Serial Lover Ch 03

The stench of filth and mold fill my nose as I walk down the stairs. The heroine whore, her son, and what used to be her husband are soaked in blood, the motionless hand on the floor. Took him long enough to bleed out. The mother is asleep, but once she gets a hit of this she'll be sure to wake up. I step over dried puddles and crouch down near the woman. I got this from a well-known dealer. A man from Israel who mixes his smack with rat poison.

She rouses a bit, shakes her head, and her eyes flutter open a bit. Before she can talk I jam the syringe into her arm. Finding a vein isn't hard for me. I've done this before, far too many times. But I push out the thoughts before she can see any emotion. But she doesn't, she's consumed in the high. She looks blissful, but at the same time distraught. Three more times, and I'm done, and I get up before memories force themselves into my mind.

Meredith wasn't as bad as her husband or her son, but she still took it. She still got high instead of confronting her problems. And when you don't confront your problems, bad things happen. Especially with addictions. I guess she'll die doing what she loved. Two down, four to go.

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The chattering of my teeth wake me up, and the chill of the room passes over me like an icy kiss. I am still in my bra and panties, and as I shift around, the sting of the blows delivered to my ass finally register. I cry out a little and then automatically regret it, because I don't want him knowing I'm awake and coming in. There is a small ratty blanket underneath me and I maneuver legs to attempt to get it over me. I arch my back and bend my leg back, slipping it under blanket under me and flipping it over. I push my legs under and slightly jiggle to try to move the blanket up. It works, but it is still freezing.

My wrists, and ass, are sore and I don't think I've ever been more uncomfortable in my life. One time I was stuck outside because my father and mother went to a casino and didn't leave me any keys. I had to sleep outside in the shed. It was cold, dirty, and I'm pretty sure something was dead in there. But right now, being alone, vulnerable, naked, cold, trapped with a psycho? This beats it.

A cold truth hits me. I have no idea what has happened to my family. They aren't the greatest, but they're still family. My heart pangs and I consider every worst possible scenario ever. I just wish my mom was here to hold me. It sounds childish, but before she married that asshole, we were close. She wasn't getting high everyday and she didn't have black eyes. But when jobs failed, and addiction grew, she turned to a wealthy asshole named Richard, and the rest is history.

The doorknob starts to turn and wakes me out of my memories. Adrian saunters in, looking like a cat with a sly grin. I don't think I'll ever get used to his terrible beauty. I can't take my eyes off him as he pulls up a chair and sets it right in front of the bed. He eyes me, and I suddenly feel like I'm about to be beaten for having a blanket over me.

"Found yourself a blankie, I see."

"It's cold," I reply quickly. "I was just cold."

He seems to understand but I still feel uncomfortable, waiting for a blow.

"Well, maybe I can warm you up," he replies.

My heart rate speeds up as he gets up from the chair and sits on the bed. He crawls over me and his scent of cigarettes and coffee invades my nose. I advert my eyes from his piercing blue ones because if I look any longer I'll get lost.

Goosebumps arise as he lowers his head down to my neck, and slowly brushes his lips across it. I have the urge to run my fingers through his hair, and I notice it when my locked up hands start straining forward. He notices too, and quickly lifts his head up and I stop it immediately. I can't want him, I can't do that. The man is a psycho.

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I come into the room silently and see her beauty even in her worst state. She has somehow managed to get a blanket over herself. Smart. The knife in my back pocket is a cold reminder of what I am supposed to do. What I should do, and what I am going to do. No looking back and no second

thoughts. She has to go, I can't risk it. But I can have a little fun first. In the midst of our fun, I'll do it then. She'll be caught up, might even die happy or quicker. I don't know her sins. But looking at her now is making me want to throw the knife out the door and just kiss her all over.

I pull up the chair, " Found yourself a blankie, I see." Her reply is quick, and from the looks of it she isn't lying. Her teeth are chattering slightly and I see goosebumps covering her. "Well, maybe I can warm you up."

I crawl over her and look straight into her eyes, with so much intensity that she finally looks away and moves her head, exposing her neck. My first instinct is to bite it, claim her, mark her. Not like a vampire, but just like an animal. When sharks mate, the male bites the female, to claim her, possibly. I'm just acting on instinct.

But instead of marking her, my lips just brush, and I'm surprised. I hear a small gasp from her and chains rattling, and I don't think she notices it, but she's reaching for me. Straining for me. I feel my cock harden into her thigh, but I try to fight it. I look up and reach into my back pocket, and feel the knife. That's not what I'm looking for, I'm looking for the keys to her chains. I unlock them and her wrists are red. They droop to her sides, and I'm disappointed. But I shouldn't be. I rethink the having fun and decide to just get it over with right now.

She looks almost relaxed, and seconds pass while I'm still over her, and there is no talking. I squeeze my eyes shut, but then grab her by the waist, sticking her to me and forcing her chin up with my other arm. Rage fired inside me and I could hear her screaming, but it was tuning itself out as I grabbed the knife from my pocket and set it under her chin. The rage burns harder and harder as I imagine her like those men that night, and I dig the knife into her neck and move it just the slightest bit before I catch myself.

