Page 32 of Tormenting Me

The next few hours we spend laughing and enjoying the company of friends, my co-workers, and family. Family is such a strange word for me to be using. But Wes’s parents are my family now. Atlas had everything catered, which is just an eclectic mix of Chinese, Mexican, and pizza. Which is fine by me, we don’t need fancy food. There’s dancing, and I learn quickly that my husband can dance, and so can his dad. Wes’s uncle shows up a little later with his wife and five daughters.

This is the happiest I’ve been in my entire life. I never thought I could be this happy. Then the negative thoughts start to creep in.

Do you deserve to be this happy Layne? Are you sure once things settle down Wes won’t see you for the depressed, nothing you are and want to leave?

After a while, I notice Wes keeps taking out his phone and I get an inkling that whatever it is isn’t good. Wes remains fixated on his phone as the party comes to a close. I nudge him and motion to his phone.

“What’s the matter? Work?” I ask, casually.

Wes clenches and grinds his teeth, the sound makes me cringe. “I don’t want to upset you. But we need to leave. Now.” Wes’s parents have already headed back to their hotel for the night. After a quick goodbye to everyone remaining, we head to the car. Well, more like a sprint to the car.

Wes peels out of the alley the tires kicking up gravel. I’m trying hard to figure out the issue when I see the man up ahead on the sidewalk.

It’s my father.

Walking out of a bar at ten p.m., clearly hammered. I look over at my husband and his eyes narrow at my father. “Do you still want him dead, Ma Petite Mort?”

I nod my head.

He reaches to grab his mask from the glove box, and the sound of the latch clicking echoes in the car. In his other hand, a syringe full of clear liquid is at the ready. He pulls over, pops the trunk, and exits the car. Wes in his suit and his mask is doing things for me. This is so not the time, Layne. I watch as he sneaks up behind my father, shoving the needle deep into his neck. Thank god there is no one else on the street right now because someone would be calling the cops.

Wes drags my father’s body to the car, tossing him in the trunk with a thud. Situating himself back in the driver’s seat, he looks over at me, takes the mask off, searching my eyes for... something... and then starts the car back up. Wes heads back to the warehouse as if nothing just happened. The gate to the warehouse swings open after Wes enters the code and the car’s tires kick up gravel as he pulls forward. Wes backs the car up to the bay doors, kills the engine, and hops out. “Do you need me to help you, baby, or can you manage without me?”

I wave him off, and he heads to the trunk to pull out my father’s body. I watch my husband hoist my father’s limp body over his shoulder and carry him into the warehouse. His strength is such a turn-on. Get it together Layne! Exiting the car, I make my way into the building. Wes is across the open warehouse floor, tying my father to a chair that in the center of a large plastic square.

The area of the warehouse he’s in I have never explored. Now that I think about it, I’ve never actually walked around the warehouse floor. A galvanized metal tub is present in the tiled space, one of the kind that animals drink water out of at farms. Wes finishes tying my father’s legs down and looks over at me. “Now is your chance, Ma Petite Mort. Make him suffer for the pain he caused you.”

I make my way over to my father. I stare at him, breathing the surrounding oxygen. He has no right to be breathing.

My mind is teeming with ideas about how to end his life. I share some ideas back and forth with Wes, and we both decide he should drown first. Wes jumps into action to set everything up while my father is still knocked out, and I watch as Wes fills the galvanized tub with murky water from the bay. A fitting homage to my drowning at fifteen. Once we’re ready, Wes plunges a syringe of epinephrine into my father’s neck and his eyes shoot open.

“What the fuuuck, man!” He shouts in his thick Irish accent, thrashing about in the chair. My father scans the room, and his eyes fall on me. I am still in my wedding dress. I know the black Gothic dress must be a sight to see, making him fearful. He squints to get a better look at me. “La- Layne?” he slurs, clearly still intoxicated.

Wes comes into view, in his green dress shirt, with his sleeves rolled up. “Mr. Murphy, I can’t say it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he spits at him, “but my wife here decided that you weren’t worth the air you’re breathing. So the boss says you gotta go.” He chuckles, squatting down, getting in his face. “You know what they say. Happy wife, happy life.”

My sassy ass husband, making me laugh as we get ready to end this waste of a man’s life. I fucking love him. If he wants babies, I’m gonna give him all the babies he wants. I will do anything for this man.

Wes drags the chair over to the tub. My father thrashes about, wiggling and trying to loosen the ropes that bind him. The tub filled with dark, murky water, makes my stomach clench and I fight to not lose myself to the thoughts that are starting to creep in. I place my hand on my stomach and take a few deep breaths to center myself.

You are here, Layne. Breathe.

I stand on the other side of the chair. “Sean Murphy,” speaking directly to him now, “this is for the little girl you drowned that day. The one who is now trying to heal from being emotionally fucked up her whole life. The one the doctors brought back to life is not the little girl from before.” Wes and I grab ahold of him and shove his head under the water. He jerks under the water and tries to surface.

A few minutes later, he slumps forward, no longer fighting us. Wes checks his pulse and confirms he’s dead. He looks at his watch and counts down, and when three minutes are up, he pulls him out of the water. Wes unties him and lays him flat on the floor and begins to resuscitate him. I stand over him, holding one of my favorite blades.

My father sputters, retching up the water from his lungs. “Now you know what it feels like to drown. How it feels to die, it hurts, doesn’t it? Now you will know what it feels like to bleed out. I will not mourn you, Sean Murphy. I’ll feed your corpse to the sharks and watch them feast on you.” He whispers something that I can’t hear, so I inch closer to his face. “What’s that?” I sneer.

“Go fuck yourself you little cunt,” coughing water into my face. My blade slices across his throat, and the resistance of the sinew and flesh has me push down harder. Blood gushes out from the wound, saturating his shirt, the floor, and my hands. I lean back and laugh and it’s more of a painful howl, finally feeling free of one of the men who has been haunting me.

Wes grabs me by my forearms and pulls me to my feet, spinning me around. He takes his blade out and slices up the back of my corset, peeling it off of me. The fabric of the dress rips as he tugs it down. I stand there, completely naked. “Fuck, baby. No panties?” He sucks his lower lip between his teeth.

“I wanted nothing in the way, in case you wanted to fuck me after the ceremony.” My bloody hands run up his thigh, stopping at his cock, hard and waiting to be inside me. The buttons of his shirt scatter across the tiled floor as I rip it open and run my bloody hands up his chest, feeling the beat of his heart and his deep labored breaths. His pants and boxer briefs hit the floor with the satisfying thud of his belt. “Lie down, baby.” I motion to the floor next to my father’s still-warm but dead body.

Wes does as he is told, pulling his socks, shoes and pants off. Not bothered one bit by the dead body or the blood he is lying in. I climb on top of him, positioning his cock at my entrance. The gasp that leaves his lips as I slide down to the hilt of him is such a turn-on. He keeps his hands on my hip as I ride him.

“What we are doing is sick and fucked up, Wes,” I moan as I roll my hips into him, “but nobody else will ever touch me like you do. So if this is what we have…” I bring my blade to his jugular.

“Oh, fuck,” Wes whimpers.

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