Chapter 3
With absolute precision, I glide the potato peeler down Chris’s shin.
The sharp, thin blade cuts through the skin with ease, leaving me with perfectly thin slices of flesh that I pile onto a plate.
After a couple more slices it starts to resemble a plate of deli meat, except this deli meat has a smattering of hair on it.
Chris groans from the table that I’ve strapped him down on with tears filling his eyes, sweat beading across his clammy skin. He tries to wiggle himself free but it’s a pathetic waste of effort.
I’ve crafted my skills over the years; granted, I’ve had some failures too but it’s safe to say, Chris won’t be leaving my home unless he ends up in a pasta dish and fed to my next date.
Hmm, I could put his testicles through a meat grinder to create a delicious filling for some ravioli.
Pinch of salt and pepper? Herbs?
Perfection.
The thought makes my stomach grumble and just as I’m about to slice some more flesh from Chris’s shin, he tries to scream behind the apple I’ve shoved into his mouth.
“Shhh, now,” I coo. “Mummy is meal prepping.”
His eyes widen, tears spilling over his lower eyelids and thin bubbles of snot blow out of his nostrils. He fists his hands at the side of him whilst pulling against the leather restraints, but the drug that’s still coursing through his system, weakens his body.
As soon as Chris was out cold on the floor, I dragged him through the living room, straight through the kitchen and down the stairs towards my basement.
Every single kitchen appliance that I would need to keep my pantry stocked, is down here.
State of the art ovens, meat grinders and slicers, knives and everything that you would ever want to create mouth-watering meals.
Of course I flick between both kitchens when I fancy a change of scenery, but this one is my favourite by far.
I take a couple more slices from his shin, making sure to start from just under the kneecap and down towards his ankle.
The paperthin skin curls like decedent chocolate as I pull the peeler down to reveal the bright red sinew of his flesh.
Chunks of bloodied flesh and curly black hair gather around the peeler's blade, clogging up the sides so I’m forced to rinse it under the tap.
Swirls of pinky-reddish water spirals around the stainless steel sink as I run the peeler under the tap, loosening up the chunks that cling to the razor sharp blade. The rinsed off meaty lumps sit together in a neat little pile in the plug hole.
I’ll get rid of them later, no doubt I’ll be adding more bits and pieces in there.
I turn off the tap and pull open the drawer of the dishwasher and chuck the peeler inside, then I head back over to Chris who's literally drenched in sweat. Blood drips from the open wound on his leg, creating a small puddle on the tiled floor.
This is always my favourite part of the date.
Forget the wining and dining, and the shitty flowers that die within a week of having them, this is where the fun is.
Watching every victim— as if you could call them that, squirm with fear once they realise they aren’t going to make it out of this alive.
Chris ruined my life that night. He took something away from me that wasn’t meant for him, and yet he has no idea that his past has come back to haunt him, in the form of me.
He thought he could get his dick wet tonight, and don’t get me wrong it probably will end up in some form of liquid, but it won’t be in my pink clam.
“Chris, Chris, Chris.. what should I do with you?” I sigh, twirling the egg chopper in my hand. The steel gleams under the ceiling lights. Not only is this particular item great for chopping off the tops of boiled eggs, but it works perfectly at slicing penises into little pepperoni circles.
Fear radiates from his face, bloodshot eyes darting around erratically as I push up the guillotine shaped blade in one fast swipe, just to give it a little test.
“You have no idea who I am, do you?” I ask, grazing the chopper down his stomach towards his flaccid dick. He jumps at the touch and begins to shake his head, his voice muffled behind the apple.
Tucking my blunt red bob behind one ear, I turn to face him. “That’s a shame, but not to worry. I’ll refresh your memory." I send him a smirk, causing him to huff and puff through his nose, terror turning his skin a off-white colour.
“You see Chris,” I start, placing the chopper down for a moment before walking to the end of the table.
“We’ve met before, three years ago in fact.
I probably didn’t look like this, and you definitely look like that but I’d never forget your face.
It haunted me every night, creeping into my dreams until I refused to sleep at all. ”
Confusion floods his face at my admission. “C’mon, don’t tell me you don’t remember? Long blonde hair, tiny little leather skirt on.. rape?”
Still he doesn’t click onto what I’m saying. “You raped me Chris! You dragged me down that pissy fucking alleyway, threw me to the ground and fucking raped me!”
