It was still dark when he returned.
Boots creaking up the stairs while keys jangled with movement.
I closed my eyes and rolled over, hoping to pass off as sleeping to his observational eye, and sunk deep into the mattress.
His breath was haughty, ragging in and out, as he sucked in gulps of air. I scented something tangy rolling off him, the closer he neared the more obvious it became blood. I stiffened when he stopped before me, kneeling down by my head.
It reeked, I hated the smell.
Like dead birds rotten with maggots.
My nose scrunched, squeezing my eyes, and I tried not to breath.
"Beastly has a woman." He gasped near silent, "But she wants to leave."
I felt his nails against my skin, the sensation was growing all too familiar, I knew it all too well. Then he left, closing the bathroom door quietly behind him.
The air still swirled with the rotten blood of whatever he had killed, I dipped my chin and breathed into the low neckline of my dress. The fabric was thin, my body on display despite being concealed, it was smooth to the touch but not quite silk.
He had went and bought a few things for me before bringing me here, I remember when he said it. He said that I wouldn't have been happy with the things here, so he wanted to make me happy.
All it did was creep me out, but I was glad I wasn't wearing a dead woman's nightwear.
This was his room, his squeaky bed and patched blankets, his table filled with children's books he couldn't read, his rug, his bathroom, his wallpaper.
And his woman, touching it all.
The shower turned off and I fell flush with the bed once again, pulling the blanket up over my shoulders and waiting for him to come out. The door whined on its hinges, then closed with less care than before. I jolted at the slam but fell silent when my eyes opened to see him crying.
The towel wrapped tightly across his waist while a wiry brush drug through his hair. The flat muscle in his stomach was bulging, veins showed like lightening strikes lower down, but that wasn't what caught my eye.
No. I was struck with terror at his back. Burns scarred over the darkened skin, a wide angled slice went up his spine deliberately. Smaller scars, probably from his victims, were dispersed, but those burns, and the carved meat from his bone... someone did that to him a long time ago. They were fading but prominent, and would never leave his skin completely.
That was not what horrified me.
Thin black scratches crossed over his skin like a thousands nails, crossing through or dragging straight down, zigzagging and going straight across. It was more than I could ever count, thousands of tattooed scratches.
I'm not sure why I did it, why I even cared enough about this freak, but my arm came up, lifting the blankets to invite him in. "Jamie."
His eyes snapped to mine, agony twisted his dark features, long lashes fluttered and his lips set in a hard line. "Come to me, Jamie."
He set the brush down with little care, it clattered across the table and eventually fell to the ground. His steps were heavy, his cheeks gaunt, but still he came. The mattress dipped under his weight but he didn't lay, instead dragging his nails across my cheek and neck, pushing the thin strap of my dress down my shoulder.
Panic took hold of me and my arm came down to stop his greedy hands, but he flicked it to the side, sending pain up my collarbone from the jolting of my bum shoulder on the other side.
He touched the underside of my breast, felt the weight and grazed his thumb over my nipple. But he did not smile, his eyes didn't shine with pleasure like usual. His touch was soft, but turned mean when I tried to deny him again, pinching and palming it instead.
I moaned softly, tears running down my temples, and he moved on, blinking slowly, body tightening. His fingers trailed down my stomach, rubbing and squeezing harshly, then delved between my thighs, feeling the slick heat emanating there.
His nostrils flared, taking his time on my nub and entrance, watching me for any sign of pleasure or pain. Then his fingers dipped, stretching me around the thick digits painfully. My face contorted, "Stop." I snapped, slapping his arm away.
He growled low, reaching for me and I pushed away from him, forcing him closer onto the bed to reach for me. I was pulled back by my ankle and came deathly close to his fists, "Don't." He seethed, shoving his hand between my legs again, prodding for my entrance.
"Please, please, please." I begged doing everything I could to get him away, "Please, don't." I sobbed as I was stretched across his fingers again, "Please, don't."
"Why?" he growled adding another, his free hand hooked my ankle up around his waist, the one inside me didn't move. Only waited for a good answer. "Why not?" he snarled again, "Why listen?'
My throat bobbed as he pinned me, leaning over my stomach to come closer to my lips, "Say." He spit, lips brushing my jaw, neck and ear.
