by LP Lovell
The glass touches his lips and then he stops and laughs. He holds the glass out to me, pressing the cool edge of the tumbler against my bottom lip. I swallow hard, keeping my lips pursed as he pushes the glass harder against my mouth. My eyes lock with his, my pulse now threatening to rupture my arteries. His hand darts out, and he grips my jaw.
"Drink it," his brow lifts, "little killer."
I turn my face from him. I want to cry because he knows, and I'm going into the Hudson River tonight. Sweat pricks its way over my skin. I panic as I glance at the door, trying to devise a plan to get to it. I know Ezra will never let me out of this house alive.
"Drink. It." His grip on my jaw tightens and he shakes my face. "Drink it!" he growls, his eyes rolling with storm clouds, the cold passing threat of death glinting within them.
The glass drops from his hand and crashes to the floor, glass shattering in every direction. I attempt to jump from the counter, but he catches me with his arm, and jerks me up against his hard chest. All I can imagine is him taking a shard of that glass and slicing through my neck, or maybe he'll pull the gun from the waist of his jeans and put a bullet through my head. He's going to roll my body up in his bed sheets— the sheets he fucked that redheaded slut on, he'll wrap my dead body up in those and put me in his trunk. He'll drive over the bridge and then toss me into the river, watching with a sick grin on his face as the murky depths swallow me whole. And I'll go to hell because I've yet to be absolved of my sins. The fear pulsing through me is making me dizzy and nauseous.
A grimace forms on his face as he wads my hair up in one hand, and places his other hand on my shoulder. His angry eyes lock on mine, and he squeezes me so hard that I buckle under the pressure. He swipes my legs out from underneath me with his foot, and I go down hard. Out of instinct, I attempt to catch myself with my palms, and they smack over the kitchen tile. I keep my chin from smashing into the floor, but shards of glass slice into my palms. The floor is slick with the poisoned whiskey, and when I try to crawl away from him, my hands slip out from under me. Ezra straddles my back, his full weight pressing over me. I feel my hair twist as he wraps it around his wrist, and of course he pulls on it before shoving my face down against the wet floor. He's rubbing my face on the floor just like you would a dog that has messed on the carpet, and I feel each tiny piece of glass as it tears into my skin. He's going to make you ugly, Evelyn. He's going to scar you so you will never be a temptation again. And I hope he does scar me. I hope he makes me ugly. Ezra smashes my face harder against the wet floor, and glass crunches beneath my cheek.
Each heavy breath he releases blows over the back of my neck. His warm, soft lips brush my neck, and he kisses it, sending chill bumps racing over my skin.
"Lick it, sweetheart," he says sweetly in my ear, twisting my face to force my lips to the wet floor.
I attempt to kick him off of me. I scream, I cry, I flail underneath him. I taste the whiskey on my lips, the poisoned whiskey meant to take his life that will now take mine.
"Lick. It." he orders and shoves my mouth against the floor again.
The alcohol stings the jagged cuts on my cheek. I know the poison is seeping its way into my bloodstream, and I feel my stomach churn. My pulse bangs in my ears and my body trembles. I will die, in the matter of fifteen minutes, I will be dead. And although some people may find peace in the moments before they die, I cannot because there is no peace in death when you know you are going to hell.
I feel Ezra lean down next to me face. "Defiant to the end, Evie." He gently strokes my cheek. "I can practically taste your fear," he whispers against the side of my throat. His weight lifts away and I hear his buckle clink, followed by the rustle of his clothes coming off. When the heat from his naked body presses against me, I smile. In a sick way it comforts me to know I won't die alone. But even more than that, I welcome it because even in death, I am his.
I brush my free hand over her cut cheek then swipe my bloodied fingers across her lips. "Look what you made me do," I whisper. Her perfect face will be scarred, her milky skin forever blemished by her own mistakes, her own stupidity.
I grip the back of her neck, pressing her face against the floor and she whimpers. Poison is seeping into her bloodstream, crippling her body slowly. It's so beautifully ironic that the very poison she tried to kill me with is now burning through her veins. I can feel the fear in her trembling heart beats. I can hear it in her erratic breaths. And there is no fear purer than the fear of death. Her defiance turns me on almost as much as her fear.
