by Lila Veen
“Jenna, don’t do this,” he pleads. “You don’t want to do this. You’ll go to jail.”
“I’m not Jenna,” Kate says. “You’ve met me before. Only this time, I’m going to be in complete control.”
The realization of what’s happening dawns on Drake. “Holy shit, you’re fucking insane.”
Kate frowns. “You expect someone who went through that to be sane?” she asks, indicating the television which is still playing the video.
“Shit, you really are fucked up,” Drake says. “It’s not just a game you were playing with me that night. You honestly think you’re another person. Your voice, the way you are, everything is like another person.”
“We aren’t the same person,” Kate says. “Jenna is weak where I’m strong. She wouldn’t be able to confront you and do to you what I’m planning to do to you now.”
Drake cringes. “What the hell are you planning to do to me?”
Kate smiles. “See that little girl in that video?” she asks him, physically turning his head toward the screen. Drake watches as the girl on the television is forced to bend down and sees his brother Mike kneel behind her. “See the things your brother made her do while you watched? Did you ever think of how it felt to be forced to do something you don’t want to do and have no choice?”
Drake doesn’t answer for a second, and feels the gun push harder against his neck. One shot and he’s dead or paralyzed. “No,” he replies. “I’ve never thought of it.”
“I just wish I had the equipment to record it,” Kate replies. “I’m sure that watching what I’m about to do to you would turn me on as much as watching what your brother did to me years ago turns you on.”
“Fuck you,” Drake spits at her. “You’re a fucking crazy whore.”
“I love being a crazy whore,” Kate replies. She stands up, holding the gun pointed at Drake while she moves around so he can see her. She’s only wearing thigh high stockings and a garter, black lacy panties and a black bra. She masterfully unhooks her garters from her stockings and pulls her panties down. “I’m so wet right now,” she whispers. “You can’t imagine how wet this whole thing makes me when I think about hurting you. I’m going to make you taste me.” She kneels down and forces her panties inside of Drake’s mouth. He can taste her and ironically feels himself getting hard. Maybe this isn’t so bad, he thinks. It’s kind of hot. He watches Kate play with herself with his mouth stuffed full of her soaking panties and feels his own cock pressing against the cold concrete floor. She moans but doesn’t take her eyes off of Drake and never lets her guard down with the gun, which is still pointed at him. When she comes, her knees buckle and she drops down to the floor, breathing heavily. She catches her breath and looks at him languidly. “Are you ready?”
For what? Drake wonders. He can’t say anything with the panties stuffed in his mouth. His throat feels dry and his eyes are tearing up. Kate responds by walking away and up the stairs. Drake immediately begins pulling on the ropes that have him bound up to the TV stand and the chair. He considers trying to heave the TV stand away but it’s pretty heavy, he discovers when he tenses his arms. He tries to move the chair with his legs and succeeds a bit, making a loud scraping sound against the concrete. Kate comes bounding back down the stairs, pointing the gun at him.
“Don’t fucking move!” she shrieks. She walks directly up to him and he feels the cold metal against his cheek. With horror he sees she has put on a strap-on dildo. Kate sees Drake eye it and smiles and begins to stroke it. “I’m going to take my panties out of your mouth now,” she says. “You’re not going to say a fucking word. You’re going to suck this. I’m going to make you choke on it, just like your brother made me choke on his cock years ago. Do you understand. He nods, and she brings her hand toward his mouth and hesitates for a moment. “Don’t bite me,” she says. “I’ll shoot you.”
He’s not sure whether to believe her or not but decides she’s crazy enough that she probably would. Besides, what would biting her accomplish. She slowly takes hold of the panties between her thumb and forefinger and pulls them out of his mouth. As soon as he gasps for breath, she twists his neck violently to the side and pushes the silicone cock inside his mouth, making him gag. “Throw up on me and I’ll shoot you,” she says. “My daddy used to smack me for doing anything like that, and I’ll take it one step further with you.”
Drake’s eyes well up with tears as he feels her push the cock inside of his mouth even further. Yet the smell of Jenna or Kate or whoever she is makes his cock press even harder against the floor.
“Get it good and wet,” Kate says. “The wetter you get it, the less it will hurt when I fuck you with it.” Drake tries to pull back in horror but Kate clutches his head closer to her with one hand and aims the gun with the other. “Don’t even think about it,” she says. She gags him with the dildo one last time and gets up and walks around behind him. Drake can’t see her but feels the gun suddenly on the back of his neck again, and the hard silicone pressed into his back. Kate reaches around to unfasten his belt and fumbles a bit one-handed, but eventually gets it off, along with his button and zipper. Drake feels the cold air on his bare ass and shudders when he thinks about what’s in store.
Kate whips the belt high in the air and brings it down hard against Drake’s bare thighs, making him practically scream like a girl. “Fuck you!” she shouts. She kneels down behind Drake and puts the gun to her side. She needs both hands. Drake can feel the strap-on against his back. Kate takes the belt and brings it around to his mouth. “Bite down,” she says. He complies and she brings the belt straps around to the back of his head and fastens it tightly behind him. Drake is having a hard time breathing, but can’t talk with the leather strap in his mouth. When he feels the hard shaft plunging inside of him, he makes the most horrible agitated noise he can possibly make while biting down on the leather strap as hard as he can.
