10. Atlas
ATLAS
S ex after violence, or violence after sex. That seems to be the motivation for Callum for the last two years. His personal therapy to rid himself of the pain.
I stand in the shadows while he performs the ritual to banish his demons.
A ritual that doesn’t cleanse but increases his terror.
A ritual that I never muster the desire to end.
It unleashes desires that frighten and excite me.
I both loath and admire this side of myself.
The knowledge that I’m a monster, my father’s son, disgusts me.
Yet the power I feel from knowing I am capable of loving even in the darkest of spaces allows me to have some sort of notion that I’m capable of empathy.
Callum laughs as he stabs the dead man’s body. A sick joy fills his expression as blood splatters his face. He looks like a madman—possessed, tormented, and deranged. Wild gray eyes burn bright behind the mask of blood, now dried to rust with streaks of crimson.
“We’re going to leave her alone, Callum. That’s what you said, wasn’t it? Leave her alone so she can live her life, and we can finally be free.”
Callum’s lips curl up, his predatory teeth glimmering in the moonlight cast through the small window. “He deserved it.”
“Did he?” I step toward him. “He was an asshole without manners.” I glance at the pool of blood, the severed tongue, and the brutally maimed body.
Callum ignores my question as he stabs into the deceased man’s body, expanding his wounds to a gaping hole. “No one is rude to her and gets to live.”
I watch in fascination as Callum unzips his pants and unleashes his hard cock. He’s always aroused from violence. Sex is rarely tender anymore. It’s a destructive force that navigates how we physically love.
Callum shoves his cock into the stab wound.
“Oh, fuck,” he moans. “That’s so fuckin’ wet.”
I wish I could say his actions disgust me, but they don’t.
I am my father’s son, after all. That sick, twisted DNA runs through my veins.
Instead of stopping the depravity and helping Callum cure the disease that’s infested his being, I fuel the illness.
Standing before him, I watch with disgusting lust, taking in his thick cock penetrating the dead man’s flesh, lubricating himself with blood.
Callum’s head snaps back from the slap inflicted by my palm. “Open up.”
“I love how you try to be the sane one. The good one. But you’re a little freak just like me, Atlas.”
I smile down at Callum, captivated by his jet-black hair and pretty gray eyes. He’s a work of art. Such beauty. Such artistry. A masterpiece for the ages. God, the Devil, or whoever dreamed the idea of Callum, understood the true aesthetic of perfection.
I twist my hands in his shaggy hair, yank his head back, and spit on his blood-stained face. “Be a good boy, Callum, and do as you’re told. We wouldn’t want me to force you now, would we?”
Callum laughs as he raises his right hand, holding the crimson blade toward me. “I think it’ll be fun to fuck a bloody hole in your body, Atlas. Remember the first time you let me do this? These guys do the job, but there’s nothing better than watching my cum drip from your bloody stab wound.”
I answer him in silence because I’m incapable of forming words.
The two sides to Callum. One deranged and one bursting with compassion.
I never know which one I’ll get. I’ve consoled myself with the realization that it doesn’t matter because I love both parts of him.
The good and the bad. The angel and the demon.
Is this my warped devotion to God? Like the blind allegiance of my father’s disciples?
Because I’d bow down and accept Callum’s wrath if it meant I could bask in his splendor.
“Is that what you want, Callum? To fuck my wounds? Do you want to breed physical harm on my flesh to match the wounds on my spirit?”
Callum smiles as he lifts my shirt and trails the tip of the blade along the name scarred on my flesh. “I don’t know, pretty boy. Why don’t you cut the crap and tell me what you really want?”
“Fuck,” I groan as I slam my dick into Callum’s warm mouth. “You sound so much better when your mouth is full of my cock. I think I prefer you like this, Callum. Unable to speak.”
My head falls back, and I focus on the cement ceiling with its glaring fluorescent lights. This room is a construct to harbor our madness.
I thought I was finally free when Mona’s sister killed my father.
Callum and I could start something new without the weight of our past weighing us down, but we couldn’t do that because of her.
