Page 105 of Bad for You

Dust to dust.

“Say your prayers, Father. Make peace with your God.”

Father Merry nods and returns his gaze to the altar, mumbling the word of the Lord under his breath.

Excitement courses through me because I have been waiting for this day for what seems like a lifetime. I don’t know if this will help me heal, but it sure as shit will feel good.

However, it seems this asshole won’t go down without a fight.

Father Merry reaches for a Bible and catches me unawares as he whacks me in the face with it. Instantly, blood pours from mynose. He launches from the seat and runs down the aisle toward the door.

The thrill of the chase only fuels the hunter within, so I do what any predator does.

As I take off, blood spills into my mouth, and the familiar metallic tang feeds the beast, which is forever hungry for violence and carnage. Mid-run, I reach for the knife in my boot and throw it with precision.

I never miss.

Father Merry drops to the floor with the knife embedded in his leg. He howls in pain while I roll my eyes.

“Oh, stop being such a baby. It’s just a scratch.”

He’s crawling on his belly toward the door, his hand outstretched, freedom within reach. The sight pleases me immensely.

I stand in front of him, blocking his path. He tries to get up, but I stomp on his fingers, breaking two. His wails grow louder. As does the need to inflict lots of pain.

“You won’t get away with this! Help!”

“Your God can’t help you, Father. He can’t hear your cries. Just like He couldn’t hear mine.”

Memories of Father Merry’s hand over my mouth as he mounted me from behind assault me. I remember the way he tore at me, not caring about the damage he was doing to me mentally and physically.

Dropping to a knee, I yank the knife from his leg and kick him in the ribs. He rolls onto his back, attempting to stand, but I bend low and violently stretch out his arm, stabbing the blade through the middle of his palm and impaling him to the floor.

He tries to pry himself free, but it only results in the knife cutting in deeper.

“Take what you want. Just let me go!”

In response, I spit in his face. It’s colored with my blood. “I can’t believe I actually once feared you. You’re fucking pathetic. Nothing but a scared little coward.”

“Please.”

“Please?” I mock, gripping his throat and thrusting his head back at a painful angle. “You’re begging me to show mercy?”

His eyes plead for me to let him go.

“Where was my compassion when you gave me to those men like I was nothing but a toy? Where was my mercy when you raped me over and over again? And what about the other boys and girls you tortured? Where was their compassion, Father Merry? Where?” I scream, punching him in the face when he tries to answer.

Blood pours from his nose, which I just broke.

I rip off his clerical collar because he is a disgrace to God. However, this is one souvenir I wish to keep as I place it into my boot for safekeeping.

I’m done playing.

Yanking out the knife, I swiftly pull back on his arm, dislocating it.

He inhales, his mouth opening and closing as sound is replaced with pain. I yank him up and drag him to the altar. He tries to fight, so I punch him in the stomach, winding him. He’s wounded, his arm hanging useless as he drags his leg.

The trail of blood he leaves behind is a visual that is nothing but beautiful.

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