck?” My fingers shake as they hover over the carving. I whirl around my room. I couldn’t have done this to myself. And if I didn’t do it—what the fuck happened?
I peer over my body at bruises in random spots, some covering my old ones and some in new places, all on their own. I know I am a restless sleeper, but there is no way I did this to myself.
Parker barges through the door as I pull my black robe over my body and tie a knot around my waist. “What the hell is your issue, Abigail?” He tosses a new lightbulb at me.
“Good morning to you, too, sunshine.” My sarcasm is not lost on him.
“You really hurt Colin last night. I have never seen that guy more torn up.” He grabs my assignments from my nightstand and places them in his book bag.
“What, no breakfast?” I ask, my stomach growling.
“Good girls get breakfast, not girls who act like a bitch to their friends when they are just trying to look out for them. The other guys might take this, but I won't. You need to apologize to him.”
I glare at him. My attitude is about to vomit out of me, and there is no controlling it. “And what if I don’t?”
He slowly walks over to me, lightly tracing the fabric of my robe, “Then I’m not touching you again until you do, bunny.” He walks back out without so much as a goodbye.
