Page 24 of Creep
Whenever she brings that side of me out—which is a fucking lot for only recently having met her—I fight to keep it at bay because I know how fucking ruthless I can be and I don’t wanna kill the fucking girl. But I’m fed up with the attitude she’s been giving me and I think her meeting my fucking monster is exactly what she needs to straighten her ass out. I’m going to let loose and force myself to stop giving a shit about her.
I still can’t believe the little bitch tried to run away from me. Meek little attempt as it was, it still pissed me the fuck off. I’m not used to my slaves being so disobedient and it’s throwing me for a loop. You’d think she’d catch the fucking drift and just behave. She knows her attitude will only make things worse for her, so that’s why I don’t understand why she’s making this so hard for herself.
Except I do understand.
I fought it at first, but the natural instinct we all have inside of us telling us to survive is one we take to heart every single time it rears, because as much as we think we want to die, very few actually have the balls to pull it off. I know because I was one of them and still to this day, I have no idea what the fuck happened.
There is a ninety-nine percent reliability on guns, meaning there is a chance you might hit a misfire in one of every three hundred thousand rounds give or take.
That night I was the one percent.
I stand at the glass staring into the woods, my eyes focused on a specific tree stained with blood. It’s dreary and gloomy outside, as it has been for the last few days. The rain has been pounding down nonstop, washing any and every remnant of blood and brain matter away—much to my disappointment. I enjoyed being able to look outside and see the fresh blood, but I can’t stop the fucking rain.
Walking to my bed, I sit and pull out my Glock, resting it against my thigh.
I’ve always wondered what death is like. What happens when our heart finally stops? Does everything go black and we no longer exist? Do we become ghosts and roam the earth in search of some sort of peace? Do we become stuck in another dimension, locked in a purgatory? Do we go up to what most call heaven and live in paradise? What about the ones who are a plague to this earth, like me? Do we go to hell and burn for eternity? Or do we get to have peace too?
So many questions and so little answers. I know if a place like hell exists, then it’s where I’ll end up. There is no retribution for things I’ve done and seen, but I don’t regret a single decision I’ve made. There is no time for regrets in this life. You take the hand you were given and work with it. Whether it’s one which sets you on the right path to do great things, or in my case, one which leads you down a long, winding, brutal road to hell, you roll with the punches. So that’s what I have fucking done.
I murdered a man right outside of my house twenty minutes ago and his blood is still splattered across my skin from the close proximity. I run a hand over my face, the blood tugging against my skin as it dries, annoying me. As sardonic as it is, I generally prefer much bloodier methods than just pulling a trigger. Pulling a trigger is way too fucking easy and most of the time, the fuckers I have to kill deserve to die painfully and bloody.
I generally have free rein to do what I see fit because my boss doesn’t give a shit how the task is done as long as it gets taken care of, but tonight, Leo told me it needed to be done quickly. No torturing, simply end it. I don’t know why it needed to be quick, but I didn’t argue and I didn’t ask questions. I did what I was told—but I still had to put my own spin on it. I tied him up first to let him feel a little fear before I ended his fucking life.
I prefer to taunt my victims before I end their life, to make their fear skyrocket before I finish it, but tonight, the annoying piece of shit would not shut up and he fucked up my damn plans. He kept whining on and on about how sorry he was, blah, blah, blah. Same fucking story, different fucking day. I’ve heard it all before, but his incessant whining was really digging on my nerves, and before I even knew what I was doing, I lifted my hand and pulled the trigger. Blood and brain matter coating the tree he was tied to and splattering on me as well.
He finally shut the fuck up at least. I rolled my eyes and secured my gun back in my waistband, grabbing my knife in the process. I walked over to… I don’t remember his name. I cut the rope and can’t help chuckling as I watch his body flop to the ground like a fish.
Wrapping my arms underneath his, I drag him through the woods to where I have a hole already dug. Dragging him through the dirt, I toss his body in and grab the lighter fluid which is lying next to the hole. I douse him, emptying the entire bottle becausewhy the fuck not.
I strike a match, throw it in the hole, and watch as flames shoot up and lick around his body. Another perk to living in the middle of fucking nowhere—body disposal is pretty fucking easy. I watch his body burn for a while, the flames majestic but the smell is fucking putrid.
Deciding I’ve had enough, and need to go clean up, I make my way back to the house. I can go back out tomorrow and fill the hole once he’s done burning completely and only his bones remain.
Sitting on my bed after my shower, staring out of the window, I realize how seriously fucked up I am. And not like a normal fucked up, like truly fucked the fuck up. I’m sick in the head with these thoughts I have, but they are all I have ever known. My need to have power over everyone and everything around me stems from all of the bullshit my mother put me through, but I know I can’t put all of my shit on her. I’m just a fucked up waste of space.
Shaking my head, I bring the gun up to my lips and shove it inside of my mouth. The metal clashes against my teeth, jarring me.
My heart rate kicks up, anxious of what my brain is telling me to do.
Pull the trigger.
Just squeeze it.
You know you want to.
Just do it.
End it all.
I put my finger against the trigger, not putting any pressure on it, but it’s enough for my heart to hammer out of my chest. But my heart is the only part of me which is showing anything other than eerie calm. My hands aren’t shaking, my breath is steady, and a sense of calm has washed over me.
Without thinking twice, I squeeze the trigger the rest of the way, finally ready.
But here the fuck I am.
I shake off the fog of my flashback, the images in my head too real for my liking. Grabbing the whip, I move to the side of the bed and glance down at her. She looks so fucking beautiful tied up in my bed, her dress riding up her thighs, teasing me with a view of her bare pussy.On second thought…
I drop the whip next to the bed—I know I’ll be using it soon—and go back to my dresser, grabbing the vibrator I keep in there.I think it’s time to show this little brat how painful pleasure can be.
