I won’t be able to catch you.
Once I’d managed to procure myself on the bed alongside him, I nearly crumbled with how sinfully comfortable it is.
Settling myself before his crossed legs, the bed shifts beneath his weight as he wraps his legs around me. “Reach in my pants.”
Rage breaks to the surface as I react. “What!” The sarcasm drips over every word that leaves my lips. “We’re just jumping right to it, then, where is the fun in that?”
“For my knife.” He cocks an eyebrow at me, “It’s in my right pocket.”
“Oh, right,” My eyes begin to widen with embarrassment. “What do you need that for?”
He groans, “Ugh. Five questions and you’ve already wasted two.” His head hits the backboard. “I can count them, or you can do what you’re told and save your questions for what youwantto know.”
So, this is the game he wants to play? Well, I'll play, but my patience is wearing thin—if that happens, we will be playingmy way.
A brilliant image gyrates across my mind, and slowly I grab his ankles, stretching his legs till they are flush with the mattress.Leisurely frisking up his leg, I make it appear as though I am crawling to him, seductively swaying my hips—never breaking eye contact. Once I had hold of the knife handle, I yanked it from the sheath clipped to his pants and slashed at his chest. He broke out in this thunderous laughter. “Why are you laughing?”
“So, you want to know about the photo?” He is deliberately asking the wrong question. “That’s a good question, little bird.”
“All right, you want to play it that way, we can play it that way.” I examine the spot where the blade struck. His gray button-up shirt was slowly starting to turn black, as beads of red formed at its pores. The pooling caught me off guard--it didn’t follow in line with the cut.It went against it.
I move past that thought, going back to when he edged me in the alley. I had the brightest idea to start cutting off his buttons one by one. Still, he laughs, “Oh no, this shirt was expensive.” The sarcasm oozes from his mouth, like sap from a tree in the summer.
“You are still laughing,” I speak through gritted teeth. “It won't last.”
His eyes widen, before rolling to the back of his head, as he responds, “Still with the questions, when will you-” I press the point of the blade to his heart, cutting him off before he can finish.
“When will I what? Learn?” I bite at the air as I pressure him to answer, “That was a statement, not a question.” Satisfaction and confidence seep into me as my lip curls on one side. “Now, answer my question, and I’ll reward your response if I deem fit.” An indentation forms where the point of the blade meets his body. “Whose name is under the roses?”
“Little bird?” Oliver sways his hips, a hungry look growing in his eyes. “If you don’t move that blade from my heart, there will be consequences.”
Tossing my hands out to the side, “Here, I thought this was what you wanted.” Once my confused face transfigured to a more nonchalant expression, I barked back. “Guess, you’re chickening out.”
He leans in my direction, rolling one shoulder at a time. “Don’t think for one second that I can’t break out of these cuffs.” Pulling at the restraints, I can hear the wood moan and creak, the corners of his mouth peek out over the cloth that masks it.
He is fucking smiling—enjoying every second.
“I would never underestimate a monster who hides in the dark.” He says, looking down his nose at me, ‘You should, however, fear one who isn’t afraid to step out into the light.’’
“Is that a threat?” I hold myself tall as I speak, forcing him to look up at me. “Because I don’t take lightly to being threatened.”
What is this rushing feeling? I feel inferior, powerful, and in charge.
This new sensation is empowering as it devours me, and he sees it too. I must remember I’m not without my flaws—he just makes it so damn easy to forget. With my life, it was difficult to look past my imperfections. The difference between my sister and me is that I took heed when our father told us about the dreadful things in the world, making me paranoid and hyperaware of my actions.
“No one will ever do the things you want to do in life better than you, yourself.”
“Everyone is out to get theirs—so, give only when you can afford it.”
“You are the hero in your story.”
All these quotes that I have lived my life by have been the same quotes I used to pull my sister through some rough times. I remember in school, she endured so much bullying. Her beauty never stopped the snobby girls from making her feel less than.
I would always hear the popular jockeys spouting obscenities about her and how each of them was going to get her in bed with them. My breaking point was when I overheard them discussing prom and their idea to jump her. Slapping hands once they decided the order in which they were going to take, when defiling her body after she was drugged.
On the approach that night, I spent every waking moment beforehand mastering my plan of action. I stayed up the whole time, plotting how I was going to stop them—prom went on without a hitch. My sister was having fun—all was good. I almost believed that they had changed their mind, until she didn’t come back from the restroom.
When I found them and realized that three of them had already gone, my rage took over, and my plan hit the fan. As years passed, the three who took it upon themselves to deflower my sister all met their end. Karma came to them, and with her she brought a Demon of Vengeance. Their passing was not slow, nor painless—It was justice enacted by the gods.
