Kincaid left me a hot mess and I can guarantee he walked out of my bedroom looking like a five-star meal. I just wish I was more awake at the time– then again, would it be such a bad thing to let him have his way with me whilst I slept? That’s like playing dead, right? And it seems only fair to return the favour to the man who had me seeing literal stars on the bonnet of his car.
As I turn over in bed with Kincaid’s jacket wrapped firmly around me, an idea springs to mind, one that I shelf for later but first I need to boil myself in the shower then tonight, I can pay little Leroy a visit.
Just because I got my pussy eaten by a fine-ass man, doesn’t take away that I’m still a killing bitch who has found herself a new target. One whose puny dick would look perfect in my pantry. Speaking of food, I wonder if Leroy would enjoy a slice of Brynne’s‘eat your heart out’cherry pie?
Of course he would, the rotten pig.
After freshly showering and scrubbing a layer of skin off, I head into the basement to check my pantry stock. Over the past couple of hours I’ve been making the final preparations of what I’ll need to bring with me to Leroy’s. I have no idea what I’ll be walking into so I’d rather be prepared for anything than have my ass handed to me.
Inside the duffle bag on the stainless steel unit, I’ve gathered various knives and a line of rope, along with a roll of duct tape. And just for good measure, there’s different chemicals that I useto clean up any smallmessesthat may occur down here. All I need to do is knock Leroy out enough so that I’m able to get him into the back of my SUV and bring him back here where the fun can really begin.
Zipping up the duffle bag, I leave it on the unit and walk over to the cupboard that stores all my pickled goodies. Opening up the double doors gives me the same excitement as what I would imagine a kid is like on Christmas when they see all their presents.
Pickled penises bring me a lot of excitement, okay? And yes, I can only imagine how sad that sounds. I’ve officially reached thepeakof adulthood.
My pantry of wonders is big enough to swing a cat; not that I’ve tested that theory but it’s spacious. It was the first thing that caught my eye when I first viewed this house. A lot of people want big living rooms and bedrooms, and ten bathrooms to take various shits in but not me,thisis what tickles my fancy.
Storage, and lot’s of it.
Shelves from floor to the ceiling surround me, each stacked with neatly labelled baskets filled with homegrown spices. Above those baskets are jars, lots and lots of jars filled with dill-pickled penises. The meaty, sausage-like appendages float about in richly spiced water like dead goldfish bobbing around at the surface of a fish tank.
I pick up one that’s been fermenting for a while and give it a shake. Brown peppercorns along with stringy herbs swirl around the glass like a morbid snowglobe. The penis itself has shrivelled up like a slug and the tip of the foreskin resembles a balloon knot. There’s even little nodules that have grown on the green-ish flesh, surrounding the shaft like a dill pickle.
That’s definitely going to be a crunchy boy when I slice into it. I’ll give it another few weeks, and then it’ll be perfect to add into a salad or a zesty burger sauce.
I wonder what Kincaid would think of my.. hobby? I guess my pickle pantry might weird him out but surely he can get on board with all the other stuff– I hope so anyway, I’m just not entirely sure how to tell him.
“Hey so, I kill rapists, pickle their bits and then turn them into food to feed to other rapists, before going on to killing those rapists.”I guess that could work, I mean he’s banged dead women for Christ’s sake. My hobby doesn’t seem so weird now.
He’ll be fine, he’s a big boy.Probably big down there too.
I’ve become a desperate woman, haven’t I?
“Christ, get it-to-fucking-gether, Brynne.” I roll my eyes and place the jar back onto the shelf before heading back into the basement kitchen to grab my bag, then I flick off the overhead lights and walk back up the stairs to my main kitchen.
Once upstairs I grab the keys to my SUV, my phone and the little note that I wrote Leroy’s address on and head into the garage. The matte black SUV takes up quite a lot of space in my garage but I cherish it with all my heart. It was my first real purchase– other than my house– that has got me through everything. She’s been with me through the majority of my years and I know she won’t fail me tonight.
Clicking the key fob, orange lights illuminate the space and I waste no time in chucking the bag into the passenger seat and climbing inside. The rich smell of clean leather surrounds me and I use this moment to get my shit together.
I’m nervous, why am I nervous? I don’t usually get nervous when it comes to this stuff but tonight, I can feel it in my chest. Like there’s an elephant crushing my rib cage.
It could be nothing, but then it could be the fact that if I don’t make it home tonight, I’ll never get to tell Kincaid how I feel about him, truly. And even though we both showed each other a small version of ourselves last night, we never got the chance to actually be open and honest, and that pains me because forthe first time in my life, I want to let someone in. I want to let Kincaid in. I want him to strip me bare so that I can let out all this hurt and anger that’s festering inside of me.
I want it to splash all over the floor like spilled ink, and I don’t want him to be afraid of getting messy, of getting his hands dirty with my issues.
My emotions are spinning around like a tornado in my mind, and not even the cold leather of the steering wheel beneath my white-knuckle grip is enough to ground me.
Maybe this is why I should be alone, that way I won’t get hurt. And it’s not as if Kincaid would hurt me like I previously thought, it’s me who would do the hurting to us both. I’d be the one to fuck this whole thing up, whatever thisthing isbetween us.
The pieces of me are too shattered to be fixed.
“Happy Birthday.. baby.” The vile woman coos through slurred words.
I can’t even bear to look at my mum any longer. Her face is ashy and grey, like she’s on the brink of death or the constant drink and drugs are eating away at her. Either way, I can’t live like this any longer.
It’s my 13th birthday today. I should be opening presents and eating birthday cake, or having a party but that isn’t my life. The person who gave me life is the one that’s ripping it away from me, day by day.
I just want to run away. So far away to a place where she’ll never find me again. I want my dad to come home from wherever he went to and save me.
