Page 3 of Deviant Illusions

I can’t even cover myself from him as he gently strokes my cheek. His voice is lower, gentler—the one I remember and love.

“Round three, my pretty girl. Let’s see how long it takes for you to break now.”

I used to love when he’d do that—stroke my cheek and call me his pretty girl. His hands were always filled with care, and he’d say it so innocently that I’d lose all the shit in my life. In those moments, IwasKane’s pretty girl. I was innocent. I didn’t have shitty parents who were controlling every aspect of my life, and I wasn’t the bitch making anyone’s life hell. I was just his and a good man saw something good inme.

Now it’s tainted, and he’s taking my memories away from me, again. His touch remains soft as he traces my jawline. It takes every ounce of my fear to remain still while he fucking strokes me. Warmth slowly wraps around my mouth, and my eyes snap open as he pinches my nose.

He smiles down at me with malice. “You can’t trick me. I’m not under the spell of your vicious cunt anymore.” He loosenshis hold on my nose and pushes his hand between my thighs. “Still wet for me?”

I’m able to breathe without his fingers pinching my nose closed, but he tightens his hand over my mouth. There isn’t enough space to kick him, and I don’t know how I didn’t realize that it’s Kane. They might be identical, but I was always able to tell them apart. Their mannerisms and how they dressed were the main factors.

His eyes are darker, and he doesn’t have the pale green strip in his left iris anymore. That was always his because he was kinder, happier than Asher. Kane never wore light colors as part of his way not to be noticed, but his white t-shirt sticks to him. The cast he used to hide the cut on his arm has been removed, and the rain soaks into the fabric of his t-shirt.

There’s no barrier of gloves as he pushes his hand up and widens his fingers between my thighs, loosening the other on my face.

“You’re a fucking creep,” I spit, ripping my head away from him. “I am not anything for you or to you. You twisted little fucking bitch.”

I can’t deny what we can both feel. It’s his fucking fault though, somehow. He smiles and pushes his free hand flat against my chest. My hands get trapped behind me, and my thigh is still pressed sideways against the floor of the trunk. I lift my hips to free them, but he roughly pushes two fingers into me. He hums as the cool metal band of his fake wedding ring presses against my inner walls. Twisting his fingers side to side, he tilts his head, and that smile is still on his face.

The joy he used to have has been replaced with hate. But I still want him to hold me. I want my best friend back, and I hate him for that too. I may not have killed him, but he’s dead to me. The guilt I held over him being sentenced for Asher’s death isnothing in comparison to the deep loathing of who he’s turned out to be.

He pulls his fingers out of me and brings them to his uncovered face. The smile widens as he slowly parts his lips and pushes the digits into his mouth.

“Hmm, you taste like you’re mine,” he hums.

More weight is pressed against my chest as he reaches into his back pocket and takes out a syringe. He pulls the plastic cap covering the needle free with his teeth, and my voice lowers to a faint whisper. “You don’t have to kill me. I won’t tell anyone.”

Kane snaps his head up and gives me a smile that drips in condescension as he tilts his head from side to side while assessing my naked body.

“You’d lie to the police?” he asks.

I nod, and the smile drops entirely.

He straightens, and harsh lines mark his face as he spits out, “You already fucking did.”

There’s no care shown as he jabs the needle into my outer thigh. The scar between his thumb and forefinger is raised with his veins bulging as he presses his thumb on the plunger and digs the needle further into my tissue. Cold overtakes my body, starting from the site of the needle as he crawls his fingers up from my chest to my face and counts backwards.

“10…9…8…7…”

My eyelids droop, but they don’t fully close, while he continues to count.

“6…5…4…3…2…1.”

My entire body is limp as he leans over me, whispering into my ear, “You’re going to know what it’s like to wish you were dead. Just like I do.”

My eyes snapopen before my mind can register the contraption I’m in as a sharp pinch against my chest pulls me into awareness. Kane smiles at me, and for a split second, there’s nothing to fear. It’s me and him again. Then the fog dissipates, and he removes his arm from around my waist.

Coarse rope is wrapped around my neck, and my legs shake as my weight drops. The psychotic, fucking prick has tied a noose around my neck. My hands are still restrained behind my back, and I press my toes into the wood they’re balanced on.

I look down and I don’t fucking understand anything. The large, overturned oak table is one I recognize. I can see the word I carved at each head of the table, where my parents would always sit.King DickandQueen Bitch. The wide legs are the only thing stopping me from hanging myself as I stretch up on my toes to alleviate the pressure around my windpipe.

Kane walks backwards to the other head of the table. He steps off the wood and looks down, reading my carving aloud. “Queen Bitch.” He looks up at me. “I guess you are a princess, after all. A monarchy of cunts rather than ruling over a land.”

My legs continue shaking as I twist my hands to try and do anything to save myself.

“Kane,” I whisper, hating how just his name comforts me. “Please untie me.” His jaw hardens, and he slaps his hands on the upturned table legs with a threat as I continue, “Please, we can talk? About anything.”

Mainly about how you’ve turned into a fucking cunt.

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