Page 7 of SKIN

Her whimpered pleas spurred me on while my trimmed nails embedded themselves in the supple skin of her waist to the point of drawing blood. It was that image… the image of red tainting the white of the bedsheets that sent that familiar tingle to the base of my spine as I came inside her. Coating her walls with my cum like I planned to coat her flawless skin with her blood.

And that’s when I realized my fatal mistake. I was goddamn addicted.

9

HER

Everyone’s reaction was different. Shrinks liked to tell you otherwise—at least mine always did. That same stuck-up bitch in the chair with her glasses sitting on the tip of her nose also liked to look at me like I was cold. Or maybe just a bit crazy. While narrowing down my symptoms and tossing me into one of those boxes from the many books lining the shelves behind her. Beating me down and shoving me inside until I fit. But it was so much more complicated than that.

There was anger, sure. At the asshole who took your choice away. Yourself and society as a whole. Then came the shame. Feeling like something was wrong with you, just as much as there was something wrong with them… the person who did it to you.

It. The word no one wanted to say because it felt nearly as dirty as the act. But alongside all the usual emotions, there was also detachment. The part of you that floated away and could pretend like it didn’t happen.

Screw diamonds. Detachment was a girl’s best friend.

It meant survival. The ability to compartmentalize. To pretend you enjoyed it until maybe part of you did. And there was absolutely nothing wrong with that.

There was nothing wrong with protecting yourself how ever you could. That was what I told myself when he bent me over the hospital bed and violated me in the worst way possible. When I felt my body accept what was happening to me. When I heard the sounds he made when he was finally done and part of me didn’t hate the audible grunts as they rang in my ears.

It was rape. There was no nice way to put it. No more accurate definition. And I hated him for it. Hated the way my body vibrated, because whether I wanted it—him—or not, he’d found a way to stimulate my every nerve ending. To turn me against myself. So I shut down. Switched my brain off like a simple reboot could somehow make it all go away. Help me forget where I was and who put me here. And focused on finding a way out. No matter the cost to my mental state.

10

HIM

She hated me. I could taste it in the air as readily as the piece of chewing gum I popped and gnawed on while lost to my thoughts. A smoke was what I really wanted but my eyes were glued to the screen, watching her watching me from a distance. If there was an antidote for what this woman did to me, I’d take it. But short of castrating myself—which wasn’t an option—there wasn’t much I could do. Outside of killing her. And I wasn’t ready for that yet either.

It was like burning a bunch of ants with a magnifying glass. Once they were gone, so was the fun. Thus, Emily and I found ourselves at a stalemate. Neither of us could surrender without the other claiming the win. And I didn’t fucking lose. Not since that night. Not again and certainly not to her.

Fool me once and all that bullshit…

I had to kill her. The decision had been made for me. I think I knew it deep down. That this was never meant to be a long-term arrangement. And getting rid of her meant that I finally got to move on. Stop obsessing. Accept my life for what it was and forget about everything it could have been if it weren’t for her.

And what she stole from me…

But my cock had a mind of its own. And addiction replaced the obsession. Until I became near animalistic with need. Like a cokehead constantly chasing that high. The truth was, if I didn’t kill her, I had no doubt she’d kill me. In some fashion or another. And as much as I didn’t fear death, I wouldn’t let her take my life from me either. Fuck no, if I was forced to live in this perpetual hell, she sure as fuck would feel the same burn.

That’s what really got me going. Her pain, her tears, the sound of her voice when it broke on a sob…

My cock twitched at the thought. And I knew it was too late to do anything but jump on this crazy train and follow its crash course to my demise.

I shot up from my chair. I didn’t give a fuck that she was sleeping—or pretending to sleep. Who really knew with this bitch? After all, she was great at pretending. Pushed out of the surveillance room and made a beeline for her door. Emily startled awake the moment it creaked open and slammed shut again.

11

HER

DAY 2

He was positioned in that same fucking spot on a wooden chair in the corner of the room. Sinking his teeth into another goddamn apple and watching me. Always watching. Eyeing me like a subject under a microscope or a creature in the zoo. With curiosity and something more. Sometimes rage. Others lust. All while giving me little to nothing when it came to who the fuck he was.

He reminded me of that Ryuk character from Death Note back when I was cutting down on caffeine and anime was my go-to indulgence. It was all I could picture every time he bit into an apple. He liked the red ones, appeared to tolerate green, never chose yellow. It was a fitting comparison, this fucker and the Shinigami, considering he held my life in his hands.

Some sick part of me couldn’t help but wonder when my name would be added to that little black book of his…

It was only the second day and I already knew my situation was hopeless. But maybe I could figure out something that could get me out of here. Whether it be by his hands or mine. I wasn’t ready to die yet. The will to live still flickered in my chest, forcing my heart to beat and my lungs to expand with each breath I took. It wasn’t over. I refused to accept that.

I had thirty minutes to ask him as many questions as I could come up with. But it was like a dance, and he would skirt around the truth in whatever way he could. Not that it mattered. The truth. Just his reaction to it and to me. He wanted something and it was more than seeing me dead.

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