Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 87961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“You consider that begging?” I growl, forcing two more fingers back toward his knuckles. “Pathetic!”
I trail the knife over his throat and he sobs, his lips quivering. I’ve never wanted to make someone suffer as much as I do him at this very moment. I place the blade behind his ear, pressing on it with my thumb. I bite down on my lip then jerk the knife forward. Euan howls in pain as the knife slices his ear off. He doubles over. Blood pours down the side of his face and over his neck. I step back, pacing in front of him. He’s still screaming and sobbing, pressing his un-maimed hand against the gory stub that was his ear. The louder he wails, the more my blood boils.
“Please. I’ll do anything,” he pants, “anything, just please, don’t kill me.”
“Stand up.”
He remains bent forward, the blood continuing to flow.
“Stand the fuck up!”
He slowly manages to pull himself upright, and as soon as he does, I punch him in the gut as hard as I can. His back slams against the wall, and he groans as he plummets to the floor. I kick him over and over: in the stomach, the shins, his balls, his face. Visions of my mother and sister flash through my mind, the house burned to the ground and smoldering, Joe’s wife pleading for her life. I swear, there’s a moment of externalism. It’s like I jump out of my own damn body. I smash my fist over his face, grab his head and slam it against the floor. And now, all I can see in my mind is Tor bloodied and crying. The thought of that makes me beat him harder All I can hear is my pulse in my ears, the labored breaths my lungs force out, and the weak wails of Euan as I take all my aggression out on him. When I know he must think he’s close to death, I walk to the side of the room, folding my arms as I lean against the wall. “Go!” I growl.
He moans and attempts to roll onto his hands and knees. With each small movement, loud sobs rack his body. There is most likely not a single bone in him that hasn’t been cracked, broken, or smashed.
“I said, go!”
He can’t support himself. Every time he tries to pull up, he collapses to the floor in a pathetic heap. I watch as he uses his elbows to drag his useless body across the floor toward the door. A trail of cardinal red blood smears the floor behind him. When he gets about a foot from the entrance, I push off the wall, and he freezes. With each loud step I take, his breathing grows more labored. I squat next to him and fist his hair, yanking his head back. “Changed my mind,” I whisper as I flip him over.
I straddle his chest, the blood quickly soaking through my jeans as I pin his shoulders down with my knees. Forcing his jaw open, I manage to grab his tongue and use the sharp knife to saw through the thick muscle. He screams hysterically as he jerks his head from side to side.
“Stay the fuck still,” I say, and put the blade back to the mangled piece of flesh, finally severing it. The scream he lets out is guttural and riddled with pain, but even that’s not enough to satisfy me.
“I want you to lie here in agony. I want you to feel the fucking blood drain out of your pathetic body. I’m gonna let you drown in your own fucking blood, and I’m gonna watch you fucking suffer.”
I force his mouth open, blood spilling from its corners, and cram his tongue far back into his throat. He gags. His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, and I just lean against the door to watch him struggle. “This is what you fucking deserve,” I growl. He fights the inevitable for a few more seconds and then falls still.
I step over him and put my hand on the doorknob. I hear him gurgle from the blood pooling in his throat, and I twist the knob. “You were wrong,” I say as I slam the door closed behind me.
Even in the darkest situations, I like to think that you can find a glimmer of light.
I can’t.
Not this time.
There are some things that can break a person, break them to the point of wishing for death with every fibre of their being.
I’ve never understood how anyone can get to the point of contemplating suicide. Turns out that point comes pretty bloody quickly when you’re faced with the possibility of something so horrific you would do anything at all to escape it.
I can take pain. I can take fear. I can take a lot. I can’t comprehend being raped, violated, degraded. I would rather die.