"I'm waiting," I was defeated, he didn't care about that, would take me anyway as he's done before. "Remember? I'm waiting."
His pupils flared but his fingers dropped away, coated with my humiliation and betrayal. "Waiting." He repeated as if it soured his tongue. "For marriage."
I nodded unable to say a thing, stuck staring at his hand that came close to taking what's mine. "Fine." He growled moving to turn the light on. It buzzed to life and his towel dropped to the ground, I averted my gaze even as he appeared between my legs again. "Nothing else, no excuse."
Tears pooled in my hair but I nodded, "There's nothing else."
He nodded back, turning towards the dresser and yanking out clothes, they were thrown to the ground when he didn't find what he liked. Then he turned to the wardrobe, the doors flung open as he sifted through outfits and suits.
He obviously found the one he liked and draped it across the table moving to another, smaller dresser filled with the dresses he bought for me. I laid, strewn about the bed much like his suit, watching him find odd things that set my teeth on edge.
What was he planning, a fake wedding? I thought as a white dress came into view, it was not a wedding dress by any means but he grunted like it would do.
He turned to me, closing the distance with only a few steps and was pulling off my dark blue nightgown before I could blink. Hefting me to my feet, he crouched near the ground, holding out the laced collar for me to step into.
I did, ready to push off the inevitable for as long as I could, and it slipped up my body easily. My hair was pushed over my shoulder as he focused on the zipper, bringing it up flush with my back, eliciting a shiver. Then he focused on himself, pulling up underwear I was sure he only had the same style of or wore repeatedly, before turning to the suit.
The pants fit him perfectly, still tight, but forming. He shrugged the white dress shirt on over his shoulders concealing the wicked scars from sight and buttoning it up. He walked around while pushing the hem down his pants, snatching bracelets and bobby pins and jerking his head for me to go to the bathroom.
He beat me to it, opening the door, and lifting me over his arm. I was set on the small vanity, turned to face the mirror while he started on my hair, pulling the midnight strands up and pinning them into place. I wondered how he knew to do this, how well he knew a woman's body without being around them often.
I wondered if he did this for his mother, and asked him as well.
"Yes." He shook his head slightly while twisting and tucking another piece into the up-do, "Makes me."
I see.
His nails trailed my bared nape when he was done, anticipating something far greater than what he had, before pulling his hair back himself while narrowed eyes were left to trail my skin. I watched him do it in the mirror, sickness churning my stomach, while a gleam shone in his eye.
I felt like I could see all his deviant thoughts and images he told me once, how he wanted me and what he'd do when he got it. When his was done not even his baby hairs touched his forehead or cheeks. It was wondrous how he stuffed such thick, long hair into a clean bun without product or a brush. My awe was quickly flicked away off a cliff when my gaze drew back to his expression in the mirror.
He was panting, swallowing sparingly as he watched my back, his nostrils flared slightly and he reached a hand towards me, quickly thinking better of it, it dropped back to his side.
I was lifted onto his arm again, making our way back to the room, it was messy now. Piles of clothes everywhere, drawers opened and hanging, the bed unmade and wrinkled. This was not like him, I was scared to think about what happened.
I watched as he rummaged through shoe boxes, lifting heels, sandals, tennis shoes and slippers before setting them back in and tossing the box aside. He thought of everything, he bought me nearly everything.
Acid crept up my throat as the thought settled in, the sheer fact that he went out that day and brought all this home in anticipation of getting his hands on me really pissed me off.
White heels came into view and he grunted, bringing them over and slipping them onto my feet. They fit perfectly and I bitterly wondered how he got my sizes as well.
Perhaps, when I leaned against his car he caught a glimpse of my shoe size while bringing the tools over. Maybe when he pushed against my shoulder to pay for my drinks he saw a tag.
Maybe even then he made up his mind to take me, when we looked each other and I didn't flinch like the others, maybe that's when he wanted me.
He grunted his pleasure at how well it fit and rolled to tug on dress shoes of his own, lacing up the corded ties and moving to the next. We were fit for a wedding, it appalled me that he thought I'd marry him, no matter if it were fake, it angered me.
He got to his feet and lifted me over his arm, snatching more weapons, then taking off down the stairs. He was buzzing with excitement, his earlier mood gone in a poof, as he started for the front door.
He was taking me somewhere, we were going out.
Why?
