“Ah, where would the fun in that be? I’ve been watching you. I’m the only one who knows you best.” The stale smell of alcohol circles him, and once I’m inside the entrance, the scent of musty air and rancid food attacks me.
My gaze falls upon the threadbare carpet, its stains deep like old wounds, and then to the sagging couch.
“You don’t know me anymore.” My heart races as he slams the door. The house is closing in on me as I lean against the wall. I’d love nothing more than to tie him down and set everything on fire, roasting marshmallows on the flaming decay. However, getting in and out is my only goal.
“Kitty Cat, I’ve explored every inch of you, inside and out. You can’t say I don’t know you when I was the first one to learn everything about you.” Yellow teeth stretch into a smile, and he advances, reaching for me.
Before his tainted fingers touch my shoulder, I kick out and hit his bad knee. He stumbles back into the wooden cupboard, covered in years of dust and sentimental ornaments from a time that has long since died.
“Oh, you want to play? I can do all the games you want. In the end, you’re always going to be mine.” Spittle flies out of his mouth, his face turning a shade of red as he staggers.
A quick glance shows me his hoarding has worsened over the years, making it easier for me to decide what to do next.
When he limps toward me, I bring my knee up to connect with his testicles, but he covers them. I push a kick into his bad knee again, and he falls to the ground.
I walk past the many stacks of newspapers and grab the bundles of cords, tying his feet together. As his hand snakes around my ankle like my nightmares, I stomp my other heel into his wrist.
He grabs his arm and wiggles on the floor. Spitting at me, he yells, “Fucking bitch, you can’t do this.”
A giggle escapes me before I can stop it. The darkness deep within me is screaming to be let free, and although we both won’t enjoy it, I’ll be able to embrace it with the desire to serve the revenge he deserves.
I jump away from his form on the carpet and glance around the room before observing his old chair.
The memories embedded in the fabric should be destroyed like the rest of the house, but I focus on the task at hand. He won’t stay down long, and I step around the piles for something else to tie him with.
A creaking noise steals my attention, and as Burke walks into the house, he seems so out of place.
My past mixing with my future isn’t a feeling I thought I would ever face.
“Want me to move him closer to the living room?” he asks me.
“Yes,” I say before weaving through the maze of boxes and into the kitchen. I collect scissors, a knife, and the rolling pin. It has hung on the wall for so long that the paint underneath is now a different colour.
When I return to the living room, he’s tied to the foot of his chair and Burke is standing back.
“Who the fuck is this? Kitty Cat, you won’t get away with this. People will notice I’m missing and then you’ll be locked up in a cell. I’ll always know where you are.”
His words give me pause, until I remember the years he spent tearing me apart and how he never served a day of time for the little girl he killed within me.
I use the scissors to cut off his pants. The stench hits me first, the sour smell of unwashed skin wafting up and hovering in the air, forcing me to breathe out of my mouth.
He has always been disgusting, but the years haven’t been good to him. With that sentiment, I find a moment of peace.
“Wanna give your new boyfriend a show? I’m sure I can get it nice and hard like you loved.” Andrew laughs.
I use the knife to stab his side. A stain blossoms on his plaid shirt as the blood seeps through, and a low groan escapes his lips. With each twist of the knife, I can feel the resistance as the muscle and fat separate beneath the skin. Thick crimson pools beneath my fingers, slick and warm against my skin.
Fueling my bloodlust as I claim his life will be the toll he pays for what he did to me. Rolling him onto his stomach takes more effort, but I refuse Burke’s help. This is something I have to do all on my own.
With the knife, I cut open the back of his shirt and carve along his flesh. His screams echo through the living room like a song I’ve been craving for the entirety of my life.
I’m feeding the true side of myself. He needs to feel the anguish I’ve had to live with and the scars he’s left against my soul.
Wanting his pain to be more than he ever gave to me won’t be something I can provide. I want revenge, I’m not a sick sadist like he is—there is a vast difference between the two.
Picking up the rolling pin he used to hit me countless times, I slide it through the blood on his back and into his asshole.
I think about telling him it won’t hurt like he did for me, but why lie? I get the handle in, but I can’t fit anymore. No matter how hard I push, it won’t go further.
