Trigger warning; violent obsession tendencies and graphic violence.
~The game is sweetest when the prey still believes they can win.~
The room was dim, bathed in the faint, pulsing glow of a dying neon sign outside. The air felt thick, suffocating, stunk of spilled liquor, sweat and something darker still; anticipation.
I pressed the girl against the cold, stained wall, one hand wrapped around her throat, the other tangled in her hair, pulling just enough to elicit a gasp. Her lips were bruised, swollen from our violent collision moments before. Her eyes…almost right.
I hated that they weren't perfect.
But tonight, I'd pretend.
Her fingers clawed at my shirt, yanking it off with desperation fueled by want…or need…it didn't matter. My mouth found hers again—harsh, teeth scraping, tongue battling for control. She liked it rough. Good.
I ripped her dress away in one swift motion then froze, my gaze locked onto the tattoo etched into her ribs; a twisted emblem, unmistakable. The resistance. The enemy.
I swiped my tongue over my lips, her sweet taste lingered. Fruit and liquor. Such a shame that now I had to kill her.
Before she could react, my dagger was in hand. Silent. Deadly. Familiar.
But she wasn't stupid. Her eyes darted to the blade, flicked back to the black flames curling around my biceps. Recognition shone in her gaze but to my very surprise, she grinned, wild and unafraid.
"Heterox."
My name left her lips like a taunt, daring me. Daring death. Brave. I knew for a fact she would possibly come to regret not running.
The game was on.
She lunged for my throat with practiced precision, but with no doubt—I was faster and slammed her back into the wall, knocking the air from her lungs. Her struggles only ended up feeding to the fire roaring inside me.
I twisted her arms behind her back, forcing her body against mine. Now, she was trapped, trapped and so so helpless, seething with rage and something else she couldn't mask. Excitement?
How amusing.
Our eyes locked, breath ragged and shared. Almost right.
My blade kissed her side, tracing delicate patterns over her bare skin, light enough to tease, sharp enough to threaten.
"You should've run," My voice was a whisper, low and dark. Tinged with humour. Had she really thought she could defeat Heterox? Defeat me? Comical. Hilarious to say the least.
Her only response was a hiss, venomous and defiant, but her body betrayed her, trembling not from fear but adrenaline-fueled lust. Almost as twisted as I. Such fierce personality gone to waste.
And then I wondered almost absent mindedly, if her corpse would keep the same fire when she was gone.
The first thrust of the blade came without warning—deep into her side and angled with precision to avoid anything vital. She gasped, it was a sharp, broken sound that sent a violent thrill through me.
She clawed at my shoulders, twisted in agony as blood seeped down her torso, warm and slick between us. It felt almost intimate. Her blood was pretty, almost as pretty as her.
"Bastard—"
"Now, now, sweet heart, That wasn't a nice word."
I drove the blade into her flesh again, cutting off her curse with another strangled cry. Her nails bit into my flesh, drawing blood. A futile act of rebellion that I savoured like a lover's touch. She began struggling.
"What's the matter? Thought you liked it rough."
Her head lolled against my chest, gasping, writhing, as I twisted the knife slowly and watched every flicker of agony in her unright eyes. I was lost in it, consumed by it. Each broken whimper was intoxicating, filling a void I couldn't name.
My hands tightened around her throat, choking off her sobs that bleeded into pleas, just enough to keep her conscious. Her wide, panicked eyes fixed on me, still wrong, still not hers.
I drove the blade in again. And again. And again. And again. Each thrust punctuated her weakening cries, her body jerked helplessly against mine. The pleasure mixed with violence in a toxic, perfect rhythm, blurring the lines between want and destruction.
She pleaded and cried and begged. I barely felt the need to comfort her. She wasn't like the girl at the bench. Her vulnerability - despite how delicious it seemed - was disgusting.
"Pitiful. Never thought you'd be one to beg."
I thrusted the blade in again with the lightest force, watching as it sunk deep slowly, drawing out her pain, drawing out my pleasure.
Her strength faded, her eyes dimmed, tears cutting silent tracks down her cheeks.
"Shh…it'll be over soon." I assured her, voice soft, tender, deceitfully comforting.
At least my words were truthful.
One final thrust. This one deep. Lethal. I held her close, feeling her last breath shudder against my chest.
