by Tara Dawn
At some point, I would imagine that Mark will stop with his reverse choke hold, and I’m almost certain that at the same time, Susie will let go of his cock. But honestly, those are the only things I’m certain of right now. And even those certainties are too shaky to be anything other than the fleeting moments that keep slipping just out of my grasp. I haven’t been able to hold on to a moment long enough yet to make it my own and it’s starting to crack my already flawed core.
I wanted something to be mine for once; no matter how much it grossed me out at times, but I’ve never had anything for my very own. Not even this fucking place I lived in; renting is not the same as owning and as I stand here watching them with open mouths, gasping for air, staring at me in shock and curiosity, I wonder if I even matter anymore.
The only thought going through my mind now is to leave Susie Q alone with Mark. I shouldn’t even be here. This isn’t my life; not the way I had imagined it. All I wanted was a world where I could sit alone in my own space, drink endless amounts of coffee, and fuck myself to parody porn whenever I wanted.
And now I’m standing in the room of some girl that I just met watching her and my Uncle Mark on the bed getting ready for some rough fuck of some sorts. What have I brought to this? An extra pussy and cold water.
I hate to think that’s all I would ever be in a situation like this. I hate to think that since I know I’ll never amount to anything more than the thoughts of others, that I have to be resigned to whatever the whims of my masters wish me to be.
I hate it so much.
It’s like an animal being trapped in a cage, forced to perform whenever there’s a crowd, when all I ever truly wanted was to be left alone.
I don’t mind having been fucked by Mark. I don’t mind that he fucked Susie on top of me. What I do mind is that it’s never just me.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I say to myself more than to them. My voice is something I don’t quite recognize anymore. Forlorn, cracked, and completely unlike me.
I set the glass down on the floor of the bedroom, turn on my heel, and walk out of the room. I’m not sure why this is coming over me so suddenly. I’m usually the kind of girl to see anything through; no matter how fucked up the situation is, yet I can’t seem to want to stay in a placement of this magnitude knowing that the end result is going to be me as an accomplice or just the third-wheel-hole to fuck.
“Wait, Lydia!” Susie manages to croak out.
“For the last fucking time, my name is Artemis,” I hiss at her over my shoulder.
And this is your fucking problem now.
Chapter Fifteen
Sissy
“Lyd—Arte—Lydia!” I scream at her again as she disappears out of my bedroom door. “You can’t fucking leave me like this! Help me, please!”
Mark’s chest shakes with silent laughter before his ominous chuckle rumbles through him like thunder. I hold my breath and wait for lightening to strike so I know just how close the raging storm is to us. But with every tick of the clock, and every thump of Mark’s matching heartbeat, I realize that the storm I’m impatiently awaiting is not around me or moving in on me. It is me. I am the storm that is ravaging everything and everyone whole.
I reach up and shove my thumb into Mark’s soft eyeball. His mouth opens with his shout and I shove against his chest to push free from him. I scurry out of his reach and tumble off the side of the bed, his laughter getting louder as I push to my feet and stumble out of my bedroom to chase after Lydia.
She can’t leave. Not like this. I know that I dragged her into this mess, but I need her right now, and I know that she needs me after what just happened. There’s no reason for her to have to deal with that alone when we can do it together. We just connect on a level most people don’t, and it makes it feel like we’ve known each other longer than one day.
My feet slap the old hardwoods echoing through the apartment. It’s the only sound save the hammering of the blood whooshing through my ears. The small kitchenette is empty. The couch is empty. My apartment is empty, and eerily silent.
This is all his fault. All of it is.
My stomach turns, and acid rises up my throat from the fury burning in the depths of me. I swallow it down as I turn and face the direction I just came from. The silence coming from the bedroom matches the thick silence that I’m treading. It’s deafening, stifling, and paralyzing. I fear my own heart has stopped beating.
What could he possibly be doing in there?
The bedroom doorway has never looked as scary as it does now looming before me. I slide my feet over the floor as if I’m skating to the threshold. It’s not an elegant glide, and the soles of my feet already bare the evidence in the tiny hair-like splinters that have invaded my skin. But I ignore the burning prickly sensations as I peek around the edge of the frame in my search for the dick who couldn’t control his dick.
The scarves lay abandoned on the foot of the bed where his legs were tied down. Mark is nowhere in sight though. That makes my stomach flip again, only this time in nervousness.
I reach to the side of me and grab the knife off the kitchen counter. Holding it behind my back, I slowly step through the bedroom door and pause as I look around the room. There are only a few places he could be: under my bed, in my closet, or already ran down the fire escape.
One glance at my window tells me he didn’t leave that way, so he’s still hiding in this room. I will find him, and I will punish him for all he’s done. For all his past wrongdoings, his current wrongdoings, and the atrocities he will never be able to commit but has dreamed of. Most of all, for what he’s done to me and Lydia.
Mark will pay. Preferably with his final breaths and lots of blood. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll find penance in his final moments. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll get my peace returned to me when this is done and over with. I highly doubt either though. Because someone will always know what happened in 4C.
