Page 57 of Beneath the Dirt

So much fucking blood.

It all plays in my head like a movie, the pace of the carnage quickening as he pumps himself in me. “That’s it. You see it, don’t you?”

Yes.

Yes. I see it. But why?

What the fuck did he give me?

I flinch, but he fights me, shoving himself deeper into my throat as his hand strokes my forehead, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “Look at us, reunited, the sinner and the saint,” he says with twisted glee.

I open my eyes and for a split second I don’t see Harlan; I seehis father. I know it’s not him, but the intrusive thought is too strong to deny, and the image both terrifies and haunts me.

“It’s okay, pecadora,” he calls me. Just like his father used to.

With a snap of his fingers, the snake from before slithers his way back over to me, coiling around my throat, weaving its scales over and under my neck, through my hair, and back around again. Not tight enough to suffocate me, but snug enough that my lungs are burning with anticipation… and fear.

Harlan removes himself from my mouth and buckles his pants while I lay down frozen with the snake on top of me.

A satisfied groan erupts from Harlan’s mouth. “Fuck. Fear looks good on you. But, that’s the thing, I’m tired of looking.” He stops, taking a blotter sheet out from his back pocket. Placing it in view, he rips a square off and then another.

A square with the same emblem on it as the ones we took all those years before flashes before my eyes.

“Open.” I ignore his command and his hand finds my cheeks, prying my mouth open. He places the square on the tip of one of the torn muscles of his tongue and gingerly brings it to my mouth. I try to squirm beneath his touch, but he’s too strong. Success lines his movements as the paper settles on my tongue as he closes my mouth, placing his hand over it. “Seeing you come alive from the dance terror performs on your flesh can only do so much.”

Settling his mouth at my ear, he whispers, “I want to feel your pain,” before cooing, “I want tobathein it. Now swallow.” His command is firm and demanding as he tightens the hold of his hand over my mouth. “I said swallow.” His hand spreads to my nostrils, as he attempts to cut off my air.

With no fucking choice, and sadly craving the high this will give me, I oblige his request. That’s all it takes to have him remove his hand, still leaving the snake in place. The drugs mix with the ones in my system and it’s the only reason I’m not screaming. My body is too buzzed, my senses fooling me.

Harlan takes his knife, and without hesitation, slices the fabric between my legs, exposing my pussy to him.

“So wet.” He hums in approval. “So fucking wet when you’re scared.” His split tongue dances at my entrance until the competing flesh finds a synchronized rhythm, each end taking turns dipping into my arousal before he unites the torn muscle and has it crash into me all at once. “I wonder how wet you’ll be when the fear no longer excites you, but kills you,” he groans and with his mouth pressed so firmly against my center, the words vibrate through me, making me want his wrath more than I should. I squeeze my legs, wanting to suffocate him, but the slap he places on my skin is so intense, it throws me off.

The lights above me mesh into a kaleidoscope of colors. I’ve never felt this high before. So alive.

“What did you give me?” I pant, writhing my hips at his face, but he moves back, standing up. I watch as he goes back to grab another book from the shelf, except he doesn’t take this one off. He pulls it just enough that the floor moves, and I fall like I’m sinking into the ground.

I stare up as I hear his boots stomp across the floor, nearing me.

He looks down at me.

“An escape.” Those two words are the equivalent to a time machine. Mocking me as they transport me back to when I was the one slipping him the drugs, and he was nervous. I told him the exact thing, to soften the blow of what I made him take. Of what I forced on him.

“Get up,” he instructs. His command hits my system like a whip. Harsh with an undeniable sting, yet it heightens my senses, and the knife in his grip becomes the main focus of my periphery.

He repeats his instruction, and the patience that’s already been dwindling reaches a crescendo of annoyance, so I listen.

As I do so, I try playing it cool so he doesn’t catch on that I noticed his knife, and that I have every intention of grabbing it.

I rise to my feet, and the blood rushes to my head, causing adark flash over my eyes before it dissipates in the form of white dots, fuzzing my vision, before I can regain it. This feeling of giving up control, and waiting for the rug to be pulled from underneath me with whatever path the drugs will put me on, feels like home. It always does. It shouldn’t, but it gives my mind a comfort that it can’t seek on its own. I feel just like I did the last time we split the blotter sheet. Loopy. Happy.Hopeful.

“Walk,” he points to the small cutout door nestled in the wall.

No. No. No No. I’m not going back there.My inner thoughts try to break through. I know I don’t want to go back there, but I don’t know why. I giggle instead of crying, like I think I want to. I’m not sure anymore. Everything feels off.

“Yes, you are,” he boasts as if he can read my thoughts.

“No,” my lips move, trying to win the war of my dwindling conscience.

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