Page 12 of Collateral Damage

“Move.” I order, becoming impatient as she creeps towards me, her light feet patting the solid tiles. I grip her moist flesh, still caked in water that has not evaporated yet making it a little trickier but her arms are so small my thumb and middle finger are still touching. So dainty and frail I could snap it, that would solve another problem. If she only has one arm in operation on top of her severed leg there ain't a hope in hell she would try to run, but I always love a good chase and I'm not against being threatened by the idea, just to see how much fight she has in her.

We convert to the bedroom and I watch as her eyes dilate, glaring at her clothes on the bed, clothes I took for her.

Considerate.

I know she wants to say so much but she isn’t, she’s frightened. I don't even know why I did it. Guilty conscience I guess, and I can't be asked to explain when even I don't know.

I know there is nothing in this room that will benefit her impending escape plan and I could just lock her in and leave her to it but I don't really want to leave her to her own devices in my room right now, without restraints, so I face the door allowing her to change.

“Now what?…” She whispers, uncertainty riddling her voice. I don't respond, only peering down at the bed before pulling out the metal cuffs. Her eyes gloss over but I shove my guilt down. It won't have to be like this forever if she works with me, but I cannot be sure right now how her brain works and how smart she really is. Behind her puppy eyes, those god damn doe eyes Ikeep finding myself staring into, she could be a mastermind, so a locked door is not enough to ease my mind while I'm out on errands.

She does as she's told, lying back on the bed like a good girl wearing a turtleneck sweater, it's black and frayed at the cuffs.She's a chewer. I tug the fabric over her wrist before cuffing it to the bar above her, her natural odour wafting under my nose as I tower over her vulnerable body. I decide against both wrists and I hope for her sake I don't regret howconsiderateI'm being.

I pull away from her and her stomach growls in response. I fight back a smile, or even worse a laugh. MyPuppetis hungry, and feeding my victims isn’t exactly where I thought this would go, but she’s looking sorry for herself and giving her something to munch on is the least I can do after what I have put her through. Not that I give a shit personally, but I'd rather she didn’t starve to death under my roof. She won’t look at me but she knows I heard that too and there is heat illuminating her pale complexion.

I step back, making my way to the kitchen where I shuffle through the cupboards. I barely eat myself; I usually eat on the go when I’m out and about so there is fuck all in the house but I stumble upon a packet of twinkies I got last week. I don’t care if she doesn't like them. She’ll eat them if she’s hungry enough. She side eyes me as I block the door frame, leaning into it before lobbying them in her lap.

“Eat.” There is a little humour behind this, but I remain straight faced, laughing on the inside, cocking a brow as she poorly attempts to open the packet with her free hand.

“You’re cuffed. Not disabled. Use your mouth,” she glares at me in disgust before using those brain cells and biting the seam open.Maybe she is not as smart as I thought. What an idiot.

“I’m heading out. I will be back in a few hours. Don’t do anything stupid.” That look of sarcasm rolls her eyes, like shecould do anything stupid cuffed to a bed in a locked room, but it amuses me all the same. She’s a plaything.My plaything.And if she rolls her fucking eyes at me I’ll give her a real reason to roll them.

“Where?” She is asking like a psycho jealous girlfriend. Does she really think I'm going to disclose that sort of information when I've known her for not even 24 hours? I step slowly inside the room until I'm invading her space, the dampness of her hair thick within the air surrounding her. Bending to her level until I'm inches from her face, I whisper through gritted teeth as she peers up at me.

“The pits of hell…”The sun slips through the cracks, highlighting the honey glow beneath her timid eyes. The colour is one I've never seen before, the deepest field of sunflowers you could get lost in, a golden compass, a compass I'm slightly worried will deter me away from what I need to do, leading me in a different direction, one I do not want to follow as I find myself staring a little too long.

C H A P T E R 8

CRIMINALS ARE MONSTERS

Puppet

She’s been gone for what feels like days. I know it’s only been a few hours but when you’re cooped up with nothing to do other than count the markings in the walls, sob until you have no tears left to cry and read a book you’ve read a million times you start to lose track of time,lose yourself.

She took one of my books from my bed side table that night and has given it to me. I already find that strange enough. Why would a killer even give me the time of day, but then again, she hasn’t exactly been the worst, not that that makes this any better. I noticed how she put the cuff over the fabric of my shirt and I might be totally delusional but I think that was to protect my wrist.

Uncontrollable sadness breaks my dam, running my eyes sore once more. They already hurt so much from crying but it doesn’t seem to stop. I've tried to sleep off their faces but it visits me in my dreams and my lack of insulin has already begun to take effect, the taste of acid is taking up residence in the back of my throat and I wish the process would just hurry up already.

My mind has been overexerting itself so much that I am in a state of numbness, thinking about all the terrible things she could be doing. All the people she could be hurting right now. Maybe she won’t even come back and her plan was to flee thecountry, leave me here to rot. It’s either Saturday or Sunday which means no one will find their bodies until perhaps mid-week. No one even knows I'm gone.

Maybe Kacey will realise when I don’t respond to her texts, I was meant to be going to that party and there is no way in hell she will take no for an answer, she will turn up and find them, she will call the police. My monster must have left some sort of evidence behind for them to track her down,fingerprints, footprints?Even if I am dead before they get here, I hope my monster gets what she deserves. Jail time is too kind, maybe I’ll just kill her myself.Why did I even think that?I’m a piece of rope, torn between empathy and rage. Seeing the good in people never got me anywhere yet I still do it, and I'm doing it now.

Even on death's door I am still seeking redemption in evil when evil does not deserve forgiveness. People choose to be evil yet I find myself sympathising with the devil, trying to find a reason as to why. What hurt them? What pain did they suffer? Were they just born this way?

Sadness. I had never known the full extent of its wrath until this very moment, as I lay here letting it consume my every breath, every good memory, filling it only with a dull ache. This dull ache that's tearing me apart. I've never experienced grief and it's not at all what I expected. Mourning for an apparition you only see in your nightmares. Pain pinches at my chest so sharply that a dull blade may even hurt less than this unbearable hole inside me, trying to pull itself shut.

After a few hours of mind-numbing cries and puffy eyes, the exhaustion takes me by force, allowing me to chase the sweet notion of escape as the room falls out of focus, concentrating solely on the shallow beating of my own heart.

??

Play - ‘Heal - Tom Odell’

Death.

I’d always wondered what it was like to die. To see that light. People say you see your life flash before your very eyes and I don’t know whether that scares me or not. The afterlife always frightened me. What will I see? Darkness? A world beyond this one? A spotlight to the next life? A void of nothingness, an eternity of emptiness. Family? Will we finally be at peace?

I used to worry when I had something to live for. But now? Suddenly not fearing death makes much more sense to me. It’sfreedom. Freedom I have always craved. Who knew death would be my salvation. It now sounds so inviting. The absence of pain, the thought of feeling nothing. 24 hours of grief and I'm already giving up. Some survivor I am right?... I'm so tired of pain, I just want to turn it all off and let death swallow me whole.

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