A flicker of movement in the corner of my eyes catches my attention. I jerk around and hold the knife up ready to attack. My heart pounds when I come face-to-face with nothing. Absolutely nothing. Another flicker of movement comes from the other side of me, and I spin that way. My heart hammers painfully, and I hold my hand over it as if that will keep it from tearing out of my chest. Nothing again.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I sing playfully, hoping that Mark steps out from where he is hiding. “Marco …” I whisper as I step to the bed and quickly lower myself to the floor. He’s not under there or hiding on the other side.
Turning on the balls of my feet, I stare at my reflection on the back of my closet door. The knife in my hand glints in the light and looks scary as fuck. I would hide from me too. I kind of want to, but at the same time, I feel more powerful than I ever have. It’s been a long time since I felt this free. I’ve had to give that up to others my whole life, and I’m not giving it up now.
I smile at myself in the mirror and rise to my full height. “Olly, Olly, oxen free,” I say louder, with confidence backing every word.
My mirror image wavers slightly and I know that I’ve found him. Not that he could’ve hidden anywhere else. Sliding my knife hand behind my back, I step to the closet door and grasp the knob. The door opens soundlessly.
“You don’t want to play with me anymore?”
My question causes a wary Mark to reach up and rub his already bruising neck. He doesn’t speak, just stands there holding his throat as he stares at me.
I step toward him, and he scoots as far back into my closet as he can. My brow furrows deeply with his reaction to me. I don’t understand why he’s scared of me. I didn’t do this to him, Lydia did.
“I don’t know why you’re staring at me like that. I wasn’t the one who wrapped a belt around your neck and strangled you, remember?”
His eyes widen, as if he is shocked that I would speak of what happened aloud. I’m not admitting to anything, and it’s not like there’s anyone around who would use my words agains
t me.
“I just want to get the fuck away—”
I pull the knife from behind my back and push the point into the side of his neck. The tip bounces with his pulse as his terrified eyes look down at the blade. His eyes are straining so hard that it looks as if they will flip completely around in his skull.
“I’d be real careful how you finish that sentence, or I will finish it for you.” I push a little bit harder on the knife and a croak escapes his bruised and scratchy throat. He slightly nods his head, and I back away.
That was a mistake.
Mark leaps out of the closet and slaps my knife hand to the side. He barrels into me like a football player and knocks the breath out of me. I fly back towards the bed, slamming into the footboard and flipping over onto the mattress. Then I hear Mark’s feet pounding against the floor as he runs across the room.
I grab the knife and jump up on the bed then leap off of it as Mark tries to run through the door. I land against his back and wrap myself around his body causing him to stumble and almost fall.
“Get the fuck off of me!” he screams, his voice strained and on the verge of giving out completely.
“Did you get the fuck off of me when I told you to?” I yelled back. “Did you stop touching me when I begged you to? No, you didn’t. You sick fuck!”
“What? You asked for it!” Mark replies as he fights with my arms and tries to pull the knife from my hand.
“Say you’re sorry!” I scream at him as I hold the knife to his throat.
“I’m sorry,” he says instantly, and I don’t believe a word of it is sincere.
“I don’t believe you,” I whisper, and then stab the knife into his chest, the blade nicking his ribs as it slides into him.
He screams then drops to his knees as he attempts to grab the knife handle. “I’m sorry,” he cries out as he sobs, blood sprayings from between his lips.
I’m sorry echoes repeatedly through the apartment with every stab and slice of the knife I deliver to him. Until, eventually, there are no more sorry’s, and there is no more Mark.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Please help me,” I whisper to Lydia when she cracks open her door.
Chapter Sixteen
Artemis
Susie looks so broken. A sad, little thing with a bloody knife in her hand. I can’t tell if that’s fear in her eyes or madness. I’m not sure if I should let her in when she’s tried so hard to lock me out.
Half of me wants to let her in because I know how desperately she needs a friend right now, but the other half of me wants to close the door because I know how desperately I don’t need a friend right now.
“What do you want?” I ask tightly.
“I need your help,” she mumbles again, tears starting to stream down her pretty, confused face.
I roll my eyes, but hold my ground. I’m not going to feel sorry for her anymore. I can’t. This is the same woman who’s pussy I tasted after Mark forced me to “suck him clean” as he stated, and it wasn’t exactly earth shattering. Not that I would normally mind, but none of it happened because either of us wanted it to.
Susie leans her head against the door and lets the knife clatter onto the floor and I wonder just how much of an amateur she’s been all her life. I’ve personally never killed anyone before, but I sure as fuck wouldn’t go lobbing the evidence around.
Wait.
“Susie? Where’s Mark?” I ask, with a cold, hard reality setting in.
“What?” she replies, her eyes becoming distant and hazy.
“Where’s Mark?” I ask again in a stern tone.
“Oh. He’s inside.”
I raise an eyebrow curiously at her and open the door slightly wider than it already is to retrieve the knife when I see something long, fleshy, and coated in blood in her left hand.