It's like the world dropped. It's like music stopped and all the noise and chatter and sounds in the world stops, and it was just an eerie silence. I feel something on my fingers and I notice it's her blood, dripping from the wound I made on her neck.

I feel disgusted with myself. I don't know what she did, I don't know! What if she didn't do anything! Did I just kill a helpless beautiful woman? The rage boils up again and I growl loudly and hurl the knife at the door, making it stick into the wood and it hangs there.

I breathe in and out and snarl, until I realize the girl in my hold is still breathing, and her neck isn't slit. There's a small wound. A small, shallow wound. It didn't reach her veins, but she still bleeds. I don't even think, but I rip my shirt off over my head, tear it, and then put pressure. I don't know if it would help but for some reason I am just so set on making this stop that I don't even think straight. She's crying silently, like she thinks she's dead. I cuss and prop her up against the bed frame, and she looks me in the eyes.

"It's just a scratch," she whispers. I pull the shirt back from her neck and I notice it was shallower than I thought. The bleeding has almost stopped as well. I almost breathe out a sigh of relief but then I catch myself again. Why the hell wasn't it deep!? My intent was to kill her. Better question: why isn't she dead?

Anger rises up in me as I become ashamed that I couldn't just kill her. Killing is what I do, and this girl magically changes that? A girl changes that and the first thing I do is try to help? Who am I? I stand up quickly and grab the knife out of the door, and slam it behind me with so much force I don't know how I didn't break it off.

My nostrils are flaring and I shout out, "I swear to fucking god if you come out of this room I will spank you so hard you'll never be able to sit again, do you hear me?!" And with that I head downstairs, still filled with blind rage it's like I'm seeing red.

My target of my anger is the son, and I don't care to hear his pleas. I stab the knife blindly right into his shoulder with all my might and run upstairs, and slam the door to the basement without paying attention to the howls of pain coming from downstairs.

The anger from a girl getting the better of me settles itself down. I put my head to the wall, and punch it just once, before I breathe out and put the emotions far, far, far, very far, away from me.

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From behind the slammed door I hear his angry voice say in a chilly British voice "I swear to fucking god if you come out of this room I will spank you so hard you'll never be able to sit again, do you hear me?!"I quietly say yes and rub my neck where it was cut. He cut me.

He cut me.

He wanted to kill me, but he just cut me. Or did he want to kill me? Did he actually really want to or did he just feel obligated? The anger I saw when he left the room was like Satan himself had possessed Adrian. It scared me. It excited me. It confused me. Did I make him that angry? What was he about to go do?

A howling from downstairs answers me and I recognize it as my brother. Guilt and anxiety fill me up and I want to leave the room so bad, but I'm so afraid. Do I stay and let him suffer? Or do I leave and both of us suffer? Do I even care? This is the brother that has treated me like I'm not even related to him. I should let him suffer. Let him take all this pain.

What am I even saying? Who am I becoming? Did I really just want my own brother to suffer? I shake my head in frustration. This place is twisting up my mind like making me want to wrap my fingers in a psycho's hair, wanting to make my brother suffer. I had to get out. I had to get out before he finally decided it was my time to go.

I get off the bed, and creep silently to the door. I open it just the slightest bit and look around. I don't see anyone or anything, just a kitchen. But then the door from the basement swings open and Adrian thumps his fists on the wall and leans into it, punching it every few seconds. For some reason, I can't take my eyes off him. And then just like that, his back straightens and all anger has faded from his figure and he looks calm. Emotionless, but calm. In an instance he went from Satan to a Buddhist monk.

But then he turns around so quick before I can shut the door, and his eyes lock with mine. I gasp and shut the door quickly and hop back into the bed like I hadn't moved at all. My heart is beating almost out of my chest and I wait anxiously.

The door opens. He holds a paper plate with a sloppily made sandwich on it, and a big blanket. My jaw almost drops. Didn't I just infuriate him? He smiles which only confuses me more.

"Eat it. Now," he commands. I didn't notice how hungry I was until now and wolf the sandwich down. I don't even care that he's watching. I eat like an animal because I haven't eaten in god knows how long.

He watches me while I finish and he grabs the plate out of my hand. He silently leans into me, right next to my ear, and I think he's going to run his lips over me again. My stomach tightens and I wait for contact, but all I hear is "If you ever infuriate me like that again, you'll regret it."

He straightens up, and leaves the room, locking it behind him. He has left, but the goosebumps he has given me stay.

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I cleaned up the mess that was the mother and father but left the son. He wasn't quite dead yet. And I still had more I wanted to do with him, the knife in the shoulder was just an extra. He groans and breathes ragged breaths. I don't pay attention to him as I scrub the dried blood off the floor.

I hear his breathing accelerate and he chokes out "Where... is my-s-sister."

I smirk up at him. "She's fine. For tonight. Tomorrow is when I will have my fun. Don't worry, your turns coming soon."