She burrowed into the deepest parts of us.
Parts we weren’t sure still existed. Spaces that were consumed with vacant memories of kindness suddenly became blaring beacons.
Confusion washes over me as I hold Callum down, forcing him to choke on my cock. My hands aren’t gentle. They aren’t kind. I relish dominating him. Yet even with this exaltation flowing through my body, my heart hammers wildly as I witness Callum gasping for breath.
Icy dread grips me: unspoken desire, a terrifying weight threatening to shatter my fragile composure.
Callum allows me to have something I desperately want but am too frightened to voice.
The unraveling of his mind reveals my reflection, exposing a terrifying image of my true self.
I can’t escape my situation even if I want to because I love the madness and desire the insanity.
There is comfort in my gilded cage, shrouded by the darkest shadows.
“I said nothing when you bought the building she lived in so you could install those security cameras in her apartment. I said nothing when you left at the crack of dawn and came home late at night so you could watch her at work. But I’m saying something now.
Your obsession with her will blow up our lives.
” The words hang heavy in the air, each syllable a hammer blow shattering the fragile remnants of our happiness.
I pull Callum’s hair, removing his mouth from my dick.
“It’s my life,” Callum croaks.
I shiver at the empty, methodical tone of his voice. A chilling stillness, consumed by anger and controlled rage, radiates within me. “ Our lives, baby boy. It’s our fucking lives. You think I have a life without you? You think I could breathe without you?”
Callum pushes the tip of the blade to the first scarred and raised letter on my skin.
It’s a reminder that while lies may slip from my lips, the truth is visible and permanent on my flesh.
“You want her, too. I see the way you watch the videos. Pretend all you want, Atlas, but I’ll always know you’re a liar. ”
I wrap my hand around Callum’s mouth, desperate to shut him up.
I don’t want to face what he’s revealing.
The truth he’s shoving down my throat is a bitter pill to swallow, like every other reality about my life.
“Maybe it’s my fault,” I spit. “Perhaps I should’ve kept you on a leash so you knew your place. ”
In a flash, I’m bent over the stainless-steel table Callum keeps in the garage.
My pants pool around my feet, and Callum chuckles in my ear.
“It’s so cute that you think you’re in control.
It’s only because I allow you to be, pretty boy.
You think you can keep me on a leash? No, baby, you’re my toy.
A toy I sometimes allow to get the better of me because I enjoy getting railed by your big, beautiful cock. ”
Pain registers me as two wet fingers slowly invade my asshole. “What are you doing, Callum?”
“I’m going to fuck you like the little dog you are, so you know which of us is the master and which is the pathetic, worthless bitch.”
Callum spreads my ass cheeks and spits directly on my asshole.
“Ah, this tight little hole, Atlas. It’s beggin’ for my cock to spread it nice and wide.
You want me to make it hurt, don’t you, my pretty boy?
You want me to stretch you until you cry for me, don’t you?
” More spit on my asshole before Callum penetrates me with two fingers again, working them in and out slowly at first before increasing his pace.
“This is going to hurt, baby boy. You shouldn’t have pissed me off when there’s no lube around.
Looks like all you’ll get is a little blood and spit. ”
My body is hurled around again so my cock is level with the dead man’s knife wound, the one Callum fucked earlier. “Better stuff your dick in that, pretty boy. It’ll hurt less when I fuck your useless asshole.”
My fingers tremble as my mind rages with want, disgust, and need.
“Put it in, pretty boy. Show me what a depraved little slut you are for me.”
Gripping my cock, I line it up with the bloody hole in the dead body. This should disgust me, but it doesn’t. There’s a perverse delight in the act. My eyes shut as my hips thrust forward, and I lodge my cock into the limp, lifeless body.
My body lunges forward as Callum slowly impales my ass. His rhythm is slow at first. His lips grace me with words of encouragement.
“Good boy. You’re doing such a good job taking me into this pretty fuck hole. I’m so proud of you.”
Stinging pain registers as he impales me, but it soon transforms into pleasure. This is how it always happens. My shame morphs into desperation and want.