I swallow hard as I reach for the knife, my eyes on the trophy she’s holding, telling myself that there’s no way in fucking hell that she actually has it in her to do something like that.
I stand back up, the evidence firmly in my hand, and step behind the door leaving just a crack between us.
“What the fuck are you holding?” I ask, already knowing the answer. I feel sick; the look of confusion on her face as she brings it up to get a better look at it, almost as if she’s forgotten what she’s been holding this entire time, makes me wonder what level of crazy this bitch really is.
“Nothing,” she says dropping the freshly severed cock onto the floor. I can tell that in her daze she doesn’t realize what she’s done. I also realize that I don’t know if he’s dead for sure, and I won’t fucking know until I go look.
Instinctively, I reach down and snatch the warm, bloodied phallus off the floor and yank her into my apartment. The only reasonable thing to do is make her wait here while I go check on him and make sure that, a: he’s still breathing, and b: that perhaps by some miracle, this is a super realistic dildo that somehow managed to find its way into the cherry pie.
“Just wait here and don’t fucking touch anything,” I say to her, holding up the cock. Hm. I wonder. I shake it at her a couple of times, but she’s still too far gone to appreciate the humor in what I’m trying to do, and I’m trying to become as far removed from the seriousness at hand to wonder if I should leave it with her.
Maybe I can sew it back on.
Oh God.
It’s real, isn’t it?
Fuck.
I lock Susie into the apartment when I leave. Or maybe I’m locking myself out. Regardless, as long as I can put some distance between me and her psychotic break, I’m okay with whatever happens next.
The door to her apartment is slightly ajar, and I can see the drops of blood that lead the way out now beckoning me back in. Why did I bring the dick? I should have brought the knife instead.
“Mark?” I call out timidly. “Are you okay?”
There’s no response. The silence, something I’m used to and love so much when I have my moments of solitude, is actually depressing me right now. There’s always silence before it’s over, but I never thought there would be two this time instead of just one.
While I would love nothing more than to blame this entire fiasco on Mark and his testosterone, I can’t help but find the fault in myself. I should have just let him come to my apartment and fuck me for some coffee water and left Susie Q out of it, but she forced her way into the situation, and we both just followed her lead.
I wonder if there will be a next time with Mark. Not in the sense of feeling his long, thick cock filling me against my will, but if there will ever be another chance to banter with him. I would kill to hear him ask me if he could slide his fingers into my ass right now, when normally that would turn my stomach. At least that was the facade I would put on for him, because he likes when I play hard to get.
Will I have that chance again?
“Mark?” I call out again.
I’m standing in Susie’s living room now and I can see the trail of blood leading back to her bedroom and I have the strangest, sincerest wish entering my head. The one wish I would ask from a genie if I was granted three; not to have as many wishes as I want, but the wish would be that Susie Q had been a virgin when Mark fucked us and that was her innocence trailing along the floor.
But there are no genies here and there’s no such thing as magical wishes, are there?
Do I pray or is that a fairy tale too? Why am I prolonging the torture by just standing here and looking at the gentle drops of blood instead of going in and seeing what’s waiting for me? Why isn’t Mark answering me?
More importantly, why does it feel like the world is starting to press in around me?
With every ounce of courage, I find myself mustering, I begin to follow the trail back toward her bedroom. A place that was once a moment of wicked lust-filled endeavors might likely be a sarcophagus, and I don’t know how to react when I go in.
If he’s alive, do I try to save him? Attach his dick back to his body? Should I run and ca
ll the police? An ambulance? Surely there has to be a way to save Mark’s life and get Susie the help she needs, but at what cost? I’m as much a part of this as she is, and I know she’ll implicate me, but I can’t let him bleed out.
The closer I get to the door, the further away it seems and the darker the room seems to get.
I’m almost there; a few steps away from what I know will possibly shatter me into a million pieces and send me back into the dark place that I get sent to from time to time, but I don’t know if I’ll make it.
The room is starting to spin and I’m losing my footing. The cock starts to throb in my hand and the blood begins to rush over it again.
I’m on my knees now.
My head hurts.
The room ... it’s spinning faster now and everything is going black.
Where am I?
Chapter Seventeen
Sissy
Mother and Nanny always told me to stop staring into the sun, but I loved how the fiery ball went from bright yellows and oranges to a black ball with flames flickering around it. It always reminded me of solar eclipses. Why wait for one to come when you can stare up into the sky and make one for yourself? I squeeze my lids together tightly, trying to block the brightness burning my retinas from staring for too long, and when I open them back up, burning black spots fill my vision and cover everything I look at. Including her.
Lydia.
But she’s here. I knew she wouldn’t leave me. She couldn’t. Just like I could never leave her. Lydia gets me. She understands me. We all need someone like that in this world. I found that in her. My neighbor. My friend. My forced lover. My protector. Keeper of my truths and lies.
I glance through the window blinds at her as she stands down on the sidewalk. She glances up at my window over the top of her sunglasses and sees me peeking through my blinds at her—my Lydia—and winks at me. I know that she will never tell a soul. Our secret will forever remain that. Secret. Unspoken and unbroken.