Page 62 of Tormenting Me

Layne

Istand before the man that haunts my dreams, only now I am the one in control. He sits tied to the same chair my father sat in. I want to vomit looking at him. Every word he has ever uttered in my ear replays in my head. My skin crawls thinking about how his hands touched my body, his fingers explored parts of me he never should have.

“Ma Petite Mort,“ Wes’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. I look up at him, his eyes search mine. “Are you ready?”

No. But also yes.

I take a deep breath and nod.

Wes shoves a syringe into Bannister’s neck, pushing down on the plunger. It takes a few moments for the medication to pull him out of it. His eyes flutter open and he focuses on me. Bannister shakes his head as if to clear the fog, then tilts his head to the side to take me in. He almost immediately recognizes me.

“Laney-Bear?” His groggy voice asks.

“I am not your Laney-Bear.” I spit. “I was never yours.”

“I would recognize you at any age.” The realization hits him as he squirms uncomfortably in the chair, his movements restricted by the tight knots securing him. “Is this really necessary?”

Wes steps out from behind him. “Yeah, I’m gonna say it is. You kind of have a thing for raping women. So, to make me feel better about you being around my wife, tied up is how you’ll stay. Got it?“ Wes slaps Bannister shoulder, then moves to come stand by my side.

“You’re the cop that pulled me over.” Fear and realization flickered across Bannister’s face as his eyes widened. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t break free from his restraints. I can see the panic in his eyes, the desperation to escape. But this time, he’s the one who’s helpless.

I take a step closer to him, my anger fueling my words. “You thought you could get away with what you did to me? I was just a little girl!” I draw my open hand back, bringing it forward and slapping him across the face. His head swings back from the impact. “I died because of you. I struggle to live every single fucking day because of the trauma. You..” I slap him again. “You stole my innocence.”

“Hey, hey, now. I never raped you.” He sneers. “But god I wanted too. Your perfect little body. They way you would whine and cry when I would touch you. Do you remember Laney-Bear? Do you remember what my fingers feel like inside of you? Does your husband know I was the one who made you come for the first time?”

Wes cracks his knuckles, flexing his hands at his side. I look over and can see the restraint all over his face. He wants to hurt him. I fight hard to resist the pull of the memories, like a current trying to drag me under. The memories tug at my mind, causing a shiver to run down my spine.

Don’t fall, Layne. Fight.

“Laney-Bear, it felt so good, didn’t it? You laid there like a good girl for me, you wanted it.”

“NO,” I scream. “I didn’t want it. What thirteen-year-old girl wants the drug dealer her parents score their drugs from to molest her?”

Wes’s presence beside me gives me strength, reminding me I’m not alone in this anymore. He stands tall, strong, and resolute. My Buainteoir, my Reaper, my husband. “You thought you could hurt my wife and get away with it?“ He sucks his teeth. “Yeah, no. Not a chance. This is just the beginning of your punishment.”

Bannister’s voice trembles as he speaks, his attempt at defiance feeble. “You can’t keep me tied up forever. Someone will find me.”

Wes smirks, his eyes filled with righteous anger. “Oh, we’re not planning on keeping you tied up forever. We have something much more fitting in mind for you.”

Bannister’s face pales at Wes’s words. His confidence shattered. He realizes the gravity of his actions and the consequences that await him. The tables have turned, and he’s now the one at our mercy.

“What would you like to take back first, Ma Petite Mort?“ Wes moves around Bannister, the workbench where an assortment of tools await their use. “His words, or how about his touch? We’ll leave his eyes for the very end. I want him to see everything that we’ll do to him.”

“His touch.” My voice cracks. “I don’t want to feel his touch anymore.”

“As you wish,“ Wes winks, bowing before me.

God, he’s such a nerd.

He walks back over to me, handing me a handsaw. “Now, you’re going to want to cut right above the wrist bone.” He shows me on Bannister’s wrist. “Right here.”

Bannister tries to spit at him, it dribbles down his chin instead. Wes reaches behind Bannister and smacks him upside the head, jutting his head forward. “Let’s have some manners, fuckface.”

I snort. My husband and his colorful insults. My body shakes with laughter. “Fuckface?” I smile at him.

“God, I love seeing you smile, Layne.”

I step toward Bannister, looking down at him. “This is for every time you touched me. Hands that had no right to touch my skin, fingers that should have never felt inside of me.” The sharp edges of the saw touch his skin.

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