“–They said the tongue was…” the person trailed off, too afraid to voice his thoughts.
“Yeah, his tongue was gone too,” another completed. “He was basically in pieces.”
I swallowed.
“I didn’t like that they replaced Mr. Walsh, anyway.” A feminine voice echoed from afar, I didn’t bother to look. “I guess someone really took it personal.”
Then laughter followed, synced, careless, and cruel in its ignorance. Was it really funny? That a man was chopped into pieces in his own home?
I kept walking, Kenzo’s steps falling steadily beside me. He hadn’t uttered a word since I left my last class and we met by my locker. At least I didn’t think he had said a thing.
He wasn’t particularly sad for Mr. Donald. I wasn’t sure if he thought he deserved it too. And like everyone else, he wondered who did it. He didn’t know the man that did it had kissed me right after, fucked me hard and gave me one of the wildest orgasm of my life. He didn’t know that I had watched it too, when the tongue was severed, when the arm was chopped off, and when the other parts of the body followed.
My stomach twisted.
What would happen when Kenzo and everyone else found out the hand that murdered Mr. Donald always touched my face? That his fingers often traced my skin like I belonged to him?
What would happen when they find out that I was with the killer just this morning? That he’d bunched my plaid skirt around my waist, dragged my panties down and pressed my face against the silk sheet, while he pounded into me because he couldn’t afford to skipbreakfast.
A tremor ran through me as I wondered; if Zaghan could kill a man for scaring me and touching me, what would he do if I ran away from him?
Was I trapped with him forever? Was this life my forever? Would I end up with a man who would always come home covered in blood?
Would the blood on his hands one day me mine? He did say he would kill me eventually.
My breath stuttered, coming too fast, too shallow. The edges of the world began to blur, the lockers stretching, voices echoing like they were underwater.
It might be anxiety, or the fact that I hadn’t slept in days, not really. I was finally about to doze off after eating a cereal on the kitchen counter yesterday night when Zaghan barged in and dragged me out. And then he proceeded to fuck me all night long…and this morning.
I was exhausted. My mind was fraying. It might be that. Or I was really falling apart, dying.
“Beth?”
My heart was pounding loudly in my ears, my blood turning to larvae in my veins. I couldn’t breathe.
“Beth?”
“Beth!”
I flinched.
Kenzo had stopped walking, turning to face me, hands on my shoulders to steady me, worry written all over his face.
“Are you…okay?” he asked, one hand lifting off my shoulder and resting on my forehead.
“Yeah…” I murmured, the words falling from my mouth, thin and fragile, like it would shatter if I said it too loud. “I’m…okay?”
“Are you sure?” He scanned my face. “You’re sweating.”
“I’m fine,” I murmured again. “Just exhausted.”
He didn’t believe me, of course. But he didn’t push. Reluctantly, his hand dropped from my shoulder, falling into his pocket.
He studied me for a moment, then sighed before returning to his position beside me.
I began to walk again, my legs feeling like jelly, like I would collapse if I walked a distance too far.
“I was saying.” Kenzo’s voice drifted into my thoughts again, “My mom was hoping you could come to her birthday dinner tonight.”
