Page 52 of Beneath the Dirt

What a forgetful little thing.

How pathetic, yet fortunate for me.

“Harlan, I swear to—”

I click my tongue, interrupting her. A phony, overdone shiver runs down my spine. “Don’t say,” my voice lowers as my finger points to the ceiling, “Him.” I shake my head violently. “He doesn’t live here anymore. Not in my heart or this house. Calling on Him won’t save you now,” I taunt.

Her eyes narrow to slits, shocked by the words coming out of my mouth. “Fine, you fucking psycho.”

Fuck. The degradation is just too delicious coming from her mouth.

Go on, sis. Tell me how psycho I’ve become so I can act on it and prove you wrong.

“I swear. If you don’t move out of my way, I’m going to—” She reaches for her back pocket, but my next words interrupt her.

“Stab me like Fred?”

Her brows furrow. “Who the fuck is Fred?”

I laugh. “Of course, you only remember the names of characters you kill off, not people.” I stop, letting her marinate on my vague words.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she deflects.

“Fred is the security guard you killed,” I remind her.

Shock lines her irises. There it is. The truth is written all over her face, but as her lips part, she does what she does best…lie.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she repeats, sounding like she’s trying to convince herself. “I told you the blood was—”

She stops as I bring my hand that touched the very real blood on her body to my mouth. Sucking in the iron tang that covered it, humming around my finger.

“Fuck,” she breathes. Shocked and aroused by the scene before it.

I moan as I suck in the blood before popping my finger out of my mouth.

“It’s a bit bitter. At least way more bitter than I would imagine your blood tasting. Well, no, that’s a lie. Let me rephrase. It tastes more bitter than how Irememberyour blood tasting, but then again, that was so long ago when you,” I pause, clearing my throat to raise my volume, “fucked me with your blood spewing all over me while I slept, you fucking crazy whore!” I shout.

“Oh, my fuck! When will you get over it? I didn’t do anything to you that you didn’t like or want, you self-righteous prick! When will you get over it?!”

“Never,” I deadpan. The nonchalance of my response shocks her, just as my ability to calmly dive back into what I was saying before about our dearly departed friend, and one of her readers, no less—Fred.

“Lie all you want to me, but I got it all on camera.” My steps quicken. Hers mirroring mine.

“Yeah, okay, whatever. Fuck this and fuck you!” Araceli’s split colored hair waves as she stomps to the left, then right, and I block her every time.

“Well, if you stick around, that is what I’d like to do. Fuck you.”

Reaching for the knife in her harness, a wave of confidence falls over her shoulders. “Of course, that’s what will make you happy. My pussy wetting that stale dick of yours.”

She presses on the button and the blade retracts, but I’m too fast for her. I swat at the blade, cutting myself in the process before it falls.

“Give me my fucking knife!” She shouts as she plunges to the ground to retrieve it, but I follow after her.

God damn it. Here I was thinking the view I had of her ass was hot from before? That was nothing compared to the view I have of her on all fours, thinking she’s going to get her knife back and get away from me.

I claw at her ankles, yanking her towards me, but she fights it. Back and forth, we fight each other for dominance.

“You’re not leaving. Accept it. You can’t leave unless you want me to leak the tape.”

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