The Stalker
It’s Always Been You - Christian Grey
The moment I pushed my length inside, I knew this girl was made for me. So fucking perfect, and so fucking mine. Her angelic moans will be on replay forever in my mind. I’ll make a special compartment just for them.
I push my come back inside her, refusing to let any remnants hit the floor. When my white liquid disappears, I’m satisfied. I pop back up, taking in the fair beauty in front of me. A fair, tainted, beauty. A small, shy smile paints her face.
“Mine,” I state. She continues to stay slumped on the freezer chest while I grab our clothes off the floor. She shifts on her feet, and her knees buckle. I grab her before she falls and sit her back on the white chest.
She lets me slip her underwear and pants back on. Her arms cross over her torso, hugging her chest, and giving her breasts some coverage. I look at the torn shirt lying behind her and grab mine intact one instead.
“Lift your arms,” I say, bringing it over her, watching as the fabric slowly falls over. I reach for my shoes and pants, now putting them on. I run a hand through my damp hair, moving any fallen strands off my face.
She looks amazing in my clothes. The shirt is definitely three sizes too big, making her look like she's in a dress. I return the camera gesture, making a fake click in front of the right eye. And she chuckles.
“Ready to finish this?” I ask her, reminding us both of the reality we had put ourselves in.
I hold my hand out and she takes it, assisting her off the cold box.
She walks slowly by my side over to the chair.
Parker is barely coherent, but coherent enough to have heard Dahlia screaming my name.
If he hadn't, I’d have to make sure we did it again.
I remove the tape from his face. Loud breaths emit from his raw orifice, but he doesn't say a word. I tug on his hair and his neck cranks back. He blinks, barely noticing our presence. I point to the knife that's still lodged in his shoulder.
“Remove it and get ready to stab here,” I tell my Little Flower as I move my finger over his heart. I watch as her delicate hand wraps around the handle, while the other lays flat against his chest. She pushes against him and yanks the blade out.
Red crimson spurts, barely missing her. Screams of agony come from the soon to be dead man. The adrenaline now making him more awake. Good. Fucker has to be coherent for this. I want Dahlia's face to be the last one he sees.
“Beg,” I demand as I slap his face.
“P–Please. I’m sorry,” He says with eyes locked on mine. I clench my jaw and turn his head toward my girl.
“I said, not to me. You beg her,” I grit, forcing his head all the way to the left. My Little Flower stands there, not saying a word, just staring.
“P–Please, Dahlia. I was just messing around. You know this is wrong,” He pleads. She looks at me for reassurance.
“You got this, baby,” I encourage. Parker tries fighting one more time. Lunging around his seat, screaming, and trying to get free from my grasp. Dahlia hovers the blade over him. The metal shakes in her small hands.
“No! No, you can't do–” His words silenced as the blade enters his chest.
“Fuck you. You did this, not me,” My Little Flower says before shoving the full length in. I watch her, watch him. As the pathetic excuse of a life drains from his eyes. She is angry, she is scared, she is vengeful, and I fucking love it.
The room goes eerily quiet. No sounds of struggling left. I let go of the lifeless body and hold on to her trembling one instead. She inhales and exhales deeply. A sliver of fear lingers within me. Clinging on like an unwanted tumor in hopes she doesn’t regret this.
“Wow, that was… thrilling? Oh my god, I just took a life, and I just said it was… thrilling? I know it hasn't hit me yet, but what am I going to do when it does. Will it?” her anxiety speaks for her. I bring a hand up and move a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I won't let you–” I fall to the ground. Pain sears through my skull as my head hits the unforgiving floor, leaving me dazed. I can hear Dahlia screaming in the background, but I’m paralyzed. I can’t move. I can't speak.
Terror consumes me as I look down at my blood-covered hands.
They shake with worry. What am I going to do?
What if I get caught? I back away from the horrors I committed in front of me.
I have my whole life ahead of me, and I just threw it away.
I was imprisoned my whole life, and I finally saw the end and I…
I fucked it all up.
I fall backward onto the floor. Frozen. I sit and stare at the lifeless bodies in front of me. Everything around me feels like time hit the pause button. It's just me, them, and silence.
“But they deserved it. But they deserved it. But they deserved it,” I say over and over and over and over.
“Axel, please. Wake up!” she says as her shouts get closer and closer.
What did I do to deserve her? I don’t deserve anything good in this life.
Especially as good as she is. I lived in hell, and the demons made damn sure they followed me.
I told myself I was content being alone.
