Snare (Delirious book 1)

by Wild, Clarissa

  He fake-bites in the air. Startled, I move back an inch, my hands dropping to my side.

  “See? You are scared. Don’t deny it.”

  I swallow. “I’m not.”

  “Liar. You know, I can tell from the way you’re trembling. Be scared. Be terrified of me. Because all this, what I just did, making you watch my jerk-off session … was a warning.” He looms over me like someone who’d rather see me in pain than have mercy. “Was the spanking not enough for you to fear me?”

  “No …” I whisper.

  “There are worse things I can do than that. It was only a fraction of the pain I could inflict. The worst is the part where it hits you in the heart. I’m trying to spare you that misery.” He grabs my shoulders. “Now go. Get out. Leave. Me. Alone.”

  Tears spring into my eyes. “You’re cruel …”

  He sighs, then nods as he lets go of me completely. “If only you knew.”

  His words shake me to my core. He doesn’t want me at all. I’m just a toy he used for his own amusement. Even when he says he doesn’t know me, he still abuses the power he has over me. The fact that I want him is my weakness, and he exploits that.

  Why? What does he want? What does he gain from chasing me away?

  Regardless, I walk. I have to leave, have to get out of this place. I can barely breathe. My legs start running, and soon they are chasing the ghost of a man I once knew.

  Accompanying song: “Arsonists Lullabye” by Hozier

  Room 54. Providence, Rhode Island – April 27th, 2013

  I grab a plastic bag and some paper and start picking up the leftovers from last night. There’s lots of spilled food on the floor, and it smells rancid. A plastic cap in front of my mouth won’t hold back the stench. It’s not because the food has gone stale so quickly; more because of what it’s mixed with. Alas, I find it a somewhat shameful confession that I’m getting used to the smell. I just don’t think about it often. Keeps me sane.

  After I’m done picking up the mess, I scrub the floors meticulously to make sure the stains are gone and the foul stench has disappeared. I like using my special brand of disinfectant; it always seems to do the trick. I guess this is why I’m always the one cleaning everything afterwards—I’m the only one who knows how to make it spotless again.

  It’s one of the benefits of being so adamant about cleanliness. It has its pros and cons. Especially considering where it all came from. My father used to make me scrub the floors and tables for hours. There was always this pungent smell hanging in the house. It reeked of alcohol and puke. Sometimes, I think he made me clean just to cover up for his filth.

  My father was not a kind man. Luckily, he’s not here to torment me anymore.

  I still remember everything. Every bit of the humiliation he put me through. He’d show me how to properly dress myself and perfect my stride, my hair, my smile. Everything. If not, I would get a slap. Slaps turned into beatings if I didn’t improve. And so I kept improving until I no longer knew what it was like to not hate dirt. I hate it with every pore in my body.

  I think back on yesterday, how I spilled my cum all over myself while that woman watched me. Of course, I cleaned up the aisle right away after Miss Carrigan left. No cum or sweat shall stain the floors of my beautiful halls. What can I say? I hate being dirty, but I can’t help myself either.

  Miss Carrigan … just thinking about her creates a storm in my head. She will ruin me. Just by coming back, she’ll destroy me. I can’t let it happen. I cannot have relationships. Not of any sort. Not even if it’s temporary, with or without sex. If someone found out … no, I can’t let it happen.

  Dammit, I still can’t believe she followed me again. What was she thinking? That I’d be gentle? I shake my head. No way. I shouldn’t be thinking about such a thing right now. I have much more important things to do, like sanitizing this floor.

  I digress so quickly, but I suppose that’s normal when you’ve been cleaning for hours. I can’t help but let my mind drift. Anything to take my mind off the fact that I’m touching the most gruesome thing on earth.

  When I’m done with the floors, I check the table. The heavy black bag is zipped up and ready for transport, so I grab it with both hands and tug it off the table. The smack it makes doesn’t faze me anymore. Neither does the dragging and slipping as I haul it through the door and out the emergency exit. It takes some effort to throw it over the fire escape stairs, and the sound it makes once it hits the asphalt is anything but appealing.

