Her eyes flutter a bit, but I place a hand over her stomach, settling her.
“Just me, love.” I tell her, though I whisper the words to her pussy, dipping back down to bring her into my mouth again. A small sigh escapes her, telling me she's slipping back into contentedness.
She's fucking glorious, awake or asleep, full of fire or full of doubt. I didn't think I’d ever feel anything real for anyone, but I've known since her eyes opened that I fucking love her. I may have known even before that.
I think I loved her from the moment I opened her box and saw her perfect face, from the moment I saw the scars she carved into her own flesh.
My broken doll, beautiful in her pain with tragedy written on her skin. We just felt like a cosmic design, kindred spirits.
I knew I'd do anything for her, even before she tricked me into it.
Guess I'd better tell her as much.
41
Amber
He made breakfast. I can smell the sweet and savory blending together the minute I open my eyes.
Letting a man make me orgasm gets me dinner.
Killing with him gets me breakfast.
I vaguely wonder what a girl has to do around here for lunch but then realize it doesn't make sense. He's fed me the whole time I've been awake, even when I didn't want his disgusting smoothies or the flavorless broth. He's cared for me in his weird and twisted ways ever since I showed up on his doorstep in that box.
I slept dreamlessly... or mostly dreamlessly.
I think I may have had a small dream of Cal between my legs, feasting on my pussy. It's the only dream I had before I slipped into the comfort of darkness again.
But now that I'm awake, my brain has jumped right back into work, replaying the entire night like a movie trailer.
It doesn't feel real, more of a fantasy than a reality.
But it is reality.
I can feel it in my bones, in my sore muscles, and in my twisted heart.
We killed them.
I killed them.
And not just killed.
Tortured.
Eviscerated.
My stomach twists suddenly, sending nausea creeping up my throat. I fling the covers back and run to the bathroom, dropping to my knees before the toilet, bracing my hands against the seat to ready myself for the purge.
It doesn't come.
Instead, I take slow breaths through my nose. Instead of focusing on the sight of Browen with his eyes plucked out, I focus on the glory that flooded me when I slit Garrett's neck and showered myself in his blood.
Instead of focusing on Jenko's guts outside his body, I focus on his beautiful fucking screams and how I wish they could be heard around the world... a warning for monsters to stay in line.
Instead of focusing on my disgust, I focus on my anger. It's still there, burning bright behind everything else, a beacon to guide me through all the confusing mixed emotions.
I thought it would be gone, but it’s not.