Kate pulls out slowly and pushes inside of him hard. She was gentler with Justin. She shows Drake no mercy. Ironically, when she reaches around to feel if he is hard, she gets angry to find that he is. She notes there is fluid on the black dildo that is probably blood, and so she pumps away faster. There is blood on her thighs from the marks she gave Drake from whipping him with the belt, too. The sight of his blood and knowing he is suffering is making her wet, and while she pushes the dildo inside of Drake’s ass, the other end inside of her pushes against her in the most enticing way. She is definitely enjoying this. She forgets for a minute what she’s supposed to be doing and moves her hand just above the dildo and places her middle fingertip against her clit and begins to rub as she thrusts.
Drake hears Kate moan and feels her tense up behind him as she comes. His own dick is pulsing against the concrete even though his vision blacks out around the edges every time he feels the dildo push deeper inside of him. When Kate slowly pulls it out, however, the feeling is amazing, and he hates how she’s actually making him enjoy something so brutal and painful. He feels both of her hands on his waist as she continues to plunge into him and realizes she isn’t holding the gun anymore. He can move his head a little bit, and she has let go of the belt, and so Drake cranes his neck a bit and sees the beautiful glimmer of metal. The gun! He looks at how his hands are tied with the rope to the television stand. I can do this, he thinks. One surge of strength and I can take her down. The television stand is heavy, but if he can tip it over, his hands will be free.
Kate doesn’t realize it’s coming, but suddenly she is thrown off of Drake’s back and smacks her head against the concrete floor. She doesn’t lose consciousness, and tries to sit up, but suddenly feels a biting sharp pain in her leg, accompanied by a loud gunshot. She screams and kicks with her other leg, connecting with Drake’s hand. They both scramble to get the gun, but she is there first, despite the horrible pain in her leg. Drake’s legs are still tied to the recliner and his range of motion is limited. Her hands are shaking, but she aims it at Drake’s head.
“Don’t
kill me,” he pleads, taking the belt out of his mouth. “Please. Look, you’re bleeding. You could die. Get yourself to a hospital and I’ll leave and won’t say a word. Please.”
“I would be too easy to kill you and let you die so quickly,” she says. She stands up and puts her weight on the leg that wasn’t shot. She tentatively places some weight on the other leg and winces, but stays silent. She aims the gun and shoots Drake in the stomach, then readjusts her aim and shoots him in the crotch area. He is screaming. “In case I don’t succeed, at least you’ll never be able to fuck anyone again like you fucked me.”
*
I limp up the stairs to the garage and find the red can of gasoline that Devin had filled for the lawnmower. My hands are a bloody mix of Drake’s and my own but they are steady and sure. Then I wander around the house, still limping and begin to pour gasoline everywhere, throwing a generous amount down the basement stairs. Drake’s screams have died down, and perhaps he’s passed out from the pain. Or maybe he’s already dead. I bring the gasoline container back up and finish the last of it near the front door, and take a pack of matches out of my purse. I light one and throw it down and watch the flames explode into a trail behind me.
I sit down on my front lawn. The smoke is starting to pour out the door. I reach into my purse and pull out my phone and call Justin. “I’ve been shot,” I say, “And the house is on fire.”
Epilogue
My new apartment overlooks Lake Michigan and Lake Shore Drive, which is nice. It’s not really a nice area at night but during the day I’m able to go for walks. Supervised, of course. It’s not too far from the place I went to dinner with Devin where we ate Pho, but I can’t walk that far. Rehabilitation is difficult. The surgery left me with a rod in my leg from knee to ankle, which will eventually be removed, but I will need to go to extensive physical therapy to be able to regain full use of my leg. Most of my day is spent sitting in a chair and looking out the window at the cars driving north and south. There’s nothing else to do. I have a television provided for my entertainment, but I can’t seem to watch television anymore. Everything I see is replaced in my mind with images of a child doing something she doesn’t want to do. Turning on the news is torture. Everywhere in Chicago and the rest of the world there are kids who are going through shit that no kid should ever have to go through and it’s depressing. Kids like me. Instead of watching and wanting to do something about it, I turn and pretend it’s not there. Someone else can change the fucking world, not me.
The police listened to my story, backed by Justin, my old therapist, and a neighbor or two. The police indicated that some of the DVDs survived the fire and were used as evidence. I have been court ordered to rekindle my relationship with my therapist. I’ve been assured by Dr. Collins that I will never see those videos again, but she’s wrong. Every time I close my eyes I see my child self being violated by a grown man who should know better. The memories have all come back, and it sucks. She comes to see me once a day, which is ironic because I’m no longer two people. I parted with that side of myself when I watched the house burn down and decided to let everything go. I won.
Devin’s funeral was small and quiet and on a Tuesday, and the turnout was slightly better than Jack’s but not much. Besides his friends from the railroad, and people from the neighborhood, including Joe and Louisa, it’s a small and quiet affair, and nothing worth noting. Holly was there, and devastated. I just felt numb. I haven’t even cried since that day I left him behind in the hospital. I can’t cry for Devin, there’s nothing left.