  I run down the stairs and open the trunk of the hearse I own and chuck the bag in the back, closing the lid afterwards. I drive and drive, not thinking about anything. Traffic keeps my mind adrift, away from insanity. A weight is lifted off my shoulder as I drop the body off at the morgue. They sign the paperwork, and I give them the small bribe. They don’t need much. All I ask for is silence. They register her into the system. Cause of death: suicide by jumping off a building. It suits her injuries well. The staff doesn’t complain. At least they received a complete one this time. Not that they could complain. If they would, they’d die.

  There is no such thing as choice or free will. All that exists is those with power and those without. Obeying those that command. They’re blinded by their own ignorance if people think they stand a chance against those who own them. Money. The tool that was invented to live, to be free and care for people, is used for pain, anguish, domination, and rule. Money is the blood in our veins that keeps us alive or kills us.

  It’s that simple.

  I drive the same monotonous route back to my house as I always do. I walk inside, undo myself of my coat, take off the pin button and place it on the table, unbutton my shirt, zip down my pants, untie my shoelaces, and strip myself of everything. Leaving everything on the floor, I walk to my bathroom. In the mirror, I stare at my naked body and the redness that covers my hands. Wearing gloves is no use; the stain went right through it.

  Sighing, I open the faucet and hold my hands under the water. I love the feeling of fresh water gushing down my skin, except this time, it’s not enough to rid me of this nastiness. Grabbing a brush, I start scrubbing my nails over and over again. It hurts, but I won’t stop. Not until this filth is gone. Not until I’m whole and clean again—no stains, no spots, no nothing. Just emptiness. Clarity.

  My mind is anything but clear. Voices fill my mind with clutter. Laughter. Screams. More laughter. More screaming. A woman, crying, her squeals pierce through marrow and bone. I could hear everything. I was there, witnessing it all. Never once did I stop it from happening.

  I am a monster.

  I lean down on the sink, not able to look myself in the eye. Bent over, naked, I stare at the water infused with blood. My darkness, my sins, doesn’t go down the drain with it. This is exactly what I loathe. The fact that, no matter what I do, I will not be able to rid myself of this evil.

  In the midst of the chaos, I lose my mind. I can’t deal with this anymore—the hurting, the punishment, and the debasement. My soul has been crushed, and I’ve lost everything I once deemed good about myself.

  My fist tightens around the brush, the pressure from the hairs beginning to puncture my skin. I clench my teeth. The blood that spills from my hand is a meager relief. There is nothing that can temper this anger, this rage, that boils inside me. Nothing that can change the way things have become.

  Except her. That woman who bends the rules and refuses to listen. The woman who keeps coming back, no matter what. I admire her tenacity and her willingness, even though I warned her. She has changed me, and I don’t know why or how, but I can feel it. I risked everything for her just by talking to her. In this moment, against all odds, I think of her. I think about her words and her undying interest and adoration for a man who she thinks she wants. For a moment, I picture myself being just that—a man a woman like her could need and desire.

  Once the pain and anger have subsided, I let go of the brush and drop it onto the tiled floor. I rake both my hands through my
hair, leaning on my elbows. The razorblade lying on the sink catches my attention. Sharp blades that could cut through anything. There is one single thought that crosses my mind, and it scares me so much I can’t hold on to the sink anymore. I walk backward, away from the reflection that confronts me with horror. All I can think of is putting an end to it all. An end to me.

  Instead, I step into the shower and rinse away the impurities.

  This process repeats itself over and over again.

  Lust. Desire. Execution. Pain. Hurt. Confusion. Death.

  Regret.

  Cleansing.

  Rinse and repeat.

  There is but one thing keeping me from exempting myself from the equation; I stopped it once.

  I spared someone. I could do it again.

  Meeting Room, Genesis. Providence, Rhode Island – April 27th, 2013, afternoon

  “I’m going through these books like they’re cake,” Hubert says, sifting through the stack of books lying on the table.

  “Be careful. You might sprain your ego,” Arthur says, laughing.

