Page 163 of Unspoken Truths

There’s no where to go, little one.

“You’re full of piss and vinegar. Maybe you should drink one of them,” I decide.

Rushing forward as she screams, my fingers tangle in her hair before fisting it, ushering her into a bathroom stall.

I hope someone forgot to flush.

Unfortunately, the toilet water is clear as I drag her over as she kicks and screams. Fuck, she’s loud for such a little thing. She even manages to get her legs on the outside of the door, to which I roll my eyes as I fix that by walking back so her legs will drop before I rush forward and knock them out from under her.

The little mouse closes her mouth as she grabs the outside of the toilet bowl as I shove her head down, continuing to fight me. Pinching her neck hard startles her enough from the pain for her hand to slip, and I dunk her head into the bowl.

You would think she’d learn how much patience I have. My knee braces down on her back so she can’t get up, my hands scraping together as much hair as I can to cut off as she struggles not to inhale toilet water.

“It’s so funny how we keep meeting near water, isn’t it, baby?” I ask her, pulling the scissors from my pocket. It’s too bad she won’t be able to see what I’m doing until it’s much too late.

A large snip or two of the very sharp scissors means I lose my grip on her hair as I drop the now freed hair into the toilet bowl with her. Lifting her head, she gasps in a breath, silent as she takes in the hair now surrounding her before she screams.

“Theo, that’s my motherfucking hair,” she yells.

“I know,” I say like the psycho I am, ignoring the way she lifts her hands to attempt to hit me. It doesn’t work well since I’m still pushing her down with my knee. She looks like a T-rex instead, flailing its tiny arms. “You have no idea what I’m capable of. Maybe you’ll actually look ugly now, and I’ll stop feeling anything.”

The last words are lost to her screams, and it’s probably for the better. I’ve been having nightmares lately, though I don’t know if the other guys are. I’ve never felt regret for anything as much as I do for what happened in the woods.

I have to kill the feelings, the regret, so I’m conducting an experiment. Remove the things that make her pretty, so she can’t make me feel the things I do.

It’s the only way I can survive this.

Pulling out the electric razor, I shrug. May as well get it all.

“You’re going to hate me a whole lot more,” I mutter, moving my knee to grab her chin and pull her tightly against me.

I don’t care that my pants may be getting wet as her face drips onto the ground. Making sure I hold her arms and legs tightly with my body, I begin to shave her head. It’s not the easiest because I’m contorted to keep her still, but I strangely don’t want to cut her.

That’s not the lesson I want to teach today.

“Shh, Little Mouse,” I whisper in the shell of her ear as she sobs, clumps of her hair falling down. “This is one of the many things we’re going to do to you. This year will not get better. Should I just kill you with my scissors shoved deep in your throat? I’m a quick study, a small call to Ignacio, and he’ll help me make it look like it’s a suicide. Do you really want to keep fighting?”

She can’t move her head because of how tightly I’m holding her chin, and she’s crying too hard to create words. I want her to beg me to kill her. Maybe she’ll even suck my cock so I can come when I do it.

I’ve always had a sick attraction to the macabre.

I want to be done with this, desperately, so I can begin to mourn her. She’s this bright, sad light in the world, one that has the bad luck of landing on the wrong side of us.

“All done,” I croon, releasing her so quickly she almost hits her head on the damn toilet as she collapses.

Shrugging, I decide she’s not my problem anymore as I stand, walking out to rinse the razor and dry it off. Frowning, I pull out my phone, knowing I’m missing something. Returning to the stall, I crouch down at eye level with her where she’s curled in a ball facing me.

“For prosperity, Little Mouse, since my fellow Kings aren’t here. You understand,” I murmur, taking several photos.

There’s still so much fire in her swollen, angry, tortured eyes as she spits at me, hitting my shoe.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” I mutter, standing. “Otherwise, you’d be shining my shoe with your fucking face.”

Leaving the bathroom, I whistle as I put away the razor, content to know that I just broke the little mouse a bit more, despite her fire. Now, to message the guys about this.

Me:

If you haven’t left yet, get the fuck off the property unless you have an alibi. I just left a broken little mouse in the bathroom.

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