Page 17 of Damaged
The door to her room is slightly open, and we sneak through as quietly as possible. Her back is turned to us with a folder open on top of a filing cabinet as she turns pages. The soft sound of classical music is playing from somewhere inside the room, just loud enough to muffle our entrance and movements.
Moving to the far side of the small office, as Jackson posts up next to the door, we make sure all her exits are blocked. Jackson closes and locks the door, not making a single sound. My eyes stay on the cunt, picturing all the things I will do.
Wanting to take my time with her death and being excited to be done with all this bullshit war inside my head. But we both know, as much as we want to take our time, we don’t have all the time to do exactly as we please. That’s okay…we can wait until we’re out and then we will take all the time we want with our other playmates.
Christina turns around with the folder in her hand, just as we step in on either side of the desk. By the way we’re moving, you’d think we had this shit choreographed. Her head lifts, noticing us in the room.
Her head moves, shifting back and forth between Jackson and myself. I have a cruel and fiendish smile on my face, but Jackson…my psychopathic friend here…his face is cold and his eyes scream blood-thirsty.
The file flutters to the floor, slipping from her fingers. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, not being able to form any words. Now this is the way I wish she could have been from the beginning…fucking silent.
“What’s wrong, Bitchtina? Cat got your tongue?” I continue moving toward her, as does Jackson. I can tell she doesn’t know who to focus on right now. Me or him.
As proud as I am of my homicidal capabilities, I believe Jackson is the scariest one in this room right now. However, it doesn’t deter from what I plan to accomplish.
Jackson drapes one of the cords over the chair as he passes it by, then holds the other tightly between his hands, wrapping them around his palms. It’s crazy how well he hides his emotions at the flip of a switch.
Fuck…he’s scary as hell when he’s like this.
He inches closer, as she steps back.
“Tell me again how you want to fuck me…” Tilting his head, he pauses dramatically, letting her think he is really looking for an answer. I giggle as I lean against the side of her desk.
“Jacks…uhh…Jackson…I…um…” she fumbles her words, lifting her hands defensively like she’d be able to stop Jackson if she wanted to. Her sputtering makes me throw my head back laughing. She turns to me with a hateful glare. “Shut up, trailer trash,” she hisses.
Her words don’t fucking phase me at all. I’ve heard it all before.
Besides, this bitch’s death will be as painful and gruesome as possible, and then we will leave this place for good. Nothing she says to me will hinder my giddy mood now.
Jackson drops one side of the cord just before pulling his arm back quickly and slashing it through the air. The sound it makes when it connects with her face is pure music to my ears along with the scream that she releases. A symphony of sorts. Christina grabs her cheek as she stumbles to the side, running into the file cabinet.
“Say one more fucking thing about her and I will make your death last even longer than it already will be.”
She looks up at him through her fingers, and the blood begins to seep through slowly. My eyes widen, and my lips curl in a full smile, showing all my teeth at seeing this bitch’s blood. Before she can even register the movement, he does it again, but this time she falls to the ground with her hand bleeding now as well.
Jackson reaches out, grabbing her by her hair and pulling her up from the floor before slamming her over her desk face down. Papers, folders, and a cup of pens fly off. Leaning down close to her ear, he growls, “Any last words, before I teach you the lesson of a fucking lifetime. That lesson…don’t fuck with people who can and will enjoy killing you.”
“P-pl…please, Jackson. You don’t want to do this,” she whimpers out, making both he and I laugh loudly. “Please…you will regret it. They will lock you up in solitary indefinitely.”
“The only thing I will regret…is not being able to take my time with your death,” he says, standing up looking at me. I nod at him, knowing exactly what he’s trying to tell me.
Walking over, I pull her arms around to her back and wrap the cord around them, then through her wrists, making sure that while we do what we need to do, she can’t pull them loose. While I’m trying to tighten the hold, Christina wiggles around trying to get loose. Jackson lifts her head from the desk and, in three quick successions, bangs it hard against her desk. She immediately sags where she’s at, completely unconscious.
“What the fuck, Jackson,” I say with a light chuckle, when I notice he knocked her out. I finish tying her wrists.
He picks her up by her hair, flips her around, and tosses her on the desk. Her legs are dangling over one side and her head the other. Taking the thick black cord in his hand, he walks around, switching places to stand near her head. He drapes the cord doubled over, wraps it around her neck and slides the split end through the connected side.
He leaves it there just hanging around her neck before he moves over to the corner where there is a dual door cabinet, and opens both doors.
“Score!” he declares, as he grabs a bottle of Skyy Vodka and two tumblers, walking back to me.
“What the fuck are you doing? We can’t get drunk right now. We have to be focused and fucking sober if we want to get this done properly,” I tell him while he pours two fingers of the liquor into each glass, handing one to me.
“Just one shot, Kata. Come on,” he says, giving me his charming smile.
Swiping the glass out of his hand, the liquor sloshes in the cup. “Fine. Just one.” Because why not? One shot won’t get me drunk, and it’s been way too long since I had the pleasure of feeling the burn from any sort of alcohol glide down my throat.
He holds his glass out and I clink mine with his, just before throwing the shot back at the same time. The liquor burns going down, but I immediately feel calmer. The bitch spread out on the table, shifts groaning as she starts to wake up. Blood is covering her face from where he slashed her with the cord and then slammed her head into the table.