  “Oh, fuck off. I’m having fun.”

  “Takes a lot more for you to have some fun these days,” I note.

  Hubert turns to face me, frowning, but doesn’t respond. He grabs a book and casually saunters back to his chair, sitting down like he’s the king of this room. “Well, at least I’m having fun. What have you been doing?”

  “Reading.”

  Hubert laughs. “You know that isn’t all there’s to it.”

  “I’m sure he knows, Hubert. No need to remind him,” Arthur interjects. I know he’s trying to keep the peace, but I’m almost ready to just strangle the guy right here, right now. “Let’s focus on something else … Patrick, how is the book?” Arthur asks.

  Everyone looks at Patrick who lifts his head from being submerged into his fantasy. He raises his thumb and continues reading. Yep, quiet as always.

  “And how is your progress going, Sebastian?” Lewis asks me, mingling into the conversation.

  “Good …” I clear my throat. “Not as well as I would like, but I’ll get there, eventually.”

  “Oh, c’mon, cut the crap and get on with it already,” Hubert spits.

  “It’s not that simple,” I snarl.

  “It is.”

  “You have no fucking clue.”

  “How hard can it be? You’re just being sloppy now, dragging it on. Oh, no, wait.” Hubert smiles devilishly. “You’re scared. You’re going to back out?”

  “Absolutely not,” Arthur says. “Enough.” He turns his head toward me. “Sebastian, you will continue with the scene.”

  “I’m not ready for it.”

  “Yes, you are.” Hubert’s elbow rests on his knee as he supports his chin with his knuckles, staring at me without blinking. I swallow away the lump in my throat when I spot Lewis leaning back in his chair, that same look on his face. Arthur squints, cocking his head.

  A shiver runs up and down my spine.

  Intimidation. The worst form of punishment follows if I do not obey.

  “I’ll see if I can make it work.”

  “Great. Then we can proceed as usual,” Arthur says.

  “Too bad. I was hoping we could finally do something exciting,” Hubert says. He shrugs, sighing. “Whatever. He doesn’t even deserve to be here.”

  “Shut it,” I say.

  “Hubert, Sebastian is as much part of this club as you are.”

  “Yes, and a valuable one at that, too,” Lewis adds, nodding toward me like it’s some kind of approval from his side.

  “Thanks, I guess,” I say. I’m not sure what to think of all this. I never asked to be in this. I just sort of got dragged into it.

  “I’m not convinced until he completes this book.”

  “I’ll do it, stop worrying about it,” I reassure to ease the mood in the room. I’m tired of this.

  “Right … off to the next topic: Lewis, your new book.”

  “Yes! Let’s invite in our guest.” I wonder who he means. Lewis gazes at the door. “You can come in now.”

  The door opens and a man steps in. He’s wearing a suit and a long, dark grey coat that almost hits the ground. Leathery gloves hide his hands as he takes off his shades. Nothing compares to his shocking scar; an X seared into the socket of his eye. A metallic fake lies in its place now. Eerie.

  Who is this man? What is Lewis planning to do with him?

  And more importantly; if he was here all this time, how much did he hear?

  “Isn’t this against the rules?” I ask.

  “Holy mother of God!” Hubert yells. “You look like you came straight out of a movie.”

  The man’s face is rigid, unmoving, as is his stance. Not a single twitch in response to Hubert’s remark. Impressive.

  “Normally, I would not allow outside visitors, but an exception can be made when the person in question is a hundred percent reliable and trustworthy,” Arthur says.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I hired him,” Lewis says, smiling like a perverted old man.

  “What’s your name, Scar?” Hubert says.

  This time the man’s nostrils flare as he stares at Hubert. I’ll steer clear of inciting this man, whoever he is.

  “Mr. X.”

  Hubert laughs, almost hysterically. “Seriously?”

  “I am here for a job. Can you confirm my payment?” Mr. X says, ignoring Hubert.

  “Yes. I’ll write you a check right now,” Arthur says as he rummages in his pocket and takes out his checkbook. He writes a hundred thousand dollar check and hands it to him.