“I wish I’d had longer with him,” Holly said to me. “I mean, we had years together, but really it didn’t count since most of those were spent not really being ourselves.”
I know what she means. So many years wasted locked inside of my body without my true self completely absorbed. Now I’m a whole person, Devin isn’t even around to experience it. He would be happy I’m in therapy again, but like everything with Devin, it would be a struggle to convince him that everything is okay. He always cared too much. I blame Jack for that along with everything else. It’s Jack’s fault I’m unable to come and go as I please from this place. It’s his fault I don’t have my brother with me anymore. It’s his fault that I lost half of myself.
Every so often I experience her. It’s like a feeling of deja vu, a shudder of her like she wants to come outside and play, but I can swallow her back and repress it.
I am learning to be mobile on crutches. Things could be so much worse. I could have lost my leg, or even worse, my life, but I didn’t. I guess I should be pleased with how things turned out. But really, how is this any better? I’m alone as alone can be. I don’t even have her to keep me company.
Justin is here to visit today. He looks good and I wonder if things could actually work out between us one day. I’ll have to convince him that I’m healthy, which will take time. Dr. Collins says it’s a process and I tell her to “process this” and show her my middle finger. I really hate therapy. It’s such bullshit.
“I thought I’d show you today’s newspaper,” he tells me, sitting down in a chair next to me and sliding the paper across the table to me. I unfold it and spread it on the table. It’s the New York Times. The headline reads “Washington Congress Elect Charged with Statutory Rape”. My breath goes in sharply and I feel that shudder again, but I close my eyes and take a deep breath. My therapist told me to close my eyes and count to ten and think about something that is distinctively me. I hand him back the paper. “Don’t you want to read the article?”
“Not really,” I say. “The headline is enough.”
“Do you think maybe you’re making any progress?” he asks me. Ugh, there’s that fucking word again. I glare at him but check myself. He wants me to be nice, like Jenna. But I am not Jenna and it’s hard to be nice.
“Do you think it would be inappropriate if we made out in here?” I ask him. He looks uncomfortable.
“Yes, I do,” he finally says. “You’re not the person I fell in love with.”
“Oh, Justin,” I say dramatically. “I am the very same person you fell in love with. Same body, same heart, same dirty mind. It’s all there. We even share the same memories. Do you remember when you painted me like a peacock?”
“I painted Jenna,” he says flatly.
“But I was there,” I point out. “I was aware of what you were doing the entire time. You don’t seem to understand that no matter if I’m Jenna or Kate, it’s the same thing.”
He shakes his head. “Not to me.” I pout. “Everything is different about you. Voice, mannerisms, the things you say. They are different.”
I shrug. “Dr. Collins says it’s not about Kate taking over. It’s about merging myself and becoming one person with both sides of my personality in that person. I think I’ve nearly achieved that.”
Justin listens. “Maybe,” he says. “But to me it’s like starting over.”
“So let’s start over,” I suggest. “Besides,” I say, batting my eyelashes melodramatically in his direction. “We did have fun once.”
He laughs. “Fainting isn’t fun.” He is still smiling, though. “So are you suggesting that I ‘court’ you?” He uses air quotes. “Pretend we just met?”
“Maybe,” I say. “We can play it however you want.”
Justin stands up. “I’ll think about it.” He indicates the paper that’s been left on the table. “You want to keep that and read it?”
“Sure,” I say, though I know I will throw it out. If I were a dog I’d use it to pee on. Maybe I’ll find something to do with it during craft time. “Will I see you again soon?”
“The day after tomorrow,” Justin says. “Same as always.” Then he does what he does every time he leaves. He leans over and whispers in my ear. “I love you Jenna,” he tells me. “I hope you’re still in there.”
“I love you too,” I say to him and he smirks. He turns and walks out the door.
I sigh and unfold the paper and begin to r
ead. It’s nothing I don’t already know. Luckily HIPAA prevents the article from talking about me very much or about my strange medical condition I’m determined to have. I skim through and toss it aside and realize I’m very tired.
Even though I’m locked away in this building, even though my brother is dead and my boyfriend wants nothing to do with me, even though I am considered unfit to live in society, despite all of those things, I feel good. I finally feel like an entire person. I feel like I’m finally out of my cage.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Marikit Casteñeda – Who took what I saw in my head and made it come to life, and made it even better with her own ideas. Thank you for the most beautiful cover that Killing Kate could have. You all should visit her site at http://marikit.deviantart.com/ because she’s awesome.
Jess, Karen, Susan and Tiff – Who read Killing Kate, gave me honest opinions and found my typos. Thank you all for your friendship and not judging me.
Charlie – Who read a book when he never reads books, didn’t judge, and went through all of the crap I didn’t feel like doing to get this thing published. I love you.
Anyone who got this far – I can’t even describe how grateful I am to you for reading this, and I would be even more grateful if you would write a review for me! Honest reviews are the best kind.