Page 51 of My Girl
What amIdoing here?
Why—
“Hrrhhhf—” the hookup groans.
Two gloved hands grab my upper arms from behind. I startle, jumping out of my skin. A masked face curls over my shoulder, his leather cheek pressed against mine. His gloved hands push my palms down between my legs.
“Fuck yourself,” Crave whispers.
My mouth trembles open to resist, but my cold fingers snake down into my underwear, pressing against my pussy lips.
“What are you going to do with him?” I breathe.
“I’m going to kill him,” he says. “And you’re going to get off on it.”
No. This can’t be real.
It doesn’tfeelreal.
“He didn’t kill my father,” I say. “He’s my age. He couldn’t?—”
“I never said he killed your father,” Crave says, his voice even and steady. “I said that I’m going to kill him and you’re going to get off on it. Unless—” He smirks, his lips curling at the edges of the open zipper. “Unlessyouwant to kill him yourself.”
Before I can process his offer, I’m declining. No. No.No.This isn’t me. I can’t. This isn’t right.
My eyes dart down, searching for something, and I see that button on my purse strap. The camera. I’m recording this. I can do the right thing. I can give the footage to the police.
What will the police say when they watch it? Will they say my reactions are a survival mechanism? A way to cope?
If I try to stop him, will Crave kill me?
And if I watch Crave?—
Crave lifts bolt cutters off of the floor.
“Don’t,” I whisper. The word comes out hoarse. Ineffective.
Am I even trying?
“Calm down,” Crave laughs. “Don’t get yourself too worked up yet.”
Crave kneels down and cuts the man’s hands free from his bindings. The man grunts and tries to crawl, a legless ghost worming toward me. I scream. Crave steps on the man’s head, keeping him still. Then he leans his weight on the man’s skull, crushing him.
The man looks strong, but he moves like he can barely function. Did Crave drug this man?
Crave scoops the man’s fingers between the plier blades.
The man screams, his cry muffled by the duct-tape. He flicks his hands around. Crave puts the fingers right back into the scissoring blades.
“If you fight me, this will be much worse,” he says.
The man cries into the floor, but he stops moving. Crave curls his lips. He’s enjoying this, everything from the way the man squirms to the power it brings him. He’s a god right now, playing with this man’s life and death.
And I watch in fear. In confusion. In complete and utter fascination.
Energy stews in me. At the same time, I’m paralyzed.
I should stop Crave. This man did nothing wrong.
