Chapter 14
Her sense of security is an illusion. She stops in her tracks and glances over her shoulder. Smart girl.
Vigilant, but your wits won’t help you my little songbird, not against me. There is no escaping your fate.
A twig snaps under my black boots. Her head jerks in my direction.
My back is firmly rooted to the thick tree trunk hiding my massive body in its shadow.
After a few seconds, I peek my head around the corner and whisper her name against the wind just to see her little face drop with fear.
The thrill excites me. Her heart-shaped face goes pale once she spots me.
A dangerous thought crawls over me. I could take her out here, and no one would come rescue her.
So fragile, so vulnerable, and so goddamn tempting.
Can’t remember the last time I thought about fuckin’ something other than my hand.
My hand doesn’t talk back. My hand doesn’t expect commitment.
Can’t offer it anyways. No bullshit. No after-fuck cuddles because I sure as hell don’t do that shit.
Sex is purely transactional. I feed off her torment.
I know it’s my dick talking. I don’t do feelings.
Not capable of that shit either. Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy ruining her.
Christ, if she’s a virgin, that’ll just be the cherry on top of the fuckin’ cake.
Before I can calculate my next move, she takes off in a sprint.
Her dark hair disappears down the dimly lit path.
The streetlights flicker, offering an ominous omen.
I forgot how much I relish in the hunt; it makes me feel alive.
I have to keep a leash on my inner demons, otherwise I know exactly what I’m capable of.
But to see the uncertainty in her eyes, knowing I am in complete control.
I can puppet her every feeling. Run, little songbird.
Her bracelets and necklaces jingle, giving her away.
I chuckle darkly. The wind wafts in my direction, and I inhale deeply, smelling the faint scent of her cherry lotion through the air.
Fuck her. Cut her. Own her.
No, no. NO! I force the voices back down.
Her cherry trail incites something primal with me.
I flip the hood of my sweatshirt up and quickly stalk in her direction.
My steps are measured. No need to chase anymore.
Just want to get inside her little head so I can swoop in and be her savior and feed the delusion of grandeur.
Riling her up like this will bring me one step closer to forcing her into submission.
I allow her to get far enough ahead. She makes it into the Cadence Building.
I’m just a few steps behind her. I can feel her fear on the tip of my tongue, and it’s almost as intoxicating as the molly.
I grip my switchblade in my pocket, running my finger over the emblem.
The demons come slicing through to the surface.
Insanity is my normal. Gotta keep it together.
It’s too easy to let my sick thoughts take hold. Fuck knows they feel right.
I sail around to the backstage entrance of the Cadence building and push open the heavy metal door.
It slams closed behind me, echoing in the empty backstage room.
Red velvet curtains cascade from the ceiling.
I maneuver through the endless supply of instruments and dressing outfits until the soft keys of a piano hits my ears.
I lurk in the shadows, watching from afar.
Vesper is set up on stage, seated on the piano bench.
The look of fright and terror are now replaced with an expression of bliss.
Her fingers effortlessly stroke the keys as her soft voice hums in the echo chamber of the theater.
The stage gives her a false sense of security, unfortunately for her it’s an illusion too.
She’s no longer safe in the confines of her naive, perfect little world.
It’s almost ironic she’s found herself in the jaws of the monster.
She has no clue how cruel the world is; how cruel I am.
Her symphonic voice soothes my inner demons, appeasing them like an offering.
The words dance on her tongue effortlessly.
Can’t say I normally appreciate such mundane things, but her mellifluous voice settles my restlessness and my need to medicate—for now.
The second I get home, I’ll drown myself in endless orgasms to her innocence while riding the edge of my drug-induced wonderland, because fuck, it feels good.
I cannot wait to corrupt her. Poor thing hasn’t ever had a bad habit in her fuckin’ life.
And to know I’ll be the one to make it happen makes my dick harden instantly.
Control. Power. To mold her to my perfect ideal just to watch her shatter.
I slink around the side of the theater towards the back where the cushioned cherry red seats rest on the mahogany back wall.
I peer out from between the large carved wooden columns.
The other students are seated in the audience.
They watch her with an intriguing fascination.
At the anterior of the stage, her teacher directs her with the flick of his wrist, manipulating her voice.
I slip quietly against the back row undetected.
I’m good at that; hiding in the shadows.
Her hands trail along the keys as the song crescendos, her face twisting in concentration as she ups her pitch.
Her body sways in an ethereal dance. The song slows, and her hands slow their movements along the keys.
Her eyes stay screwed shut. She drowns in the music, hoping to erase the unease and panic from my psychotic stalking, but she can’t escape me.
“Bravo, Vesper!” her teacher shouts from in front of the stage.
Her face lights up. It’s clear Vesper is a music protégé.
Her pretty little green eyes fly open and lock straight onto me.
She feels me lurking. Does she know the danger she’s in?
I pull my hoodie tighter over my face and exit the building slowly.
No need to rush. We have all the time in the world, songbird.
I take my time walking back through campus to my house.