  “Wow, look at you, getting a wad of cash before even lifting a finger,” Hubert taunts.

  “Stop badgering him,” Lewis says. “He’s got a lot of work to do. He doesn’t have time to spend on the likes of you.”

  “Oh, fuck you,” Hubert says. “Go on, then. Go have fun.” He waves at them to get out. “I’m not interested in your assignment anyway.”

  Lewis gets up from his chair. “I’m too excited to wait until this meeting is over, so I’m out of here. Until next time, gentlemen.” He makes a short bow of the head, and then walks off with this so-called “Mr. X”. I don’t need him to tell me what they’re going to do; I already know.

  When the door closes, Arthur returns his attention to me. “Now, Sebastian, you know it’s time for you to proceed.”

  I take in a deep breath, sigh, and nod slowly, staring down at the carpet. The more I think about it, the worse the nausea becomes. My stomach feels heavy as I get up from the chair.

  “Are we done?” I ask.

  “Yes. As long as you can prove to me you will do it,” Arthur muses.

  “I’ll have proof within the next three weeks.”

  “Good,” he says as I walk to the door.

  Normally, I’m the last one to leave, but I can’t stay longer. All I can think of is what I have to do, and I won’t let anything distract me from this path. These men … the books they love will be their demise. If I can’t beat them with power, I will beat them with wits.

  As I walk out the room, I grab a pen lying on the desk and tuck it into my pocket unseen. This pen will become the weapon I’ll use to create the masterpiece that will make me the victor in this grand scheme. I will make it happen, no matter what. Even if it means destroying what’s left of my soul.

  Accompanying song: “The Dog is Black” by Unkle (dial:molotov remix)

  Town and Country Motel. Providence, Rhode Island – April 27th, 2013, night

  Shivering, I pull the blanket up to my chin. The cold penetrates the walls, doors, and windows of this cheap motel room. It’s not even that cold outside, but there’s very little heat. I could take another shower, but I can’t stay under there the entire night.

  Rain splatters on to the roof, making eerie noises. Darkness surrounds me, as there is only one light in the room, which flickers every two or three minutes. The solitude I’m in is overwhelming; so much s
o that I jolt up in bed each time I hear the door from my neighbor’s room slam. There’s a screaming couple in another room, and they keep fighting and making up … with sex, that is. Last night the banging was so loud, I just turned on the television and watched a soap opera the entire night. It barely managed to drown out that humping, moaning couple.

  I hate it here, but I keep reminding myself that this place is better than being stuck at the institution. Maybe I’m just jealous of the couple next door. They have passion, sweet love, furious emotions, and wild sex. I am dying for it. Well, the love part, mostly. Although, I’d take just the sex, too, if I could have it. Anything, as long as it’s with Sebastian.

  Slamming my lips together, I sigh and try to think about something else. I can’t keep thinking about a man who doesn’t want me. I’ve tried my best to stay away for days … for my own sake as well as his. There’s something about us being close that makes everything volatile—on the verge of exploding. It scares me shitless, but at the same time draws me in like a magnet.

  I turn around in my bed, shoving the pillow into place. Fisting it tempers my rage a little, but when I hear footsteps outside, I sit straight up in the bed. Not moving a muscle, I stare at the door. Two shoes. A hand that dips under my door. A note that’s slipped through.

  I swallow as he or she walks away again. Whoever it was left something specifically meant for me. Or is it?

  Too curious to leave it be, I throw the blanket off me and get out of the bed. Slowly, I walk to the note, afraid it might jump me. Of course it won’t, but my rational mind isn’t thinking right now. I’m on overload, my emotional state on the brink of destruction. This note could push me over the edge. Or it could pull me back to safety again. All I have to do is read.

  Do you dare come to the dark side?

  Step into the limo on the parking lot.

  With widened eyes, I gasp. Immediately, I grab the door handle and jerk the door open. Staring outside, there’s no one around. Rain comes down like the sky has split in two, making it impossible to see anything far ahead. I stick my head out and look around. Nothing. Not a soul nearby.