The thunk of the blade into the body is disturbing, and it only grows more eerie with each attack.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
The labored breathing of Sullen’s victim fills the air. It soundswet,dreadful, strained.
Sullen stabs him again.
And again.
The man is flat on his back, hands still over his abdomen, but I don’t let myself take in any more detail than that.
Besides, I’m trapped in my monster’s gaze.
I lose count of the wounds.
It doesn’t seem as if Sullen is cutting into unbroken flesh anymore. I imagine this is what a butcher shop sounds like. There is nothing butmeatbeneath Sullen now.
He keeps going.
He doesn’t stop.
Blood flecks along his face, but it’s more visible over the white bandana.
He doesn’t look away.
After what feels like days, he suddenly drops the knife. It clatters to the marble floor with a crescendo.
He crawls over the man, dragging his own knees through blood and guts without care, no reverence for the corpse.
He crawls tome.
His gloved hand comes to my chest, shoving me back.
He is not gentle.
Whatever he is feeling, it isn’t careful.
Willingly, I lie on my spine.
The charnel scent around us is sickly-sweet, iron and salt and death.
And Sullen collapses on top of me, as if he is shielding my body with his own.
My face is hidden under his chest.
He covers every inch of me, with how much bigger he is than I am.
I don’t move.
He is breathing hard over me, his body trembling.
I close my eyes.
I stay still for him.