I could spend the entire evening following her around, but it would be pointless.
Gotta start gradually. Make her think she’s slowly going insane.
Who’s she gonna run to? Who will make her feel safe?
That’s right, me. I’m already embedded deep within her inner workings.
Patience.
When I push open the sticky front door, the smell of weed and sex hits my nose.
Home sweet fucking home. Kieran is fucking his newest toy against the kitchen counter.
His jeans are fitted around his thighs, and he’s drilling into a rough-looking redhead.
Her dress is rucked up to her hips while her ass cheeks are bare on the counter.
Her dress straps hang loosely over her shoulder, and her long hair is hanging down her backside.
Her drugged-out hooded eyes meet mine. Kieran doesn’t even bother to glance over.
Doesn’t need to. Guy doesn’t care if he has an audience.
I sidestep around them to the fridge. Reaching inside, I scan the sticky shelves for leftovers before reaching to grab a beer.
Letting the door slam closed, I crack open the can and gulp the skunky beer down my throat.
I lean back against the fridge and watch his redhead moan as he continues to pound into her with pure hatred.
Don’t know why he thinks he can fuck his feelings away, but who am I to shame what works for him?
Whatever keeps his demons at bay. We’re all fucked.
The bitch’s head lolls back. She’s on the verge of passing out entirely.
“Better finish up with this bitch before your other plaything gets here,” I say just to piss him off.
He peers over the redhead. “Fuck you.” He laughs darkly and gives me the middle finger.
I finish the beer and crush the can before tossing it onto the floor.
Without another word, I stalk upstairs to my bedroom.
Each step I ascend excites me, knowing I’m one step closer to her.
The busted window in my bedroom lets the cool autumn air inside, making the space freezing fucking cold.
Don’t mind too much since I don’t sleep anymore anyways.
The demons never let me sleep. I stomp around, using my black boots to kick at the trash littered all over the floor.
I search for a roll of duct tape in the dark.
Once I find it, I rip a few strands with my teeth and slap it against the gaping hole in the window.
Doesn’t do much, but better than nothing.
With that fixed, I get down to business. I fire up my laptop and plant my ass on the bed. Video of her room flickers on the screen, illuminating my dark, wallpapered room.
There you are.
Vesper is back at her dorm safe and sound. For now. She and her roommate are changing. What fucking luck. Perfect timing, Zain.
Instinctively, I stick my hand in my jeans, gripping my cock and feeling the metal against my palm.
I could get used to this ritual. Stroking my cock to my innocent songbird.
It should be concerning as fuck that my demons are sated just by thinking about fucking her.
It’ll be much more enjoyable to break her knowing I can release along the way.
I let out a guttural groan and squeeze the tip so hard it hurts.
She shucks off her shirt, and her perky tits bounce free.
A let out a hot breathy groan. What a shame she hides such a perfect little body under leggings and sweatshirts.
Next, she peels her leggings off so she’s standing there looking like a walking wet dream. Bet that cunt tastes delicious.
I stroke myself up and down roughly. Love the pain. The metal clinks against each other with each stroke. My balls tighten, and I let my head fall back. Gonna come and hard.
I increase my pace until I feel the hot trickle slide down my hand and the sweet release erupt from my cock.
What a goddamn rush. When my hand stills, resting in my sticky, hot mess, I’m too relaxed to give a fuck, and I’m not about to give that up.
Can’t remember the last time I had a single second of silence in my mind without drugs.
The only concern is how loud the voices grow with each passing day. How long until this isn’t enough and I need the real thing?
***
My eyes flutter open, and I let out a groan.
The faint glow from the moon shines through the window into my eyes.
The loud, thumping bass rips through the walls, flowing up through the floor below me.
My throat is dry as shit, and my hand is pruned from falling asleep with it in my cum-filled pants.
At least I got a few hours of sleep, though my head still buzzes with the leftover remnants of my earlier high.
I rip my hand from my boxers and wipe it across my jeans.
I stumble out of bed towards the bathroom.
The tile is covered in piss, and the counter has a leftover line of coke someone didn’t finish.
What a waste. I push back the shower curtain and slam my fist against the pipes to clear the line before turning the shower on.
Dirty water spews out of the showerhead onto the stained tiled walls and chipped porcelain tub.
My fist connects with the pipes again. The water starts to run more of a milky brown opposed to the murky sludge.
I strip out of my jeans and sweatshirt and let the icy water bead off my skin.
Fuck knows how long I stand there letting the water slice through me like a knife.
When I finally emerge from the shower, I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
My dark hair clings in a messy, wet heap over my eyes.
Beads of water fall down my tattooed skin.
The same insanity eats me from the inside out.
The voices start. My knuckles connect with my head.
Not now. Fuck off.
The voices echo in my psyche, refusing to relent.
Insane Zain. You’re worthless. Useless. Trash. A nobody.
“Shut up!” I scream into the chipped mirror.
The voices go silent.
I roll my neck and prepare myself.
Showtime, Zain.