Page 44 of Miserable Marionette

It’s gone.

My steps falter.

The weepy, exhausted girl in my arms doesn’t even notice.

But I can’t take a step forward, not with this buzzing in my ears, not with the tears wetting my shirt for her fucking corpse of a boyfriend. Even decaying in the woods, his stinking, rotting, slipping flesh chewed up by wildlife, he’s still between us, still a roadblock. And I was erased. The mural she begged her dad for months to let her paint in her room… the one of the little boy and girl… of us.

Just gone.

It takes longer than it should for me to gather the torrent of hornets that come with that new… uncomfortable knowledge. The only thing that helps is Audrey’s soft, warm body wrapped around me, so fucking soft. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess to unwrap her from my arms, to settle her on her bed instead of demanding she stay exactly where she is for the rest of our natural lives. To keep breathing like Dad taught me and not snap her fucking neck as I skim my knuckles over her sides. My hands fist the hoodie she’s got on and pull it over her head halfway, pausing to untangle her hair before removing it fully. Audrey’s eyes are beautiful, such a stunning mix of blue, gold, green, and brown. Like someone had boxed the Earth and shoved it into her skull. They’re all the more pretty when the sclera is bloodshot. She stares up at me as I fold the hoodie. Her breasts are hugged by her white tank top, the warm, rosy color of her wide nipples showing through so clearly that she may as well have nothing on at all. My mouth waters, my anger for a moment subsiding as I take her in.

My sad girl.

So sweet and soft.

So innocent.

So helpless.

So fucking stupid.

Not in a way that implies she’s not smart; she is. But in the way that Audrey has no idea… no clue how close she is to death. No clue how close I am to dragging her tiny little silk shorts off and muffling her screams in the sheets. I decide then, if she breaks the silence, if she says even a single word, I’m going to take her. She can scream all she wants; she was fucking made for me.

One sound, puppet.

One single sound.

One whimper, one retort, one question, one single sniffle, or a shaky breath that comes out too loud, and I’ll shove my cock in any hole you have. I’ll pump my come so fucking deep inside you, you’d need to gut yourself to get it out.

Come on, puppet. We both know you hate silence.

You can’t stand it.

Never could.

She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, gnawing on the sensitive flesh, terrorizing it. Her cheeks wash over with a wave of pink creeping down her neck, onto her chest. I track it, not breaking the tension I know is driving her insane. It would be beautiful, I think, to see her just as unhinged for me as I have always been for her.

One word, sweet girl. Say it.

Make this easy for me.

All these games; the waiting, the watching, the manipulations.

We can end it.

Let me have you, Audrey.

Let me show you how much your best friend has missed you. How desperate, fucking undone, I am, have always been, for you. Let me thrust you into the horrors I’ve committed, the pining, the obsession. The nineteen years of devotion.

The thought comes unbidden to my mind, picturing her like the dolls I made, the ugly puppets. I’d make her a beautiful dress, all of them in her favorite light shade of green, with the lace trim she loved. Her curls bouncing as I kissed away the pain the bone pins brought. I’d string her up and give her what I never gave them… never gave anyone. I’d fuck her in the rigging and she’d be perfect, my perfect puppet.

My cock is throbbing, pressing against my jeans as her eyes scale down my face, to my chest, lower.

I let her look.

The buzzing quiets, despite my rage growing steadily.

They weren’t supposed to find him yet. It’s early, but it seems nature has been on my side.