Page 75 of Grave Love
Except her.
Ren’s eyes are glossy, transfixed on the ceiling. She’s not looking at it; she’s thinking about us. I know that instinctively. Her cheeks are rosy, as if given an extra touch from an embalmer, and her skin glistens with sweat, shining like a plastic doll under fluorescent lights. Like a corpse in a casket, sullen and absent.
Her eyes grow lazy, exhaustion dominating her mind. Submitting to everything I forced her to endure. She’ll fall asleep soon.
In my house.
In my bed.
I imagine her back at her grandmother’s house. Staring at the ceiling like she did in my bedroom a few moments ago. Her blank eyes gazing up as she wonders how she’ll die.
How I hope to the fucking ends of the earth that she thinks of me instead.
My jaw clenches, the pressure of our situation pushing down on my shoulders. She doesn’t belong here. Not with me. Not in my bed.
I don’t do anything.
I let her stay.
I rise from the bed, leaving her there. Her eyes sear into me, and those sniffles—those pathetic little whimpers—dig holes into me. I quicken my pace, hastily grabbing wet washcloths to wipe us, then the choke chain from the floor. I link the final o-ring to the metal leash.
Her eyes widen slightly as she realizes what I’m carrying; still, the little corpse doesn’t move. Kneeling on the bed, I lift her head and slide the chain loop around her neck. I fix the links so that they lie perfectly between her breasts, balanced like a pendulum waiting for the first strike. I clean us, then I rest on my side next to her, a barrier keeping her away from the rest of the world. Keeping her to myself. I wrap the links around my palm, then rest my chained hand against her beating heart.
I don’t pull the chain; she’ll come for me if I want her to. This is different. This is about the power she thinks she’s given me.
The power she still owns.
“Blaze,” she whispers. It’s a single word and it says so much. There are questions there, words she’ll never say. Questions I’m wondering too.
What are we doing here?
“Shh,” I murmur as I stroke the black, damp hair out of her eyes. She sighs, and that relaxation gets to me, warms me from the inside out. It’s like my brain is cooking, and I’m happy, knowing that one day, my head will melt away with hers.
My stomach grows heavy.
This is wrong. It’s against everything that I am.
But I don’t want to kill her anymore.
A snore escapes her nostrils, and I glare down at her. Messy black hair. Sweaty sand-colored skin. Light pink lips. Small and pathetic. She’s so fucking cute, it’s annoying.
I soften too, because I’m not angry at her. I’m angry atmyself.I’m the one who fucked up. Who went past our boundaries. Who didn’t kill her when I could have. I’m the one who’s pathetic.
Still, that anger isn’t enough to stop me now.
I inch my palm up, curving it like a dome over the chain, then I press it flat against the leash and her chest. The metal links are warm now, heated by our skin.
My hand. The chain. Her chest. Her heart beating underneath.
I soak in her black hair, her yellow-tinged skin, in the dark circles under her eyes. Every part of her, even her death, ismine.And it shouldn’t work. It won’t work.Wewon’t work. Two people like us, full of fucked up memories and the hunger for violence? We aren’t meant to be together. People like us only create more suffering.
And I know we already have.
Ren stirs, then nuzzles into me. I’m keeping her for myself. Convincing myself that it’s what she wants too. That this isoursuffering.
I close my eyes, uneasiness urging me to resist that connection to her. I shove the questions down, letting relaxation fill me, as long as she’s close. I slip off into unconsciousness, but I don’t dream of her last heartbeat. I don’t dream of her dying breath. I don’t dream of her corpse and the power it will give me.
I dream of her screams.