Tears threaten to well in my eyes but I refuse to cry. I haven’t cried since that night and there’s no way I’m starting now.
Not for him, not for anyone.
Chris’s eyes widen, then he shakes his head frantically, his strained voice muffled, so I round the table again and yank the apple free.
“No.. no, you.. you’ve got it wrong!” He panics.
I lean over him and grip his face in my hand, squeezing his cheeks until his mouth turns into a puckered asshole. “That’s the thing about me, pookie. I’m never wrong, and I never fucking forget.”
He can probably see the anger that washes over my face, and I might have changed my appearance but the eyes never lie. They’re the windows to the soul and Chris’s are as black as night, they’re so dark that I can almost see my reflection in those evil pools.
“Please,” he manages to squeeze out through his squished mouth, so I release my grip slightly, eager to hear what he has to say. “I.. I’ve changed alright? I was stupid back then and look, you’re clearly doing well now so.. it can’t have been that bad, right?”
Can this dude hear himself right now?
It can’t have been.. that bad?
Fury courses through my veins and I grip his face in a vice hold, digging my fingernails into his cheeks.
Tiny, thin blood vessels start to pop underneath the skin as I crush his face.
This sad excuse of a man starts to whimper, his eyes pleading with me to let him go but he never gave me the same grace.
Every beg and plea landed on deaf ears, so now he’ll receive the same treatment.
“I suppose you’d like me to thank you as well, hm?
Tell you how much that little act of yours changed me for the better, how it made me stronger?
Well, I don’t fucking think so.” I seethe through gritted teeth then I release his face, chuck the apple to the side and head over to the end of the table again where his feet lay.
This fucker is going to feel every ounce of pain he put me through, and every time he begs for his life, every time he tells me to stop, I’ll continue.
There’s a separator that sits in between his feet and attached at the ends are leather cuffs that are wrapped around his ankles. This not only keeps him attached to the table, but I’m able to spread his legs as wide as I want to. So, that’s exactly what I do.
I start to twist the metal bar and it begins to click with every turn, slowly opening Chris’s legs.
“Wha.. what are you doing?” He says, voice shaken and I turn the bar again before looking up at him. “Doing the very thing you did to me.”
His eyes grow larger at the realisation of the situation. “No, please.. look, I said I was sorry!”
“And sorry doesn’t fucking cut it!” I scream, palms slamming on the table. I don’t usually lose my cool like this but in what world is ‘sorry’ an acceptable word to use when it comes to the act of rape, when is it ever okay?
I’ll tell you when, never. None of this is o-fucking-kay.
I drop my head slightly, focusing on the metal table as I simmer the thoughts that are crashing around my head, then I inhale deeply, holding it for a moment before blowing it out.
I’m calm.
Chris continues to fumble over his words, begging me not to do this but I’m already too far gone.
Too lost in the abyss for anyone to come and find me.
His words seem to trail off like a muffled sound in the background as I start to turn the bar again, cranking it open with every spin until I’ve spread open Chris’s legs as far as they will go.
Then I lift up the bar and prop it into place, forcing him to bend his legs at the knees, just like one would do when having a pap smear.
The sight is truly disgusting. His balls ungulate with every whimper that slips past his mouth, and every time he sobs his asshole puckers like a barking dog’s. It’s like staring into a black hole with how much hair and stringy pubes he’s grown there.
Still, I can tackle the wilderness if need be.
Tremors wrack his body and I can feel his fearful eyes on me as I round the table and head over to one of the units that frame the basement to grab a large wooden rolling pin.
“Perfect.” I mutter to myself whilst running my hand down the girthy item, then I spin to face Chris who looks like he’s on the verge of passing out.
“Wh.. what are you going to do with that?” He whimpers, his voice clearly filled with distress.
“Oh you asked for this, pookie.” I tease with a sinister grin then walk back over to the table, rolling pin in hand. I place it to the side and Chris tries with all his might to shuffle away from it. “Don’t worry baby, it doesn’t bite but it might splinter.”
“You’re fucking crazy, you know that right?”
I huff out a laugh at his pathetic excuse of trying to insult me. “Yeah. I never claimed that I wasn’t.”
What is it with guys calling me crazy? Like babe, I never said that I wasn’t. Dickhead.