"You've been a bad girl, Evie." I fist my cock with my free hand, stroking the length of it. "And what happens to bad girls?" I ask in a hiss, yanking her dress up so hard I hear the stitching shred.
She attempts to lift her head, but I force her back down.
"They're punished," she chokes through tears.
I gently kiss her cheek. "I'm going to hurt you, Evie." I breathe against her skin. "I'm going to fuck you while I hurt you, and you will cry for me, little killer." I watch the pulse at her neck slow from the poison tearing through her veins. "Did you forget who owns you, sweetheart?" I cup her arse and grab her lace underwear, ripping it from her body.
She barely gasps. "No."
I smile, dragging my hand between her legs and pressing a finger into her wet pussy. She's wet because she likes it, she likes this, to be owned and punished for her sins.
"Then tell me, why would you try to kill me?" I press another finger inside her and watch her jaw tense as her pussy grips me. She's no longer fighting me.
"I saw you with her," she says her voice slurring. I pump my fingers in her harder, and she moans. "I know you want to fuck her."
I smile because I know she saw me. Jonny called me, told me she was standing right outside the coffee shop. I do so love winding her up about Jen; her jealousy turns me on. Her trying to kill me turns me on even more.
Laughing, I lean down and trace the shell of her ear with my tongue. "You're right. I do want to fuck her.” She bucks underneath me, and I press my fingers deeper inside her. “But I don't want to own her." I pull my hand away, grabbing her hip and yanking her arse up. Her jealousy, that sense of possession... I bite my lip as my cock demands that I beat her, choke her, fuck her to the pounding rhythm of her own terrified heartbeats.
Splinters of glass bite into my knees as I rear up over her, but the pain only drives me. I release her neck and grip my cock, guiding myself to the entrance of her tight, hot pussy and slamming balls deep inside of her. I throw my head back on a groan. Nothing feels as good as her. I can feel the panic clawing its way through her as her life threatens to leave her. Even as her heart slows and her strength wanes, she's still wet for me because she knows I own her, body and soul.
I stare down at the back of her head, at her pale skin, her dark hair tangled in my fingers and, if I could, I think I would love her, because in all her fucked up glory she's perfect. I thrust into her harder, forcing small, breathy gasps from her throat. She makes no attempt to lift her face from the floor, but her fingers try desperately for purchase on the slick tile. Her strength starts to fail her and her body sags within my hold. I bury my fingers into her hips and pull her arse back up.
"Say it. Who fucking owns you, Evie?" My pulse is hammering through my veins like a freight train. This isn't want or lust; it's need. I need to hear her say it. Right now.
"You..." she gasps. “Do..." Gasp.
I slam into her harder, more brutally, and she whimpers. That one fucking sound sends me over the edge, and I come, still fucking her relentlessly. I fuck her until her limbs finally give out completely, and she blacks out.
I always knew she would try to kill me at some point. She can't help herself. Death is like an addiction for her, and now she knows what it tastes like.
You can't blame him. You tried to kill him, Evelyn.
Some things we deserve, and I deserve this. Death is the final punishment, and it seems fitting that Ezra be the one to end me. I can
feel my heart struggle. Beat, beat, pause... beat, beat—beat—pause... My fingers tingle. The colors around me smear together, and a loud noise like a waterfall floods my ears as my blood pressure plummets. I feel death gripping me, it's cold claws digging into my heels preparing to drag me down to the pit of hell.
The heat of Ezra's body vanishes, and coldness wraps around me like a prickly blanket. All I want is for him to come back to me, swathing me with his warmth. I don't want to die alone on this floor. My sluggish heartbeat echoes in my ears. My lungs tighten, burning as they falter. I close my eyes and embrace the darkness that beckons me. Evelyn, my child. Do not fear the darkness. And I was wrong, there is peace in death. There is a cold, dark, lonely peace found only in your last breath.
The nothingness is ripped away by a blinding fire eating its way through my veins. I fear it's the flames of hell devouring my very soul. Then, the blackness is chased away by a white light tearing at the edge of my vision. My ears ring. My eyes are heavy. There's light and pain and—warmth. And in this moment of life, this chance at rebirth, I realize that death is peace and comfort, and life is hell. Death is not a punishment, life is.
