Epilogue
The broken porch light flaps in the wind. Hanging by a single wire, it flickers, illuminating the chipped, green paint on the siding of my momma’s single-wide trailer. A shiver snakes up my back. All the lights are off inside. But I know he’s here.
“You sure you want to do this? I can go in and take care of it.” Punk stands next to me in the dirt, dressed in all black, his face concealed beneath a glow-in-the-dark mask.
I nod but keep my eyes trained on the front door. “I need to finish what I started. He took so much from me…”
“It’s quiet out here, Roxy. There’s no one around for miles. We can take our time. But you still need to put this on. Just in case.”
A rush of adrenaline courses through my veins when he hands me my doll mask. I put it on without hesitating. It feels like armor. I become the mask. The broken doll who’s had enough.
“ Good girl ,” he whispers in my ear. “Now we can play.”
Every night, my momma heads into town for her overnight shift at the motel. And my step-father spends that time drinking himself into a blacked-out stupor. When I was a kid, I’d hide in the woods until I saw the headlights of her rusty pickup truck round the final bend of the dirt trail.
I clench my fists as I remember him flying out of the trailer when he’d hear the clank of the truck door slamming shut. I’d creep closer, hiding in the bushes, scared and angry that I was too small to help her. He’d slap her around and then take whatever tips she’d earned that night.
As I got older, my anger turned toward her. Because she wouldn’t help herself . And when I got tits and curves, his attention turned toward me…
“It will all be over soon, pretty girl. He will pay his penance owed to you.” Punk wraps my hand around the hilt of his serrated hunting knife. “Make him squeal like the pig he is.”
That same terracotta planter still sits on the porch, dead flowers and weeds drooping over its sides. I kick it over to find the spare key right where I left it. I hold my breath as I turn it in the lock. The door creaks open on its rusted hinges, but the monster inside is too drunk to notice.
Punk heads in first, using his body as a protective shield. I draw in a sharp breath as that familiar scent finds its way to my nostrils—cheap beer, cigarette smoke, and dirty laundry. I almost vomit inside my mask.
I creep around Punk to get a closer look at the remnants of my childhood. The prison that I traded for another when I failed to put him down. I won’t make that mistake twice.
He’s in his favorite spot, an old brown office chair that he stole from a yard sale. His sweaty pot belly hangs over the waist of his boxers. I inch forward, possessed, thirsty for blood. The light from the moon streaks over him, highlighting the scowl that never leaves his face. Not even when he sleeps.
I take my time zip-tying his ankles. Then I do the same to his wrists, binding them to the arms of the chair he loves so much. The one he’s about to die in.
“Careful,” Punk whispers.
I nod and press the tip of the blade to his neck. “Wake up, asshole.”
Punk slaps him across the face.
His eyes fly open, widening when he sees the doll-faced figure staring back at him. “What the fuck?”
“Did you miss me, Hank?”
“Roxanne? You stupid bitch.” As he jerks forward, Punk grabs his shoulders and pulls him back against the chair.
“Shhh. No one can hear you. Remember?” I drag the tip of the blade across his heaving chest. “Isn’t that what you used to tell me when I cried?”
His gaze shifts to Punk. “This bitch is crazy. You can’t believe anything that comes out of her mouth.”
Punk thrusts his thumb into Hank’s right eye. “Call her a bitch one more time, and I’ll fucking blind you.”
Hank’s gurgled cries exude the stale stench of liquor on his breath.
“Not yet, love. I want him to see what I do to him.” My belly flips with excitement. I trace the blade over his cheek, lapping up some of the blood that drips from his eye. I relish the purple bruise that’s starting to form under it.
“You’re going straight to fucking jail again, Roxanne. But this time you ain’t getting out. I’ll make sure of it,” he slurs.
I tilt my head to the side, wishing I could see myself through his eyes. “I think I’ll start with your fingers first. They’ve been very naughty.”
A rush of adrenaline surges through me when I slice into his index finger. Punk covers Hank’s mouth as he screams. I take my time sawing through the bone. “There. Only nine more to go.”
Hank’s face pales, and he slumps back in his chair. “I’m sorry. Please stop. I promise I’ll never touch you again.”
