Bones (La Douleur Folle #1)

Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Fifteen minutes. That’s how long it’s taken me to coax her to the fucking table, and I’m able to contain my livid feelings quite well. I intend to keep my word and let her live, but there are some alterations that are needed before I let her go, and I will not let her leave until I’ve been able to make them.

“There you go. Sit on the table facing me, please,” I say as patiently as I can. Her lips are trembling; they taunt me as they quiver, and I take pride in knowing that I can control my urge to use the shears to impale her against the table.

It would be an unnecessary thing to do, and I only act out of necessity.

“I want you to know something before I do this,” I say to her as I pick up the shears. “I’ve always had a distaste for what you do. Yes, I enjoy going there from time to time, but to have such intimate and beautifully tortuous moments come with a price tag is uncouth. No one should ever have to pay for experiencing a rapture as such.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, her lips trembling slightly harder, and I cringe.

“Your apology is well received. Now I need you to do your best not to scream,” I reply kindly as I put a hand under her chin. “And try not to move too much; God knows where these will end up if I slip.”

A blubbering sob escapes her mouth. I sigh and give her a stern look .

“I’m rather low on twine and don’t want to have to sew your lips together. Now please sit still.”

Priscilla closes her eyes tightly as I place the shears around the edge of her mouth. It should only take one snip ... Ah! Easier than I thought.

Her lips tumble down her chest and land on her lap—a bloody mess, but at least in their full respectable pieces. You should probably know that they look worse when they’re not connected to the rest of her face, but I’ll remedy this shortly.

I won’t look at her.

Not yet.

I don’t want to have nightmares of what a face looks like without lips attached. I imagine the hole that she spews her words out of are now baring her teeth and that’s enough for me. Looking at it would only serve to do one of two things: either I would vomit, or I would become engrossed in what she looks like and proceed to flay her .

But Priscilla doesn’t deserve that much attention from me, and I won’t give it to her.

“I should have put on gloves,” I say more to myself than her, with a chuckle. On the spool of twine, there’s a thick sewing needle attached. I’ve used it before and can appreciate the sturdiness of it.

Reaching down for what I’m assuming to be her lower, thin lip, I use two fingers to push it inside out before holding against the macabre spectate in front of me.

This is definitely going to give me nightmares and I don’t ever suggest trying it. Of course, that’s merely a suggestion. I would never dream of telling another how to work their craft.

She whimpers and grunts. I don’t know how those two sounds came out in unison, but that’s the only way I can describe it.

“Hold still, now. You’re doing so well,” I say softly as I begin to sew her lip against her face. I move quickly because the sight of her teeth, now bloody and mocking, are starting to stir the maelstrom in me.

Move faster.

My hands take on a life of their own as I grab her upper lip, turn it inside out, and quickly continue sewing. I step back and look, satisfied that I can’t see her teeth anymore, yet disappointed in the immediate swelling.

“Here,” I say, stepping toward her again. I pull out the last line of twine, hoping that I have enough, and begin to sew her lips together.

She’s whimpering and grunting again, and I grit my teeth. If she doesn’t stop making that fucking noise, I’ll use the shears to slit her throat, and that just won’t do.

“Be quiet,” I warn.

Two simple words cause such a change in her. She grips the edge of the table and closes her eyes tightly. She accepts the pain and seemingly understands that she has no place in a world such as mine.

A world of true pain.

A temple filled with sexual deviance, malice, symphonic undertones of death, and melodic hues of euphoria. This is where she failed to worship, and this is now her punishment.

“That should help with the swelling. Don’t remove the stitching for about two weeks and you should be okay. Also, I suggest you don’t go back to La Douleur Folle until you’ve healed. We wouldn’t want you to say anything that you’ve promised you wouldn’t,” I say in an even tone.

She nods and lowers herself off of the table. I smile at her, take her by the hand, and lead her toward the door. Luckily, it hadn’t locked, so I take it as a sign that Priscilla will honor her end of the bargain.

If she doesn’t, I’ll know where to find her. I’ll show her that what she’s experienced today for daring to come to my home with demands is nothing compared to the evil within that I fight every day.

The evil that waits for the one that truly deserves it.