Hot water laps around my waist and trickles down my neck. I hear the soft hum of "Knocking on Heaven's Door" by my ear. Gasping, I sit bolt upright, and send water sloshing over the edge of the tub. A hand brushes the damp hair away from my face. I glance over my shoulder and there he is, my Ezra.
He smiles, leans up in the tub, and swipes a finger across my lips. "You brushed death, little killer." Leaning in closer to my neck, he whispers against my ear. "But you are mine, and not even the devil can have you."
My eyes flutter shut and I swallow hard. I am his. Forever his. He saved me when he could have killed me because I am his. He is my god, for the devil would never save one of God's own children. I was wrong. Ezra was made for me. He is the strength I lack; the safety I've always craved. He is sin, I am his sinner.
"I am yours," I whisper, laying my head back against his chest to stare up at him.
“And yet, you try to kill me.” He cocks a brow.
“You were with her. You smiled at her.”
He grips my chin, rubbing his thumb over my skin. "Were you jealous, little killer?" he asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
"Yes."
"Did you imagine me fucking her?"
"Yes." I narrow my eyes at him and grit my teeth. "Over and over and over..." I can’t get the image of Ezra pressing the redhead up against that window out of my head. I hate her. I don’t want to kill Ezra, but I want to kill her.
"Good." He smirks, brushing his lips against mine. "Because when I saw her today, I imagined fucking her, over," he leans in, nipping my earlobe, "and over."
I hate his cruelty almost as much as I need it. I shove him away and stand up. The sudden movement sends water splashing everywhere. My head is still groggy and I lose my balance, catching myself on the wall. Slowly, he stands and reaches for me, but I jerk away. Despite my whirling head, I manage to climb out of the tub, nearly stepping on the syringe and vials lying on the floor. I stare at the empty glass containers, now fully aware that he knew I would try to kill him. He was planning for it, he had the damn anecdote. And when I attempted to kill him, he decided to show me what death was like. He wanted to show me just how much he owns me. I growl, grabbing a towel and wrapping myself up as I stagger out of the bathroom.
“Evie…” Ezra laughs.
"I hate you, Ezra!" I scream.
And I do. I hate him, and I love him. I despise him. I need him. I know he’ll ruin me, but I know he’ll save me because he’s my absolution. I lean against the wall for support, my legs buckling beneath me. His heavy footsteps stomp down the hall, and I try to force my feet to move, but stumble. He catches up to me, grabbing me by the hips and dragging my body back against his.
His hot breath touches my neck. I relax into his body, and tears stream down my cheeks. I’ve become so tangled in this web of sin and wrong and hell that I’ll never get out. I love him even though I shouldn’t.
"I could have let you die." He kisses the side of my throat. "But I didn't," he says just before his teeth sink into my skin.
Those words sink in and I choke on the sob working its way up my throat. I fold over and Ezra forces me to stand back up. I was broken before, and yet he broke me. I thought surely there were no pieces of my tattered soul left to shatter, but he shattered me. He promised me I would cry for him, and he was right. The emotional pain he is twisting inside my chest like a jagged knife is far worse than any physical pain he could inflict. It strips me bare. Love is weakness. And Ezra knows it.
His teeth leave my neck and he spins me around to face him. "I fucking own every depraved inch of you." He grips my jaw, his eyes narrowing on me. "Do you understand?"
Nodding, I swallow. “Yes,” I say quietly.
"I want to fuck Jen. I do not want to own her. I do not need her.” His hand drops from my jaw and his fingers slowly pry my towel open.
I watch as he drinks in my naked body, and in this moment I think he is worshiping me. He’s staring at me like I’m something rare and precious and holy. And suddenly, I wonder if he wants to love me. His fingers skim along the curve of my waist as his eyes slowly drag over my body.
I can't help myself. “Do you love me, Ezra?” I ask.
His eyes flicker and he takes a step, then another, backing me against the wall. "No," he whispers as his hand trails between my breasts and up to my throat. His fingers squeeze as he bites down on my shoulder.