I snicker and repeat the process to his middle finger. “It’s too late for that.” His screams are deafening as I chop off his ring finger. “I didn’t come here for apologies. I came for blood. For vengeance. For penance .”
I don’t stop until his hand is nothing but a bloody stump. I am not Roxanne Luna anymore. I’m not even Roxy right now. I’m Punk’s disciple. I’m JillChick22. I’m the doll he ripped apart at the seams. But each pound of flesh I take, stitches another piece of me back together.
“He’ll black out before you finish his other hand. Time to end this, pretty girl,” Punk commands.
I nod in submission. But not out of weakness or lack of control. But because Punk is the only man I’ll ever submit to. I’m his sacred vessel. The light that his darkness is safe to roam in. Both our broken pieces fit together like a mosaic that’s been hidden for centuries. His fragments are mine, and mine are his.
I point the tip of the knife to his throat, pricking his skin. “Any last words, Hank?”
He glares up at me with his one good eye. “You’ll never be anything else but daddy’s little whore. You filthy fucking—”
Punk yanks my wrist forward, plunging the knife into Hank’s throat. “That’s about enough out of you.” We do it together, slicing through until the tip of the blade exits the back of his neck.
My body goes rigid, my muscles stiff, as I watch the beast of my nightmares die in front of me. “And you’ll always be dead,” I whisper in his ear.
When his head slumps to the side, Punk helps me pull the knife out. It’s not as easy as it looks on TV. There’s so much tissue to cut through.
He takes the knife from me and sets it on the coffee table. Then he gathers me in his arms. “Jack is so proud of you, Jilly girl.”
As my adrenaline plummets, I start to shake. “I-I did good, right?”
He takes off his mask and nudges me back against the coffee table, forcing me to sit down on it. “You were magnificent. My beautiful angel of death. You deserve a reward. Lay back.”
A spasm flickers inside my cunt. Oh fuck. “You mean… here?”
He kneels between my legs and pushes my dress up to my waist. “Yes. In this place of death and rebirth.” He slides my panties off and spreads my thighs. “Now, I’m going to baptize you with my tongue.”
He peels my pussy lips back and licks me from taint to clit. Over and over again like a cat lapping at a bowl of milk. I thrust the bloody knife into the coffee table, using it as an anchor. I squeeze the hilt for dear life as Punk flicks against my clit then back down my slit again.
“Fuck,” I cry out. “Why does that feel so good? Fuck.”
“Shhh, let me sanctify you,” he coos as he continues to stimulate every nerve in my pussy with just the flat of his tongue. He pinches my pussy lips back with his tattooed fingers. There is nothing gentle about this. Nothing sweet. It’s raw and carnal.
My hips buck as my orgasm ignites deep inside my core and spreads like wildfire. I cum hard, screaming as I shatter and squirt all over his tongue. He laps ferociously at my cream, like a rabid animal who’s been starved for days. I grind into his mouth, stretching out every agonizing spasm while the corpse of my monster lies bloody beside me.
My heart beats so fast I can barely breathe. Punk pulls me upright. “And from the ashes, she rises, glorious, transformed, and full of fire.” He kisses the lips of my plastic doll mask.
I wrap my arms around his neck. Something has changed in me. Altered. It’s a high unlike any other. “I would die a thousand deaths to feel this way again.”
He grins back at me. “Let’s play a new game then. Who else has hurt you, pretty girl?”
I push my mask up and gasp. He’s giving me another gift. “My ex. After I destroyed my knee, I caught him fucking the girl who took my place on the dance team. He dumped me a few days after I lost my scholarship. He said I wasn’t useful to him anymore.”
Punk’s eyes darken. A flicker of hunger, disease, and amusement contort his features. “Let’s go. I can’t wait to meet him.”
I throw my arms around him again and sigh against his chest. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He holds two fingers to my lips, and I obey without hesitation. I don’t need words to know what he wants. When I open my mouth, he presses down on my tongue and slides his fingers to the back of my throat.
“You will never be without me, pretty girl… Every Jack must have his Jill.”
I gag on his fingers as we lock eyes. We are fated. Star-crossed lovers destined to find each other. Like Romeo and Juliet. Except instead of dying for love…
We kill for it.
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