8 | Sage
Sage
“Diaaaana.” I sing her name as I head to the backyard.
The stupid bitch heard the screaming coming from the living room, because of course Silas couldn’t wait five fucking minutes before he started killing people, and started running.
I didn’t think she would be smart enough to find a way to hide, but here we are.
She got out of the kitchen’s back door and went straight into the woods surrounding Kyle’s house. I always hated this house. I have been here twice. The first time was at a party that someone invited Silas to. It was our first year of high school, and most people didn’t actually know who we were.
Silas had gone from a boy to looking like a young man over the summer, and every girl was falling at his feet, waiting for him to make a move.
I was still by his side at this point. Never apart from each other.
At least until Diana came into the picture.
That time, I didn’t hate being here as much.
People made small talk and introduced themselves to me.
I was still liked by some of them. It was the after-party of our prom night during our senior year, when I actually grew to hate this house.
Since then, years have passed, and conversations have happened. I know that Silas was never actually into Diana, but still. This woman gets on my nerves. Besides, she and Chloe took something from me that was far more important than trying to sleep with my dear brother.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I say as I find a trail of her footsteps printed in the mud.
Silly girl. You always cover your trails when you are running from a killer.
This bitch would definitely die in act three of a horror film.
She is not dumb enough to be the first to go.
And she is not important enough to be the second victim.
She is the stupid bitch who dies because you need a third murder to get closer to the protagonists. Those are always hunted last.
I hear footsteps behind me, and I turn fast. I run after her in the dark, holding my knife with the magenta-pink blade in my hand, as Diana runs back to the house. Stupid bitch. Told you. She is definitely the one who dies in act three. “Seriously, Diana? Back to the house?”
“Why are you doing this?” she yells as she tries to open the door of the kitchen, but this time it seems to be locked. “I don’t even know you.” She doesn’t remember me. She didn’t recognize me. That’s ironic.
“Sweet Diana,” I say with a voice dripping sweetness as I approach her.
She presses her back to the closed door, looking at me with a brave face that isn’t brave at all.
She is crying. Tears soak her cheeks like they did mine all the times she and her stupid friend made me cry.
Pathetic. She doesn’t even try to control them.
I would have. I always did. I didn’t sob until the last drop of their torture.
Sometimes not until I was well hidden back in my bedroom.
I always managed to keep my tears at bay.
Especially as I got older. Especially on prom night.
She looks into my eyes, and for a moment I see realization dawn on her. “Sage?” She mutters my name, and I smile. My split tongue licks my bottom lip, and I give her a toothy smile, showing my lovely new fangs that Silas got me for my birthday.
“In the flesh,” I say with a smirk. “Did you miss me?” I come closer; my tongue passes over the skin on her neck. “Oh, you taste delicious. No wonder why my brother chose you to fuck when he was trying to forget me.” I lick her again.
Mother always said not to play with our food, but mother isn’t here, and I love the terror in her eyes.
She isn’t bad-looking; I could throw a fuck before I kill her.
Just to see why Silas was so fond of her in high school.
She doesn’t look like she would be a good time, though.
Too fragile. Shaking under my hold as my fingers wrap around her throat.
My body presses on hers, and I feel her breath stop.
She is holding it, trying to appear brave.
“Oh, sweet girl. You are not brave at all when you are the one being hunted, are you?”
“Please,” she mumbles low enough that it could be a whisper of the night.
“Please what?” I smirk.
“Don’t hurt me,” she says with more confidence.
“Hurt you? Like you hurt me so many times in high school?” I pass my tongue over her pouted lip. The saltiness of her tears, covering her face, invades my taste-buds. “Tell me, Diana. How many times did I beg you to spare me?”
“We were just kids. I didn’t know better.” But she did. She did know what she was doing. “It wasn’t right, Sage. You and Silas. It wasn’t right.” She spits the words as if they’re leaving a bad taste in her mouth.
“Why?” I ask with curiosity. “Why wasn’t it right?”
“It’s disgusting. You are siblings.” She has more confidence now, almost back to her usual self. I will break that spirit again soon, but for now, I want her to know the truth.
“We aren’t. Not blood siblings, anyway,” I tell her.
Not that it's much different. We grew up together. We thought we were blood-related until we were eighteen. In reality, she isn’t wrong.
It is kind of disgusting if you think about it.
We know. We fought like hell to keep away from each other.
But sometimes fate brings you together in weird ways.
You can’t help who you love, or maybe you can, and we weren’t strong enough. Either way, we tried...
“What are you talking about?” She says louder this time, and now I have had enough.
I press harder on her neck, and she stops talking.
I bring my blade closer to her skin. I let it slice slowly across her dress, and the scraps of the ruined fabric fall to the ground.
Cheap little thing. I would expect something better from her.
“Why are you doing this?” she questions.
“I want to see what Silas used to like about you so much. Now be a good girl and stop fighting.” I reach for her lips with mine, and to my surprise, she parts them.
Maybe she thinks if she kisses me, I will spare her.
Maybe she is playing me to gain her freedom.
What she doesn’t know is that I will kill her anyway when I finish with her.
If I don’t, Silas will. He doesn’t like it when I play without him.
He calls it cheating. I call it entertainment.
Different views on this part, we have. I don’t believe in monogamy; he does.
Or he pretends that he does. Which makes me a bitch when I act on my impulses anyway, but he always forgives me.
Secretly, I think he doesn’t really care.
He just pretends to. Because even though we escaped our mother’s hold, some ideas are deeply rooted inside our minds.
Sin is still a sin even if you don’t believe it.
Hell is still there, waiting for us even if we ran away from religion years ago.