He takes me again, claiming me, showing me how he owns me, and how I will never own him.
He doesn’t want to love that redhead, but he wants to fuck her. And I want to kill her for that.
Ezra’s in the shower and I’m sitting on his bed, staring at his phone. I hear the water shut off and quickly snatch it from the dresser and throw it under the bed. Dave goes running underneath the footboard, his tail wagging.
“No, bad dog!” I hiss under my breath when he nudges the phone out from under the bed. He scampers out from the bed, tucking his tail between his legs as I pace.
I turn the ringer off as I glance around Ezra's apartment, trying to find somewhere to hide his phone he will never think to look in. As soon as I walk out into the living room, my gaze strays over to the kitchen and lands on the top of the cabinets. I hurry to climb on top of the counters and place the phone as far back as I can reach. I hop down when I hear the bedroom door open, quickly opening the refrigerator and pretending to rummage for something to eat.
“I've got to go out," he says. "Stay here."
I'll stay here. I'm not leaving. I watch him go back to his room and dress. He curses when he can't find his phone. I watch as he tears his room apart looking for it. When he comes back out, he glares at me as he takes his keys from the counter. He opens a couple of drawers and then goes back into the bedroom. "Evie, have you seen my phone?" he shouts.
I swallow. "No." My heart pounds in my ears. I don't want to lie to him, but it's for the best. I can't have things coming between us now can I?
"Fuck. I swear Dave, if you've eaten another phone..." He points at Dave and then heads for the door, slamming it shut behind him.
As soon as he leaves, I clamor up onto the counter and feel around on the top of the cabinets for the phone. I feel it under my palm and snatch it up, jumping on the counter. I lean against the wall as I scroll through his list of contacts until I see her name. I hate that he still has her number in here. He only has it because he wants to fuck her. My fingers ball into a fist and my gaze narrows on her name. I scroll through all their messages. I want to fuck you. Another message: I want to fuck you. Then another: I want to fuck you. Around 4am? And another: I need to fuck you. My stomach knots because he told me he didn’t need her, but the text he sent her a two months ago, probably the night I watched him slam her against the glass said he did need her. Anger bleeds through me as I angrily tap out a text.
> I want to fuck you. Now. Be here at seven.
I haven’t even put the phone down before it dings. Gladly.
Heat spreads over my face. That filthy, desperate whore. She saw me wipe his sin from my mouth, and she’s still eager to fuck him. She doesn’t care that I am his.
I have a surprise for you when you get to my apartment. I text.
DING. Can’t wait, Ez. <3
I throw the phone across the room and I hear Dave’s feet scamper over the hardwoods. A few seconds later, I feel him nudge my leg. I look down and he's staring up at me, his tail wagging.
“He’s ours, Dave. We have to kill her to make sure he stays ours.”
He barks. He knows I am not a bad person.
When I open the door, Jen’s eyes widen just before the scan over my body.
“Jen, right?” I say, smiling. It’s six forty-five, ambitious little bitch. I already want to choke the life out of her. One of her perfectly sculpted brows twitch up. “Where's Ezra?”
“Oh," I swallow hard because I want to break her neck right now. "Ezra wanted me to tell you he’s running a little behind.” I open the door wider and Jen steps in, her eyes never leaving mine. The door slams closed. I know I shouldn’t kill her because she's not a bad person, but she wants what is mine. My heart beats hard in my chest at the thought of watching her eyes roll back in her head. I make my way to the kitchen and grab the two drinks from the counter. Handing one to her, I ask, “Did Ezra not tell you about the arrangement?”
“No.” She eyes me cautiously as she takes the drink.
I step toward her, brushing my finger over her cheek. “Ezra wants me,” I whisper and she jerks away from me. I lean in closer to her, the floral scent of Coco Mademoiselle floating up to my nose. "And he wants you." I watch her swallow. "And he wants to watch us together. Then fuck us together." I see her pulse accelerate. "And I want to fuck you, then watch him fuck you." I press a gentle kiss to her neck. When I pull away to look at her she nervously downs her drink. "He told me how good your pussy feels, Jen. He likes it."