In His Home Pt 05

I startled awake from a horrid dream.

A reminder that I was now alone forever. If I closed my eyes I could see the blade cutting through Darren's neck over and over again.

My ears rang with the sound my subconscious rendered up for authenticity, it was horrible.

I hate it.

He stirred next to me, it was still dark out but he warned me he had to leave for work. I recalled him saying he was a butcher, I don't know much about them, but I assume you don't get GSP trackers from cutting up meat.

There wasn't a store in sight, the closest thing was the Shell with that god awful clerk. And that was a two hour drive from here. He had lied when he said he lived somewhere in Kaufman, he lives here, in this desolate community where he is the sole owner of everything.

He bought the homes, the land and the farms.

Supposedly with butcher money.

Crystalline blue peered at me through half lidded eyes. Mouth set in a grim line, his hand reached for me and I pulled away. He didn't like that, but kept quiet as I worked through one emotion after the other. Touching base only to fly off again.

By this time we would've been in California, chumming it up at some bougie bar, eating at over priced restaurants. Living not one day sober, passing around liquor bottles and blunts, falling into the pool or slipping down some stairs.

Instead most of us are dead, buried in some unmarked grave.

Others are alive, forced to stay by their murderers side.

A sad smile tugged at my lips and I looked away from him, towards the window and dashed away any tears that came. I tucked hair behind my ears and exhaled softly.

"Today is my birthday." I breathed looking out into nothing. Venturing to nowhere. "Super exciting."

His head tilted with guilt, a small sliver zapping through him like lightening. It was gone in a moment, but I was glad I saw it at all.

"Don't know." He touched my back, exploring my dips and ribs absentmindedly, "What mean?"

I sucked in exasperated breath but didn't move to slap his hand away, I wasn't sure how much patience he had with me, how far I could go and come back the same. I knew dressing myself angered him enough to throw my body against a wall, touching things that weren't mine made him breathless with rage, sleeping on the floor got my thighs pushed open so he could see the slip of flesh between them.

Putting my hands on him was unfamiliar territory, I didn't know what punishment I'd receive for hurting him. There was only death stopping me, the closer he attached himself to me the worse my death would be, he'd feel betrayed no doubt, overcome with anger as well.

I'd imagine him pressing my back into the bed, shoving his cock through me while he peeled flesh from bone, hair from my scalp, then ultimately dig out my heart.

Perhaps he'd put it in the pan he liked so much afterwards.

Perhaps he'd eat it.

"When you're born," I started and his hand stilled, I feel his gaze on my cheek, his warmth licking up my bare side. It was revolting. "That day becomes your birthday. You celebrate it each year."

When he didn't respond I spared a glance at him, wondering what he was thinking.

This was the first time he spoke in days, only to ask about what a birthday is and not to apologize for using my body for torture.

"Don't have." He said finally, gasping between words, while his fingers started their trail again.

I scoffed and his hands turned violent, digging into me, pinching and pulling.

"Everyone has one." I replied much the same as how he talks normally. "Even a beast like you."

At the name he slithered away from me, falling away as though I've pushed him. I felt terrible but I would remind him of his place that his parents taught him he belonged in, would tell him he's not human and has no right to touch the true ones with his filthy hands.

"What day were you born, Beastly?" My lip trembled as he curled inside himself more and more, pain hardened his eyes, even as he became more receptive. "You say your twenty-seven, which makes you born in the eighties. Tell me the day your parents hated you most."

A noise gurgled in his throat, his eyes never left mine as he swallowed it. "December," He said finally, hating himself, anger radiating at me, "Hated me the whole time."

I nodded and waved him off, "I don't like to call you that, Beastly, it's horrible. But I will, I will call you these names and take away my love when you are cruel." I inhaled harshly, barely getting the word out, "When our roles switch, and you are more human than me, I will never use it. I won't have the right."

His eyes were dead, harsh and cold, but simmering with something kind. He understood my meaning, knew what would eventually happen if he bended and molded me hard enough. Overcome the rush of humility when the name lost its meaning, when I too wasn't human, but his.

His little doll that he dresses, feeds and cleans.

Fucks and impregnates to his desires.

That was my future. It was clear like crystals, laid out like a plan that would not change. My fate was to not cry when he spread me open, to not look away when he spoke to me. To eat and shower, hang the stars on his words and dawdle until he came back.

I could not accept it, that was worse than death.

To give my soul some way or another to this war god, exchange it for another day of him coddling me, touching me. I couldn't stand it.

"Kill me or take me home." I seethed, still staring out the window. He adjusted in the bed, sitting up completely, and breathed so heavily his exhales brushed against my jaw.

He was incessant with his hands, but not now. I wasn't sure if he was taking me seriously or if divining an insult that would stay my words.

We sat in respective silence, breathing in the tension that threatened to break me, make me step down on the stairs I had started to climb and apologize.

"No." He grunted finally, shaking his head so the hair covered his cheeks, curtaining the violence in his arms and hands. He left it down as often as it was swept into a strict bun, his throat bobbed when he was thinking, stilled when he was angry. "Stay with me." The words weren't kind like the first time he said them, they weren't sweet with a promise or tender at all.

"I don't want to." My hands trembled from fear as I sobbed, "You are nice but scary, hurt me even as you heal me, I don't like this. And I don't like you."

He nodded slowly, bobbing his head and tightening his jaw, fingers digging into his chest. "Beastly, you hurt me. Beastly, you are kind. But she don't want to stay." Muscle ticked across the harsh bone, "Who I am, cant help. Beastly wants her, will do anything, will go anywhere. But will never let go."

I cried out harder, letting my head fall into my knees. Fat, hot tears dripping off my chin as I listened. His voice grew hoarser, more chopped and unsteady, he wasn't allowed to talk before me. Wasn't allowed to think before me.

"Listen, can't let go, don't want that." He fought to speak, fought to say these words even as his voice went out. "Be happy here. Find that."

His nails skimmed my shoulders as he got from bed, his jaw set and muscles bunching while he dug around for clothes and yanked the shirt off his back. He dressed with little commotion, snatching the gun off the dresser and shoving it down his pants, taking knifes and tucking them into pockets and his famous boots he kicked me with once.

He drew his hair back and rested the heels of his palms against the old wood, I could tell he wanted to say something but couldn't bring himself to. His throat was done for, I didn't know how long it would take it to heal.

I watched him turn to me, barely felt him lift me and take me to the bathroom. I let him shower me and brush my teeth, comb my hair and dress me. I didn't care.

His eyes were softer while he drew the blanket to my chin, lingering as he turned for the door. "Be here." He spoke painfully, a husk of himself, whispers and pants, then he left.

As the door slammed beneath the wood floors it rattled the walls and shook me to my core. I don't know what he thought when he told me that, be here, there wasn't anywhere I could go.

No friends, no money, no phone.

I was stranded.

Stuck with him as much as I hated it since he was the one who took the last bit of love I had, took away Darren and Jasmine, John and Lila. All that was left was my broken heart, and that wasn't a destination.

I had nowhere to go.