Her body went slack, lifeless, still warm in my arms. Blood pooled around our feet like spilled ink, stained everything in its reach.
I tilted her chin up, staring into those empty, still wrong eyes. Searching. Hoping. Failing.
With a disgusted snarl, I let her body drop, hitting the cold floor with a sickening thud.
Still not her.
I steadied my breath, though my pulse still throbbed with leftover adrenaline…and something else.
I stared down at the crumpled body at my feet. My skin glistened with her blood, still warm, still vivid against my pale chest, vague on my soaking black gloves.
Tilting my head, I studied her lifeless face with clinical detachment now that the thrill had passed. Her lips remained slightly parted, frozen in that last, broken gasp. Her eyes…still wrong.
Shame.
I lowered down and plunged the blade deep into her left eye, drawing it out with a suctioning sound. I punctured the second one, uprooted the dagger out again.
Staring at her severed eyes, I decided this was much much better.
A disgusted snort left me as I grabbed my discarded shirt from the floor, using the least bloodied corner to wipe down the blade. The spotless silver glimmered as I sheathed it back into its hidden compartment.
The memory of the girl on the bench, burned brighter in my mind, mocking me, haunting me.
I draped her soiled dress that still shimmered over her bare body. At least a little dignity, even at death.
Time to go.
I stepped over the corpse, leaving bloody footprints behind as the neon lights flickered once…twice…and finally died.
My gaze came to fix at the cracked mirror near the door. It reflected a man unrecognizable, a blood smeared monster with dead hollow eyes. I chuckled under my breath. Poetic.
I shrugged into my coat, concealing most of the carnage, then fisted my shirt into a crinkled ball and shoved it into the inner pocket of my coat. My bare chest beneath still shimmered faintly with crimson streaks, but the bar's dim lighting would help. Blood on black was easy to miss…unless a person looked too closely.
I kicked her discarded undergarments beneath the stained mattress, erasing any obvious evidence with practiced ease. And for the body…well, they'd find it when they find her.
I adjusted my collar, rolling my shoulders. I unlocked the back room door and slipped out.
The bass from the bar's speakers hit me first, deep, throbbing and masking the distant city noise. Drunken laughter and shouted conversations created a perfect backdrop of chaos and destruction.
I strolled casually towards the exit, weaving easily through the crowd. I scanned for lingering glances, curious stares. Nothing. To them, I was just another wasted stranger leaving after a long night of sin.
Xavier was nowhere to be found. He would find his way back alone.
The bouncer at the front door didn't give me as much of a glance as I pushed into the cold night air.
I slipped into the shadows, swallowed whole by the night, leaving behind only a lingering scent of metal, apples and dark liquor.
Never even got laid.
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Moments later after I had washed up, contemplating between burning my clothes or bleaching them - bleaching would ruin black just as much as burning - Xavier waggered in with a green face, absolutely stoned and barely on his feet.
"Do not throw up on my carpet," I uttered flatly from the dining room as I flicked over the page of my journal.
"Tonight was crazy, man!" He hollered, settling into my cream couch with his filthy body. He still went into a rant even when he was wasted and could barely think. "Had a full on Orgy."
"Xavier, I do not want to hear about your sexual endeavors."
"Two's a threesome, fours an orgy," he sang, bopping his head absent mindedly. "How 'bout you, huh?" He nodded his head in my direction. "What you up to all night?"
"What people at bars are usually up to," I muttered, scribbling down at a chapped page.
"Don't think I ain't see you wit Lydia," he drawled. "Shorty buggin', man–Curved me but she all on you?"
Lydia. That was her name.
"Can't say I'm surprised," I said under my breath.
Xavier suddenly groaned. "Maann, my dick hurt. Them chicks was wildin'." Then he flicked his hand in a lazy manner. "Man Lydia shmydia, bet my night still went crazier than yours anyway."
Oh, if only he knew.
Soon, the kid had passed out, head hanging off the couch's edge.
I found my mind drifting back to the bench, and soon my body had drifted back there too, only for the sake of pondering and clearing my thoughts.
Expectedly…and disappointedly, she hadn't been there but a little something of hers was this time.
The glinting crystal of a cross penchanted necklace.
So she did pay my special place a visit after all.