Page 12 of Tormenting Me

I drive my knife into his groin. Samuel’s shrill scream fills the warehouse as I stab him again and again. Blood trickles down my wrist and forearm, staining the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “Please, man… I haven’t touched a girl since…since,” his voice falters as he passes out. I bring my knife to his throat.

“But you were planning on it, weren’t you, Sammy?” I crouch down in front of him, blood drips from the knife and my hand on the the plastic surrounding his chair. “I’m your executioner, Sammy boy. I’ve judged you and deemed you to be unworthy of life. You rape children and for that, you gotta die. Any last words?” My voice is firm and emotionless as I stand back up.

“Please…I.”

I don’t allow him to beg for his life as I lunge forward, the blade slicing through his neck, severing his carotid. His heart pumps his blood, and with every beat of his worthless heart, it spills out onto my hands. Euphoria courses through my body. The only thing better than this will be sinking balls deep into Ma Petite Mort’s pussy.

Side-stepping to face him, “Thanks, Sammy. That was just what I needed.” I give his lifeless cheek a few pats with blood stained hand.

I take time to cut up Samuel’s body into small pieces, using the old meat packing equipment here in the warehouse. Easily disguising his flesh as ground meat, and just tossing it in the trash or feeding the sharks in the bay. I’ll burn the bones and his clothes in the incinerator, leaving behind ashes that too will go into the bay.

It’s taken me years to perfect my methods, and for the past four years, it has been flawless. By the time I’m finished, I’m starving. Who knew chopping up a body could make you so hungry? After heading up to the loft, I take a quick shower and change into clean clothes. I need to make myself presentable just in case I run into my girl.

Which is the plan.

Chapter ten

Layne

The afternoon light shines through my bedroom window, blinding me as I open my eyes. I stretch out and reach for my glasses but a piece of paper brushes my fingers before I get to them. Holding the scrap of paper centimeters in front of my face, I struggle to read it without my glasses, but the blurry words on the paper read,

“I’m coming for you, Ma Petite Mort.”

That’s french for My Little Death. I hold the paper in my hand and ponder those words. I’m nobodies anything, never had a boyfriend or any kind of relationship.

Thanks for the reminder, creepy fucker. What the fuck! This means someone broke in while I was sleeping.

Feeling all over my body, I check under the covers to make sure that I’m still in my clothes but nothing seems out of the ordinary. As I look around my small apartment, I wonder how someone broke in without me waking. The city is full of noise, though, and I sleep like the dead when I’m drunk, so someone could break in and I wouldn’t even notice. Glasses on, I notice a water bottle and a white pill on the bedside table. My head is thumping, but I’m not dumb enough to take a random pill sitting on my bedside table. I hop out of bed and sprint to the bathroom, the wave of nausea hitting hard and fast.

“No more drinking,” I swear, hunched over. The alcohol helps me sleep so I have a hard time giving it up. I know its a problem. My brain won’t shut off on its own, and the numbness from the alcohol dulls all the emotions and lets me sleep. I brush my teeth and take a quick shower while in the bathroom. Outfit of the day consists of a vintage metal t-shirt, black mid-thigh skirt, and my knife harness and blades. A single girl can’t be too safe in the city. After getting dressed, I cross into the kitchen. I check the time on the microwave.

“Shit!” I grab a granola bar, bag, and phone. I’m already twenty minutes late.

Rushing out the door, I lock it behind me and tramp down the stairs, then make my way out of the building into the alley. I don’t have a car, who needs a car when they live in the city? I do, because I cannot for the life of me seem to get my shit together enough to be on time anywhere. Ride-sharing has been a godsend, but it’s expensive as fuck. I’d rather be spending the money on a vehicle of my own. My ride is ten minutes away, so I pop into the pizza shop for a slice and a drink for the road.

“What’s up, Roman!” I shout over the noisy kitchen. Roman’s head pops around the corner with a big ass grin.

“Hey! Layne! Chica, where have you been? We practically have a whole pizza waiting for you.” I roll my eyes. All because I haven’t come down to the restaurant in a few days. It’s not been that long.

“Don’t exaggerate. You know me, always running late.” He snorts, nodding his head in agreement as he puts a few slices in a small box and hands me a soda.

After thanking him, I pivot, making my way to the door but stop when I see the most striking pair of green eyes staring at me. Like precious jade the owner of those eyes sits at the table shoved in the back corner, hood over his head. I can see his dirty reddish-blond hair underneath, and it’s a curly mess. Most of his face is hidden by the shadow of the corner and his hood, but I can still see his mouth. He licks his lips like I’m something for him to eat. My stomach flutters and that sensation travels down to my core.

“You okay, chica?” Roman calls to me, noticing I’ve stopped completely. He steps out from behind the counter, a pizza cutter in hand.

“I’m good,” I shout back, noticing the pizza cutter in his hand, raising my eyebrow at him. Before I can even say anything, my phone dings, letting me know my ride’s here. Our eyes connect for another moment. Shaking myself, I run out the door before the ride leaves.

Fifteen minutes later, I walk into work. Late as fuck, I look around, hoping that the owner, Kris, isn’t here.

“You’re safe, La La,” Atlas shouts from behind the counter. He’s sitting on a stool, book in hand. I breathe a sigh of relief as didn’t need to hear again about how my job was at risk because of my tardiness.

“Bitch, don’t you have a phone? You know there is a nifty feature where you can set an alarm.” Atlas snorts, taking in my disheveled appearance.

“Shut it, Atlas.” I set my bag and pizza box on the counter. “Want some pizza? Roman gave me enough for you, too.” Atlas’s eyes perk up at the offer of food.

“Are you banging him yet? You know he has the hots for you.” He takes a slice of pizza out and moans. “The man can make pizza, and I bet he fucks like a God.” I take a bite of the slice.

The delicious greasy food soothing my empty, sour stomach.

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