The thought makes my stomach grumble and just as I’m about to slice some more flesh from Chris’s shin, he tries to scream behind the apple I’ve shoved into his mouth.
“Shhh, now,” I coo. “Mummy is meal prepping.”
His eyes widen, tears spilling over his lower eyelids and thin bubbles of snot blow out of his nostrils. He fists his hands at the side of him whilst pulling against the leather restraints, but the drug that’s still coursing through his system, weakens his body.
As soon as Chris was out cold on the floor, I dragged him through the living room, straight through the kitchen and down the stairs towards my basement. Every single kitchen appliance that I would need to keep my pantry stocked, is down here. State of the art ovens, meat grinders and slicers, knives and everything that you would ever want to create mouth-watering meals. Of course I flick between both kitchens when I fancy a change of scenery, but this one is my favourite by far.
I take a couple more slices from his shin, making sure to start from just under the kneecap and down towards his ankle. The paperthin skin curls like decedent chocolate as I pull the peeler down to reveal the bright red sinew of his flesh. Chunks of bloodied flesh and curly black hair gather around the peeler's blade, clogging up the sides so I’m forced to rinse it under the tap.
Swirls of pinky-reddish water spirals around the stainless steel sink as I run the peeler under the tap, loosening up the chunks that cling to the razor sharp blade. The rinsed off meaty lumps sit together in a neat little pile in the plug hole.
I’ll get rid of them later, no doubt I’ll be adding more bits and pieces in there.
I turn off the tap and pull open the drawer of the dishwasher and chuck the peeler inside, then I head back over to Chris who's literally drenched in sweat. Blood drips from the open wound on his leg, creating a small puddle on the tiled floor.
This is always my favourite part of thedate. Forget the wining and dining, and the shitty flowers that die within a week of having them,thisis where the fun is. Watching every victim—as if you could call them that, squirm with fear once they realise they aren’t going to make it out of this alive.
Chris ruined my life that night. He took something away from me that wasn’t meant for him, and yet he has no idea that his past has come back to haunt him, in the form of me. He thought he could get his dick wet tonight, and don’t get me wrong it probably will end up in some form of liquid, but it won’t be in my pink clam.
“Chris, Chris, Chris.. what should I do with you?” I sigh, twirling the egg chopper in my hand. The steel gleams under the ceiling lights. Not only is this particular item great for chopping off the tops of boiled eggs, but it works perfectly at slicing penises into little pepperoni circles.
Fear radiates from his face, bloodshot eyes darting around erratically as I push up the guillotine shaped blade in one fast swipe,just to give it a little test.
“You have no idea who I am, do you?” I ask, grazing the chopper down his stomach towards his flaccid dick. He jumps at the touch and begins to shake his head, his voice muffled behind the apple.
Tucking my blunt red bob behind one ear, I turn to face him. “That’s a shame, but not to worry. I’ll refresh your memory." I send him a smirk, causing him to huff and puff through his nose, terror turning his skin a off-white colour.
“You see Chris,” I start, placing the chopper down for a moment before walking to the end of the table. “We’ve met before, three years ago in fact. I probably didn’t look like this, andyoudefinitely look likethatbut I’d never forget your face. It haunted me every night, creeping into my dreams until I refused to sleep at all.”
Confusion floods his face at my admission. “C’mon, don’t tell me you don’t remember? Long blonde hair, tiny little leather skirt on.. rape?”
Still he doesn’t click onto what I’m saying. “You raped me Chris! You dragged me down that pissy fucking alleyway, threw me to the ground and fuckingraped me!”
Tears threaten to well in my eyes but I refuse to cry. I haven’t cried since that night and there’s no way I’m starting now.
Not for him, not for anyone.
Chris’s eyes widen, then he shakes his head frantically, his strained voice muffled, so I round the table again and yank the apple free.
“No.. no, you.. you’ve got it wrong!” He panics.
I lean over him and grip his face in my hand, squeezing his cheeks until his mouth turns into a puckered asshole. “That’s the thing about me, pookie. I’m never wrong, and Ineverfucking forget.”
He can probably see the anger that washes over my face, and I might have changed my appearance but the eyes never lie. They’re the windows to the soul and Chris’s are as black as night, they’re so dark that I can almost see my reflection in those evil pools.
“Please,” he manages to squeeze out through his squished mouth, so I release my grip slightly, eager to hear what he has to say. “I.. I’ve changed alright? I was stupid back then and look, you’re clearly doing well now so.. it can’t have been that bad, right?”
Can this dude hear himself right now?
It can’t have been.. that bad?
Fury courses through my veins and I grip his face in a vice hold, digging my fingernails into his cheeks. Tiny, thin blood vessels start to pop underneath the skin as I crush his face. This sad excuse of a man starts to whimper, his eyes pleading with me to let him go but he never gave me the same grace. Every beg and plea landed on deaf ears, so now he’ll receive the same treatment.
“I suppose you’d like me to thank you as well, hm? Tell you how much that little act of yours changed me for the better, how it made me stronger? Well, I don’t fucking think so.” I seethe through gritted teeth then I release his face, chuck the apple to the side and head over to the end of the table again where his feet lay.
This fucker is going to feel every ounce of pain he put me through, and every time he begs for his life, every time he tells me to stop, I’ll continue.
There’s a separator that sits in between his feet and attached at the ends are leather cuffs that are wrapped around his ankles. This not only keeps him attached to the table, but I’m able to spread his legs as wide as I want to. So, that’s exactly what I do.
