Page 15 of Karma

She twists her heel. “I don’t care if I crush your dick.”

“I think you do care...based on the way you look at it.”

“Fuck you.” She digs her heel into me, mashing the most sensitive area on my body.

Fuck, that hurts.

“I don’t know what I did to you, but can you not take it out on my dick?” I grip her ankle with my free hand to take the pressure off my junk. “Girl, can we not?”

“Oh, does that hurt?”

“Listen, I have a son at home. You have to let me go,” I say. Peteyismy son. I’d burn the world down for that rabbit.

“I don’t care.”

She finally pulls her foot off my dick, which unfortunately hurts a lot worse because it was hard. For her. Stupidly for her. There’s a mark where her heel has bruised my flesh.

“So you really aren’t going to talk?” she asks. “This only gets worse from here.”

My dick and I both wish I could, but if I tell her anything, we’re as good as dead. They’ll send someone like me to take care of us.

“No, I can’t.”

A frustrated exhale leaves her full lips. When she takes a step back and brushes her face with the back of her hand, she smears her makeup. A hint of discoloration circles her right eye.

“What’s that bruise from?” I ask, trying to take her attention off me.

Her lips tighten. “Nothing.”

“Well, something bruised you. Did he hurt you again?“

“You don’t get to ask me questions! This isn’t how this works!” she says.

Hey, I said the same thing. None of this is how this works. She should be fucking dead. Or even better, she should be my party favor. She’d look pretty as she begs for her life. To be honest, this girl would look pretty doing just about anything. With her dark hair pulled back in the messy ponytail, she looks somehow elegant and sloppy, but firmly sexy. She looks as if she’d kill me with a smile on her face. Possibly with my severed dick in her hand. Who knows what this kinky bitch is into.

“Listen, just let me go. I have a party I absolutely cannot miss.” I strain and look at the digital clock beneath the television. “In four hours.”

“A party? A fucking party!” she says with an angry laugh. “This is a night of partying for you?”

“For people beyond me. That’s what you don’t seem to understand. I’m a cog, karma.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“That’s what you told my friend, isn’t it?” I ask.

Was Adam really my friend, though? Nah, more like my handler.

“Call me karma.” I repeat her words back to her, and she looks at me like she wants to tap dance on my balls again.

“You just wait,Knox.” She calls me by my name, which Adam used like a fucking idiot. I go to argue that it’s not my real name, but then I look over at my discarded pants and realize she probably has my ID anyway. We’re supposed to leave identification at home, so I fucked that up.

“What am I waiting for, exactly?” I ask.

“Foryourkarma.”

After drugging him again, I retreated to my bedroom to compose myself. A white stuffed rabbit sits on the bed. One of its eyeballs hangs by a literal thread, and its coat is dirty and ragged, but it’s soothed me to sleep more times than I can count. It was a gift from my father.

I stare at myself in the mirror as I swipe concealer across my cheek and around my eye. The bruises disappear beneath the thick cover-up. My hand crawls over the bruises I’ve hidden beneath my clothes.

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