“When you close your eyes, do you imagine you’re in her cunt? That it’s her, sleeping as you rail her?”
My eyes shoot open at Callum’s words. I turn my head to stare up at him.
“What is it, pretty boy? You thought I didn’t know that you creep into her room and shove your tongue deep into her pussy while she’s asleep?”
“No,” I croak.
My head is yanked back, and Callum’s spit falls from his lips, hitting me between the eyes.
“I know everything you do, you pathetic slut. Everything. I know you cum in your hand while you watch her over the monitors in the middle of the night. I even know about your collection of her used underwear. I might be a sick fuck, but you’re the pathetic little pervert. ”
Each degrading word Callum throws at me fuels my body with lust and longing. Increasing my thrusts into a sonata of humiliation and depravity until I unleash into a morbid laceration.
“See, Atlas?” Callum groans as he thrusts into me. “You’re a sick fuck, just like me. You’re obsessed, just like me. You’re insane, just like me.”
My body is pushed forward, my softening cock continually impaling the abrasion full of blood and my cum as Callum continues to fuck me, using my body like its meat, meaningless and made only to please him.
“That’s it, my pretty little cum dump. Take it all,” Callum moans as he holds my hips still and fills me.
When he finishes, he pulls me to him, kissing my forehead and caressing me like I’m the most valuable thing on the planet. “Such a good boy for me.”
I pull back, locking eyes with Callum. “I sent her food. She always forgets to eat.”
He laughs. “Did you sneak in groceries again? Was it a rouse to steal another pair of panties?”
“No. Persian food, this time.”
“I should turn her ass red for eating a delivery she didn’t order.”
I sigh, thinking about how Mona takes risks she shouldn’t, not just with eating the food I have delivered to her, but with her job. This situation we’re in can’t sustain us forever.
“We can’t keep doing this, Callum,” I whisper as I cuddle into his arms.
“I know.”
We let the knowledge of our depravity linger between us as I think about how I walked in on Callum a week before, hacking a man to death.
This obsession in him bringing out his most callous and maniacal instincts.
I want to pretend that I can shake off the shackles Mona Baran imprisoned me with, but the truth is, I can’t.
From the moment she came into our lives, I dove head first into the delusion that she craves us like we do her.
But reality tells me otherwise. I close my eyes, bombarded with my sickness and depravity, a disease that spreads like poison.
The first time I snuck into Mona’s apartment was when I discovered she took sleeping pills.
Apparently, the time she spent with us had seeped into her psyche and caused her to have terrifying nightmares.
That was the moment I knew she’d never want us.
Who would want the men responsible for their night terrors in their life?
Yet, knowing that didn’t deter me from wanting her, so I decided I would have her any way I could, even if it were through the dysfunctional act of watching her sleep.
At first, my visits were somewhat pure. I snuck into her apartment and sat by her bed while I watched her sleep.
But like any drug, the need to take more to maintain the high crept in.
That was when I discovered her panties. First, clean ones that I wrapped around my dick as I came while picturing her mouth on me.
Then, when that didn’t have the same high, I lifted her used panties to my nose and inhaled, pretending my head was between her legs.
But those moments ceased to be enough, and I was soon stealing her panties and bringing them home. I was always careful, taking one every three to four weeks so she wouldn’t notice.
Tonight, I took it further. I’m ashamed of what I did, but I don’t regret it. If all I can have are those fleeting moments, I’ll be content. They’ll have to sustain me because I know that a life with her will end me.
I touched her tonight. She looked so peaceful as I lifted the blanket and placed my nose on her pussy, licking her with the tip of my tongue. That fleeting, forbidden taste was like salvation, and I craved more.
To avoid waking her, I gently slid my fingers along her slit and into her pussy before bringing them to my nose and inhaling.
“Fuckin’ hell, you’re so sweet.”
When I placed my fingers into my mouth, my eyes rolled back, and I felt light-headed. I was hooked—a junkie.
From that moment, I knew I could never quit Mona Baran.