Page 79 of Beneath the Dirt

Harlan peers up at me, confusion ripe on his brow. “Huh?”

“What did you see?” I repeat, pulling my finger from his mouth, so he can answer me.

“Death.” He deadpans.

I shake my head. “That’s not all you saw. Tell me. What else did you see?”

Unease warps his expression, though he fights it. “I saw,” he stutters, clearing his throat. “Death’s anger.”

“That’s right, and how did it make you feel?” I ask, already knowing how frightened it made him.

“I felt nothing.”

My tongue clicks. “You’re lying.” I turn my head to the hooded figure waiting for us. “It frightened you. I know it did. Don’t lie to me.” I glide my body over top of his, lifting one hand out to the side for the hooded figure watching us to hand me my journal already open to the illustration.

I show the page to Harlan. “Tell me, what do you see now?”

He smiles and pulls me closer, locking me in his grip. My bare pussy brushing on his bare cock.

“Our end,” he groans, biting on his lip, distracted by my gliding up and down his length, teasing him.

“Our ending?” I begin in an exaggerated coo, “or yours?”

The hooded figure takes a step closer, its skeletal hand outstretched, awaiting payment.

Harlan turns his head to face it—the destiny he escaped to haunt me—but I move my bloody hand down to guide his stiff, dead cock.

“Eyes on me,” I instruct him as I ride him, with death staring at us… waiting.

“Fuck, you feel like —”

“Shh,” I silence Harlan.

The figure lowers their hood to my mouth and I cup my hands to it, whispering, not giving up the tempo I’m fucking Harlan. An item is exchanged between us discreetly before their spine stiffens, and they move towards Harlan.

“Araceli, what did you say to it?”

I ignore Harlan’s question. My lips skim his as our foreheads brush and my mouth falls agape to recite a part of my story I always knew would have to happen in order to be truly free of anything, or anyone, that will hold me back from being myself. After all, this has all been written in the stars, just like Frida said, waiting for me to grasp it. To take the ending destined for me and run wild with it.

“Keeping my eyes on him, I discreetly curl my fingers as his tongue nears mine. And just as the token of my commitment to the sacrifice is transferred from my mouth to his, I use the sadistic communion as my opportunity to secure the knife's handle in my palm, and drive it into his throat.”

“Araceli.” He skids back in the tub, trying to get away from me, but he can’t. He’s about to come. So am I.

“Rivulets of blood stream from the wound, the look of betrayal ripe within his irises as he slumps over me and into the tub.”

“Stop it now. Stop th—” Harlan’s words are halted by the hooded figure reaching for his throat, about to lift him from the tub.

“You stop it!” I snap. Not at Harlan, but the impatient visitor, who is ruining me and Harlan’s farewell fuck.

“Come for me, brother,” I encourage Harlan, and through his fear, he obeys, spewing his dead seed into me. “That’s a good boy. You came for me and someday, when I’m ready, I’ll come for you… again.”

“Araceli, what the fuck are you talking about-–” Harlan is interrupted by the hooded figure lifting him by the throat, out of the tub.

“His payment.” The figure roars as I rise to my feet, handing the figure the coin he gave me in exchange for a few more minutes of quality time with Harlan, for his destiny to be complete, and for mine to begin.

Frida’s warning plays in my mind.

“It’s important that you keep that to yourself. Your story is yours and yours alone. If anyone gains access to your path, consequences will arise.”

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