Page 153 of Rage

With a groan, I move my hands above her shoulders. Her body slams into my forearms as I thrust into her, stopping her movement as I seek to find her deepest spots. I know when I hit them because she makes such beautiful sounds and her body tightens like a thread pulled snug in its stitch. That’s what I’m doing, stitching up all her loose threads—the throaty cries and panting, fucked into a tightened seam around my cock.

Samantha’s nails claw my back, and then she unspools into a loose, throaty moan beneath me. Her mouth finds my chest, and she sucks, needing something for her mouth. Her tongue teases pleasure from my nipple as her body tightens in waves around me. Her throaty groans make me fuck her harder and harder until the slap of my body to hers echoes.

Softer, I tell myself, grinding my teeth. I slow down, pressing deeper and slower, teasing myself and her. My entire body shakes as I look down at her. I find her flush and dazed, gasping in the aftershocks of her climax and groaning in the pleasure still running through her body. But I see other things too. I see myself loving her too hard, a violent fuck that leaves her screaming and me growling and biting. Her body would thrash and I’d hold her down until…

Euphoria washes over me. I growl above her, pulling her up from the bed and into my lap. I wrap my arms around her as my hips thrust up. I grind into her until I’m filling the deepest part. I press kisses to Samantha’s head while I rock into her. She moans against my body, her mouth trailing kisses across my stitches as her body becomes loose and pliant on my throbbing cock.

A moment later, I lay us down. I pull her into my arms, pressing my mouth to hers. I moan against her mouth as her tongue meets mine.

My wicked Samantha, I love you entirely. No normal man can love as much as I can. I love you with the strength of the hundred men you stitched inside me. I love you with the ferocity of the water that crashes around us. There’s lightning in my veins that hums and strikes only for you.

My lips press harder to hers.

Samantha, you are my purpose, my justification, my origin, my end.

I fall asleep with her in my arms. We will never part again. If she left me now, I fear I’d rip this entire world apart, one stitch at a time, because there wouldn’t be enough space in this world to hold my pain.

Chapter Eight

Samantha

Casper falls asleep with me in his arms. I play with the strands of his dark hair while I look out the window. It’s night and I need to go.

My life is falling apart back on land. It feels like it might be falling apart on this island now as well. Things have been tense the last few days while stuck here. There’s a presence about Casper I didn’t notice before. His intensity is overpowering. His eyes follow me everywhere, and I can sense his intentions as well as if he yells them.

I’ve been waiting for this moment to finally happen. Sometimes, I told myself I wasn’t sure what I’d do when he finally came for me. Maybe I’d tell him no, a foolish daydream where I had better ethics than my reality. Instead, I begged him, encouraged him deeper, practically demanded he enter me as I helped him press inside.

Now, I’m left confused. I’ve loved Casper before he even existed. He is my dream come to life. But what am I to do with this love? How can he ever be anything but my secret?

I slide out of bed with a sigh. I need clarity I can’t get while he holds me in the blankets. I fiddle with my destroyedundergarments before picking up my outerwear and pulling it on.

Moving around the building, I look at all the jars and books. There are signs of Casper in here. Of course there would be; he lives here. His existence doesn’t stop the moment I step off the island. He is his own being, and he doesn’t need me anymore.

What happens when this island isn’t enough for him? It’s uncomfortable for me, having to hide things from him, but I think it would be disastrous if he was anywhere but here. They wouldn’t let him live, and so I have to keep lying to him. I must hide my precious creation, keep his bright mind in the dark.

My fingers brush over one of my journals. I flip it open, touching the pages I filled when just beginning to dream of Casper. I poured all my hopes and plans into these, detailed my wins and losses. I flip through the pages until I come to what I think will be the end… Casper has filled in the remaining pages, though. I cock my head and lift the book. He’s adding to my work, revisiting some of my conclusions to propose alternatives, going over my mathematics…

I cover my mouth with my hand and swallow thickly. He knows what I’ve done. He has written about the choice for his brain, making it clear he understands where it’s from and just how fresh it was. He even knows Professor Bram’s name. I never wrote it down, not anywhere, which leads to a single, horrifying conclusion.

He remembers.

I flip the pages but shake my head in confusion at what I see. Charcoal drawings are smeared across the pages. At first, I think he’s just drawing what he sees. This is a macabre place he lives in—jars and drawers of human parts. But he hasn’t drawn science… He drew madness.

Gruesome, cruel violence in dark grays. A woman whose face has been scratched out in every drawing. She’s picked apartone piece at a time as I flip the pages. He drew his stitched hands holding what’s inside her. He drew himself cutting her piecemeal. Tender, intimate things while performing surgery.

I think it’s me.

I gasp and drop the journal when I see what follows. Pages and pages of murder and cruelty inflicted on unfamiliar bodies. But they aren’t all that unfamiliar, are they? No, these are victims of the Smiling Sinner. I recognize some of the details from the paper.

I knew whose face I stole—a charming devil’s, a serial killer’s. It’s the face that looks at me each day, the smile that stretches across stitched lips.

Casper remembers—the single, horrifying conclusion.

I have not made a man. I have made a monster. An intelligent, sadistic, overpowered monster.

I run blindly from the lighthouse, my bare feet bruised by rocks on the path to my boat as I clutch my shoes in my hand. With my other hand, I grip my dress, holding it up so I don’t trip. Between my legs is still sore and wet. Casper’s release trails down my inner thigh.

I know he has woken, because he roars behind me, his voice’s rage amplified by the tower. It merges with thunder, creating something more inhuman. It inspires me to move even more frantically, stubbing my toe and nearly falling as my feet bang on the wooden dock. The calm waters from before are already disappearing. Another storm is coming. I almost missed my chance to leave.

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