Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Paul looks at me with pure hatred. Yet, now the evil glaze that crosses his eyes doesn’t wreck me on the inside. It doesn’t make me hate myself, it doesn’t make me consider suicide. Instead, it makes me want to make him pay for everything that he’s done.
For the entire day, I’ve been slicing him up.
Only slicing deep enough to make him bleed, and to make it hurt, without causing him to lose too much blood.
He is sweating profusely, his shirt wet, his forehead coated in small droplets.
With a satisfied smile, I pull back, sitting down on the floor in front of him, tossing the glass aside.
Across his chest, I carved out my name. Just my name. That’s all that it needs, the blood dripping from the wounds. Fuck, it looks so good. It must hurt, too. I’ve experienced things in prison that were painful, but I can’t imagine what it would feel like to have someone slice me up like this.
I grab my phone, remaining silent for a few minutes.
That’s enough for him to start panicking. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I look up from the screen. “Looking up which body parts I can cut off your body without you dying.”
If possible, his face pales further. His eyes widen even more, and I think he’s trying to convince himself that I’m joking. But, I’m really not. Aside from the arteries Kaya told me not to touch, I have no knowledge of which body parts I could sever, without him bleeding to death.
Or, at least, bleeding out too quickly.
A whole ass day. I was so focused that I didn’t even notice the time passing.
He’ll start to get hungry soon, and if he passes out from hunger, it’ll prolong this more than is necessary.
I look back at the screen, finding some helpful advice on different platforms and websites, one finally catches my attention.
“Hmm,” I mumble. “This’ll do.”
Paul straightens in the chair, and his pants have holes in them from where he was clenching his fists, pulling on the fabric until he managed to poke holes through it. I scramble to my feet, contemplating what to do first.
Why not see the reaction of doing what Kaya said I should?
I move to behind the bar, opening every possible cupboard, looking carefully beneath the bar until I find it.
It’s a jar full of salt, likely used for tequila.
It’s old, stale, and I don’t think it would be safe to consume.
However, he won’t be eating it. With a grin, I walk back to him, the only sound that can be heard is my feet thudding against the floor.
He swallows thickly when he sees the jar of salt, and when I open it, grabbing a full hand of salt, he knows exactly what’s coming.
I shove the salt right into the name I’ve engraved on his chest, and he screams out like a little bitch.
Paul’s head falls back, his wails and screams soothing the nerves inside of me. Fuck, this is such a perfect sound. Fifteen-year-old Blair would be so fucking happy, I know she’d be proud of how far we’ve come.
“Oh, no,” I feign worry. “You just got louder. You know what that means, don’t you?”
“Please,” he croaks out.
His eyes swell up with tears, and I falter for a moment. It’s not me second-guessing myself, or even taking pity on him. It’s just pure shock. He was trying so hard to stop himself from screaming this whole time. I didn’t expect he’d cave and beg so quickly.
My heart is thumping in my chest loudly, ringing in my ears. I thought it would bring me satisfaction to hear him beg, to hear the word ‘please’ fall from his mouth. But… I don’t feel anything.
I’m past the point of needing him to hear him beg. I’m past the point of caring if he seeks forgiveness. All I need is his life, and I’ll take it without regret.
Just because his words no longer matter to me, it doesn’t mean I don’t want to play with him a little, have some fun.
“Oh? Was that begging I just heard?” I grin, grabbing more salt, coating my fingers with it, then shoving it deep into the wounds on his cheeks.
Paul’s eyes swell with tears, and as he struggles to hold him back. He screams in agony, causing chills to run down my spine. Oh, fucking hell. This is the perfect melody for my wrecked nerves, and he doesn’t even realize how pathetically good this sounds.
“Please,” his voice cracks. “You’ve had your fun.”
“Oh, I’ve barely even scratched the surface,” I chuckle. “You see, I wanted to take your tongue, I truly did… but… if I did that, then you wouldn’t be able to eat.”
He swallows, looking at me with suspicion. Tears overflow from his eyes, and he’s no longer able to contain himself. His cheeks are stained with blood, salt, and fucking finally, his tears.
Paul Simmons is crying because of me.
This tastes wonderful, the sight is one I’ll remember forever.
Fuck, I never knew revenge could make me feel so…
free, so seen and so fucking justified. The man who brought me nothing but pain, torture and nightmares is crying in front of me, begging to be released, just like a pathetic bitch that he is.
I pull back, reaching for one of the knives on the table.
“What are you going to do to me?”