Ideas are deeply rooted, didn’t I tell you?
I take her lips with mine, and she returns the kiss, allowing for my tongue to find hers.
She does taste sweet. Caramel apples. Maybe she stopped at the fair downtown before she came up here.
I can taste the candy more as I kiss her.
It’s almost addictive. Maybe that’s what my brother liked.
She smells good, too. I press with my knee between her legs, and she opens them, allowing it to rub against her pussy.
She is fucking wet. I can feel it on the bare skin of my knee between the holes of my stockings.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “You are actually into this.” How stupid is she? Who’s getting wet from being chased by a serial killer? Not that I am one. But she doesn’t know this. For all she knows, she might be a victim in a long list of victims. Well, she is. Future victims.
“And to think I begged Silas not to come tonight.” I chuckle and kiss her again.
She moans against my lips as my fingers leave her neck and find her pussy. My other hand, the one holding the knife, presses the blade against her neck. Because let’s not forget that I am still a predator and she is the prey. “Tell me, Diana. Are you into this?” I whisper against her lips.
Instead of words, a moan comes out of her mouth when my fingers bypass the fabric of her panties and find her clit.
I rub a slow circle on the sensitive bundle of nerves, and she closes her eyes, her head falling back against the door.
“Tell me,” I beg. I need the confirmation.
I need her to admit it. It’s a type of power I want to taste.
My bully admitting I’m making her feel good.
That she wants me. To even beg for me...
right before I kill her. I will even be merciful.
I will give her an orgasm before I slit her throat.
“Yes,” she mumbles under her breath.
“Use your words,” I demand. “Louder.” One of my fingers slips inside her, and she arches her body to allow me to finger-fuck her like a good girl. That should be enough of an answer, but it’s not. I want her to say it. “Speak. Tell me how much you want me to make you come right now.”
“I want this,” she tells me between moans and rapid breaths. “I want you to make me come,” she says lower, as if she’s embarrassed to admit it.
“Good girl,” I praise her before I kiss her again. She moans louder against my lips as another finger joins the one inside her. I move them slowly, in and out of her wet pussy, feeling every spasm her muscles make.
She is into it a little more than she will ever admit to herself. But that’s okay. She doesn’t have much time left to live anyway. Let her continue living in guilt if that’s what she desires. Who am I to deny her?
“Such a good girl,” I whisper in her ear, and bite her earlobe before my mouth moves to her neck.
My fingers never stop moving. I use my thumb to play with her clit as three of my fingers now fuck her pussy like it belongs to me.
And maybe it does. Besides, don’t you belong to the last person that fucks you before you die?
I am planning to be the last one for her.
Desire is sweet and all, but revenge tastes better.
I can feel her coming closer to her orgasm, and I press my knife harder against her neck.
Droplets of blood start to form. I pass my tongue over the spot where the blade meets her skin, taking the blood inside my mouth.
It tastes good, too. She doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe a little pain draws her closer to her orgasm. Who knows? Who cares?
I claim her lips again, allowing her to taste her own blood.
Her eyes shoot open the moment she tastes the metallic crimson liquid on my tongue.
I can see her realizing what’s happening to her.
She doesn’t react. She closes her eyes again, letting herself go as the orgasm creeps upon her.
I feel her pussy spasm around my fingers as she comes hard, moaning my name, slipping like a little prayer from her lips.
“Sage.” It sounds so sweet now. A stark contrast to any time I heard her say it.
But it doesn’t matter. I kiss her lips for one last time as my knife slits her throat and blood fills her mouth.
She chokes on her own blood against my lips.
I don’t let go. I don’t stop kissing her until her last breath is taken.
I step back, allowing her lifeless body to fall to the ground. I spit the blood that crept into my mouth while I was kissing her to her death, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
It’s time to find Silas. I kick her body to the side, and then my boot collides with the door.
One. Two. Three, and it opens. It’s old, and honestly, I didn’t even think it would take that much effort, considering my boots have steel toes.
I enter the house, and it’s almost silent.
I wonder how many of our future victims are still inside.
I don’t bother with the door. I just leave it half-broken and open as I head for the upstairs floor, where I know Silas probably is.
As I walk through the house, I catch glimpses of people thinking they are hiding, but I don’t care. I need to find Silas first. I need him to make me feel good. Diana had me all hot and bothered. Turns out murder is kind of a turn-on for me. Who would have thought?
When I reach the top floor, I find Chloe curled next to the stairs, crying.
She takes a look at me and points at the door.
I am not sure if she is trying to warn me in her fear, maybe not noticing that I am covered in blood or who I even am, but I don’t care.
I head for the closed door she pointed at.
As I do, I hear her voice from behind me.
“Don’t! He is inside.” I laugh. She was trying to warn me. Turns out this girl has no survival instinct at all. Chloe, though, is pretty enough. Broken enough at this moment. She would have died closer to the end in a horror film. She is important enough, but she is not the star of the show.
I knock on the door. “Silas?” I question with hesitation. The door unlocks, and I am pulled inside by force. His lips find mine. I missed them so much. I let him kiss me, and realization dawns on him as he does.
“You were a bad girl, dear sister. Weren’t you?” he questions.
“So bad. Maybe you should punish me,” I say with a smirk.
“I made Diana come all over my fingers like the good little slut she was before I killed her.” I bring the three fingers to his lips, and he sucks on them.
My eyes trail across the room as he does.
Two people are on the bed, secured with handcuffs.
Seems like he was being a little naughty himself. Torturing people without me.
He laughs with that wicked laugh I always loved. “Such a bad girl. Are you ready for your punishment, little sister?”
“Always.”