Page 31 of Creep
The whole school thing always seemed so mundane and unimportant to me. There were always much bigger things I had to deal with, but Holley adored school. It was her escape away from home which I can understand. It’s why she graduated with honors and got a full ride to college. She’s going to do amazing things with her life, and how I know my death won't affect her any longer.
I’m ready to give up, to let what happens, happen. I’m ready to stop fighting—I think—and to give in to what feels good.
Vincent pushes the blade into my throat, dragging it from the back of my neck, and following the curve, stopping right as he reaches the center of my throat. I feel the blood running down, following the curves of my body before it splatters to the shower floor beneath us. The cut isn’t deep enough to need stitches, but deep enough to continuously bleed.
“Did you know red is my favorite color? I’m sure you can guess why.” He chuckles as he leans forward and runs his tongue along the cut. It stings, but it soon turns to more when he begins to rub his thumb against my clit in small circles.
He did say he liked to give pleasure with pain.
A moan pushes past my lips and my legs begin to shake. It’s too much all at once and I don’t know how to handle it. The sensations consume me. I never knew pain could feel like this but I realize now, I’m quickly becoming addicted.
Vincent continues to lap at my blood while I circle my hips in motion with his hand. He groans against my throat, the noise vibrating through me and shooting straight to my pussy. It is the sexiest fucking noise I have ever heard and wanting to hear it again, I grind myself harder against him. His teeth clamp down on my wound and I shriek.
“What the fuck,” I pant. “Are we doing?” I blurt the words the second they come to me. I’m so fucking confused but my words instantly snap him out of whatever the hell it is we are doing because he suddenly growls as he shoves me off of him and my head smacks the shower wall from the force. I watch as he storms out of the shower, clothes soaked and dripping while clinging to every muscle.
He stops when he reaches the doorway separating my now bedroom and bathroom. His back is rigid and his hands are clenched into fists at his sides. I watch him in silent confusion, not knowing what to say, or even what to do. We stay like that for what could be minutes, or hours. I’m not sure, time ceases to exist. The water has long run out of heat and now the freezing water is running over me, but I don’t move because I don’t care.
Vincent rolls his shoulders and tilts his head to the side as he turns towards me. The look masking his face causes the fear I should have been feeling earlier to crawl back inside of me stronger than ever. His entire demeanor has done a complete one-eighty.
The fire I saw in him minutes ago is now gone—in its place is his monstrous side, so detached. Soulless. Familiar.
He walks towards me, again. Every step calculated, and every move measured. He bends down and cups my chin in his hand, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the fire burning in his eyes.
“It doesn’t matter what we were doing, I’m going to fucking ruin you.” He leans his head back slightly as he lobs a wad of spit straight into my face. I gasp when I feel the warm saliva trail down my face, some of it slipping into my mouth.
That motherfucker just spit in my fucking face.
Seething, I shove away from him. I leave the spit clinging to my face, fueling my anger. I throw my fist towards his face and it connects with his chin. His head snaps to the side but his body remains unmoving. He slowly turns his head back to me, a manic smile plastered across his face.
He shoves me so fast and hard, I stumble backwards and land with a thud on the shower floor. Mortification sets in and my tears fall, despite me constantly swiping them away. Vincent laughs as he crouches in front of me again, bringing his hand to my face. I jerk away from him, a learned reaction, and it makes him grin as he swipes a finger through my tears and then licks his finger.
“Mmm, your tears taste good baby. I plan on giving myself the opportunity to taste them more often, I haven’t done it enough. But shit is about to change. You’ve gotten a little too fucking comfortable here already.” He stands and walks out of the room.
Turning before he exists, he adds, “Oh, by the way, I took your phone while you were asleep. You won’t get it back for a while. Naughty girls don’t get to keep fun things and you’ll have to be a good girl to get it back. But I’ll be sure to text your sister occasionally so she doesn’t worry and do something stupid.” He leaves, slamming the door behind him.
Every time my anger consumes me, it’s not long after it dissipates and the despair living inside of me devours me once more. I try with everything in me to fight the tears I feel burning my eyes, but I can’t. I’m not strong enough.
Sobs wrack my body, wails leaving my mouth without my permission. I am feeling so many things at once, I don’t know how to handle them. Well, I do, but the fucker took the knife with him so I’m stuck trying to deal with this shit without it. And I don’t know how to do it—hence how my cutting began. I’ve never been able to deal with shit before, much less now.
I sit for God knows how long, crying and screaming everything out. My pain, my confusion, my situation, my fucking life, everything. I’m so fucking confused. I hate Vincent with everything inside of me. He’s a cruel and callous man who reminds me way too much of Ben. So why is it that what happened a mere hour ago turned me on? I was about to ride his dick, a primal instinct over taking me, because I wasthatdesperate for what he was doing to me. The pain and pleasure combination consumed every part of me, stripping me of all rational thought.
Now I feel utterly disgusted with myself. How could I ever allow myself to feel anything other than disgust and animosity towards him?Because you’re a little fucking tease, a little fucking whore like Ben always said you were.
Screaming in frustration, I stand and shut the water off. My cuts from Vincent are still bleeding but I don’t give a shit to even bother cleaning them at this point.
I walk to the mirror and stare at my reflection. Water droplets cover the glass and run down, creating streaks in the condensation. Lifeless eyes stare back at me, void of any emotion. My skin looks ghastly and my hair is in knots, tangled at the base of my neck, probably from Vin—never mind. I don’t want to say his name, let alone think of it.
Before I register what I’m doing, I throw my fist out—the same fist I punched him with—and smash it into the mirror. Shards fly in all directions as I watch my soulless reflection shatter, matching how I already feel inside. I feel around for a piece of glass, never taking my eyes off of my broken, reflected ones. My hand wraps around a piece and I grip it tightly, the glass cutting into my palm.
I am so fucking tired of this shit. Of feeling hopeless, worthless, like a fucking creep. Yes, we all have demons. We all have shadows that chase us in circles, begging to drag us into the dark with them. Most people can fight them, push them away without much effort. But me? They fucking consume me. My demons dance along right next to me, controlling everything I do and every move I make. They’re my constant companion. The creep living inside of me—inside of my head—is never going anywhere and I learned to accept it a long time ago.
We’ve long been friends, my darkness and me, but it has long since devoured me, leaving nothing left of the real Essa Monroe. I don’t know who that is anymore, nor do I care to.
Every version of myself has been weak, but at least with my creep calling the shots, I no longer give a shit.
I bring the glass to my arm and start to carve, curving the glass with the letters, twisting and turning it when I need to, to get the letters just right. Five big, bold letters reside on my arm, bloody and gruesome, their edges jagged, but the word still clearly visible.
There. Now everyone will know who and what the fuck you are.