He stutters, stumbling over his words. His voice is trembling, and when I turn back to look at him, I’m determined to get this over with.
I don’t want to play the game anymore. I’ve seen what I needed to see, I’ve heard what I wanted to hear.
Now, it’s time for the final two acts, it’s time for this man to finally taste what I have prepared for him.
I stand an inch away from him, before sinking to my feet between his legs. His eyes follow my every movement, widening comically when I put the handle of the sharp blade in my mouth, my hands working on getting his pants undone.
He’s trembling, and he looks like he’s about to throw up.
I push my hand into his underwear, pulling his limp dick out.
His eyes almost explode from their sockets, realization dawning on him.
He doesn’t know truly what I have planned for him, not really.
No one will see this one coming, and I’m so fucking happy I researched how far I could cut without causing him to bleed out.
With a grin, I take the knife back into my hand and stand up. Paul sighs in relief, though his eyes never leave mine. It’s a smart thing to do; because if he were to look away, I might be tempted to take out his eye just to keep his focus on me.
“What are you going to do?” The question is filled with apprehension, alarms going off in his head.
He doesn’t ask the question again, and I can’t help but notice the feeling of satisfaction that slowly rises inside of me.
My free hand cups the nape of his neck, forcing him to look up at me from his sitting position.
“Do you remember what you told me?” I ask, though I know it’s futile. The bastard definitely doesn’t remember. I keep my voice low, as menacing as possible, with the deep, dark promise that soon, he will die.
“What?” He whispers, the singular word laced with despair.
“Back when you used to shove your dick down my throat, forcing it as deep as possible, you told me to shut the fuck up and take it. Well, Paul,” I murmur, leaning in to whisper in his ear, repeating the words. “Shut the fuck up, and take it.”
The fear in his eyes feeds the dark satisfaction in me. The tip of my knife grazes his flaccid dick, and that’s when the bastard stops having full control over his body – he pisses all over the knife and himself, his body shuddering in shame, despair, and apprehension of the unknown.
Before he can say anything, I slice the tip of his dick off.
His reaction is immediate, and he screams, his body spasming in pain.
His mouth is open as wide as possible while he cries in agony, my heart skipping a beat in happiness.
I grab the sliced off part of his dick, and shove it into his mouth, forcing his jaw shut.
His pupils blow, a vessel popping. The pain etched onto his face, a permanent reminder of what I’ve just done to him.
“Don’t you dare scream,” I hiss as I backhand him. “This is all your own doing, Paul. It’s all your fault. So, you’re going to chew on your little dick, and swallow every single bit.”
I’m holding his jaw closed shut, and he has no other option but to obey my command.
His jaw moves under my hand, and pure satisfaction is on my face — I can see my expression in his eyes.
The madness is there, the monster he created is here to take his life.
The sinister grin doesn’t leave my face, even when I see his throat bob up and down, and the bastard really does it — he swallows the tip of his dick.
I move my hand from his jaw, grinning ear to ear.
Stepping back, I observe the mess I created.
The fresh wound is oozing with blood, his penis twitching.
His entire body starts jerking uncontrollably, his eyes glazing.
He makes an odd sound, and that’s when I step back. He’s choking, gagging, his cheeks puffing up. His face gets a deep shade of red, almost matching the blood that I spilled.
In the next moment, Paul vomits all over himself, and his wounded penis. I gag, wincing at the sight. The contents of his stomach fill his lap, in vibrant shades of orange and green, and I don’t even want to know what the motherfucker had as his last meal.
All of this lasts approximately five minutes, no more.
But he continues to spill the contents of his stomach all over the engravings I left on his stomach, his urine coating his ruined pants, completely soiling his underwear.
The smell is instant, and I’m forced to step back further.
Fuck, all of this reeks, and I have no desire to approach him.
His body goes limp, and he passes out.
With a sigh, I find an empty chair, shooting a couple of texts. I’ll allow him to get his rest now, because the final phase is happening as soon as his eyes open. He won’t know what hit him, and the moment he’s awake, everything will end.
Oh, Paul, your death is near.
A small, satisfied smile tugs on the corners of my lips when I fully soak in the moment. The rage is slowly leaving my body, I am saving the last of my rage for the grand finale. The man who wanted to be the president of the United States is now degraded down to a pathetic, whimpering mess.
And I did that.
I did that all by myself.
For the little girl in me who had nobody in her corner, she would be so fucking proud. And you know what? I’m proud of myself. For taking the steps to get there, for finding the courage to face the biggest demons of my life. I’m fucking proud of myself for surviving.