With the life that I had made. That I could deal with my demons, as I have my entire life.
That is until I met my angel. I’ve never had this feeling before.
Of want. Of need. She infiltrated my mind unknowingly like a cure to whatever virus had taken over my brain, and she is all I could think about that keep the demons away.
Whenever I thought of her, they would all cower.
They would all shudder and quake because something as pure as her overcame my destructive thoughts.
I know I’m fucked up. I’ve always been, and I always will be. I know it’s fucked up that I dragged her into the pits of hell with me, but I couldn’t care less. I knew that I wanted her here with me. That I needed her here, with me…
No matter what I had to do.
Misery loves company. I never knew mine needed some until it started grasping at her like it had been starved for human interaction. Now she's stuck. She is stuck in this abysmal hell with me that I won’t ever let her escape.
“Axel, come on. Get up!” she continues to shout. Her figure comes into focus, and I can see the tears streaming down her face as she bares down on me.
“You just can’t get enough of me, huh?” I joke, but internally my body is screaming in despair.
“Are you okay? Seriously, tell me if you're not. I can try to help.” She ignores my comment, grabbing the back of my head and cushioning it with her hands.
“I’m fine. I just—these flashbacks have been getting worse.” I sit myself up and rub the back of my head. A dull throbbing pain radiates all around my skull, making me feel nauseous.
“Does this happen every time you have them? Do you fall like this?” she asks.
“Can we, uh, talk about this later.” I point to the dead body slumped over in the chair.
“Oh, yeah. I won't forget to ask you later. We are going to talk about it.” she insists, giving me a stern look. She tries to help me stand. Someone as small as she is compared to me wouldn't be able to handle helping me up. It would be more of a crushing, instead.
“I can take you home. I’ll deal with this mess,” I voice. She is going to freak out about tonight. I’m sure of it. Questioning her morals and all. I don’t want to dump more trauma onto her. I don’t think she could handle it.
Who am I turning into? Old Axel wouldn’t give a flying fuck at all.
“You don't have to deal with this alone. Actually… It’s me, who doesn’t want to deal with this alone. If you drop me off, all I’m going to do is think. And then if I think too long, I’ll drive myself insane,” she says.
“Okay, okay. How about I finish here while you clean yourself up? I can draw you a bath,” I suggest, hoping she takes the bait. I don’t work well with others. I need to do this myself. Plus, the chopping of parts wouldn’t be the best thing for her to witness.
She stands there, contemplating the ladder. Damn it, it’s already starting to stink and my patience is running out. I bend and throw her over my shoulder. She gasps, grabbing onto me.
“Now you don’t have a choice,” I say as I carry her up the stairs.
She doesn't fight me; she just dangles, accepting her fate.
I live in a ranch home, so I walk to the bathroom that's attached to my bedroom. It’s not a far walk.
Once we enter, I set her down on the chilled tile, and turn the water on.
“Do you like it hot or cold?”
“Hot please. Like piping hot,” she responds, looking around.
“Take your clothes off,” I say and she obeys. She grabs my large T-shirt and lifts it above her head, exposing her supple breasts. Then she slides down her pajama pants and her underwear. She kicks them to the side. Little speckles of blood stain the fabric. I stare at her.
I could fuck her all over again.
But I can’t. Not right now. The sooner I get rid of this body, the sooner I can come back to her. I reach my hand in the bath, checking the temperature as the water is almost done rising. I hiss at the heat and quickly jerk it back.
“I’ll be down there for quite some time, so, uh, relax if you can,” I say with unsureness. This is the first time I’ve done something like this. Drawing a bath for someone else? Do I feel sorry for her? I’ll be sure to check in on her later.
“Okay,” she responds quietly. She gets into the steam-filled tub. Water waves around, and little splashes leave the edge. She gives me an apologetic smile before hunching in further. I find myself still staring, admiring her beauty.
Her white hair turns a shade darker, creating more contrast against her pale complexion. Little beads of water coat her skin as if they have been placed intricately. Her eyes close shut as she rests her head back.
Am I in love with my therapist? I’m unsure of what love even is. I know I am infatuated with her. That she consumes my every thought. That even though I want to leave bite marks all over her skin, claiming her, I wouldn't want her to ever leave me. She is my sanity. I can’t exist without her.
I turn and exit the bathroom before I send my thoughts into battle. I need to hurry. I’m sure someone will come looking for him sooner or later. I have a whole to-do list that I gotta mark off before I can put this all behind us. At least behind me.