I haven't properly proofread this yet, but wanted to send it out before I went on holiday - so sorry for any grammatical errors. Give me feedback on anything
Please note that there is both sexual and violent content heavily involved in the story.
We got onto the subject of girlfriends, and love, and stuff like that.
“I’ve only had one girlfriend,” he said, pausing. “She died some eight months ago. That’s why I’m… you know,” he gestured with a hesitant finger to the track marks on his right arm. I smoked my cigarette, my real interest peaking momentarily.
The way he looked at me then, daring to keep eye contact but not sustaining his bravery to keep it, reminded me of a scared, awkward teenager. I suppose he was.
“I killed her.”
I halted, cigarette in mouth. My heart beat against my ribcage in curious excitement. How does a normal person react to that? How can I keep up my façade with such a poisonous, toxic, delicious answer? I had observed normal people as much as I could but I could not possibly mimic a normal response. I was unmistakably excited. A smile grew at my lips. No
, I thought, you don’t know much about regular behavior, but you know you’re not supposed to smile at that.
But I couldn’t help it. A wide, wild smile formed on my face.
MDMA makes you regard past events, regrets, in a different light. The guilt or nostalgia you feel at a remembering something traumatic disappears – you’re unlocked, and you can talk freely about anything. So I cut him a generous line.
He raised his head as he snorted it, and I felt his revamped energy flow through his body.
“Tell me about it,” I encouraged him, taking care to inject a level of benevolence into my words.
He was playing with his zipper absentmindedly and looked up like a startled deer. “About what?” he said, sniffing.
“About, you know… Your girlfriends death”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he quickly retorted.
People under drugs are easy to manipulate. I placed my hand on his wrist, hoping to radiate as much warmth as possible into him. I caught his eye and noticed a feeble, childlike innocence residing within them. I took advantage. “I’m here for you.” I said as reassuringly as possible, mimicking how I’d seen teenage girls talk to their friends.
He exhaled a shaky breath.
“Okay… It might take a long time.” I nodded, giving off an air of understanding. I was too interested in his story to let it go - did he kill her accidentally, and was subsequently ridden with guilt? Or did he do it for fun? I grew excited at the prospect that I could have fun with either myself. I gripped his wrist and hoped to transfer some confidence into him. He began.
“Ever since I’ve been little… Ever since puberty, I’ve had a… desire, I suppose… for, you know…” he laughed a little, nervously, “I don’t know… fucked up things in sex. Bondage, whips… blood. It wasn’t like I couldn’t have sex without it – I did, plenty of times, before I met her. God, she was amazing. We connected, you know? I met her at a club some three years ago. We were high, but there was something there, a feeling that not even any high could replicate. A feeling of belonging, I guess. I remember thinking I was stupid. I’d only known her for one night - a few hours out most.” He looked down and shook his head sadly. “She felt it too. I was so… so alive. Everything was suddenly real and perfect and I could tell she was lonely too, you know? Oh man… when I kissed her…” he trailed off, and his forlorn look sent blood pumping through my veins. I love getting inside people.
“That night, with her, it came out. My sickness, my sick, fucked up fetish! Years of concealing it brought it out raging, screaming… I couldn’t stop it. There were no two sides of me then. I was completely consumed. Halfway through having sex I… I took my belt off and lashed her with it. Again and again. You wouldn’t believe it, Frank, you really wouldn’t. I had bruised the poor girl and relished in her pain, but man…” He smiled nostalgically, “She got up and pulled me by my tie and kissed me hard on the mouth. Oh man… she was amazing.
“After that night, I fell so deeply in love. We were codependent to one another, I think, sadist and masochist; the two of us were perfect. I never hurt her enough to make a permanent mark, though I wanted to. I always managed to repress myself enough for that. She was too beautiful to scar. For a while it was perfect, Frank. Something told me it wouldn’t last, though. When you’re happy I guess it does feel like that. There was nothing to counterbalance the euphoria I was in - it was volatile. I was expecting a big downfall.
“We’d always meet… after work, on the park. We’d talk for a while, sometimes minutes, sometimes hours. That bit was as good as the sex, man. How weird is that? Talking as good as sex?” He laughed again, and I think I saw him welling up. “But when I placed my hand on her knee she knew what I wanted, and it became almost a code. We’d go to my flat and spend hours living out fantasies that we’d both retained since we were young. It was ecstasy. A fucked up kind of ecstasy, but I’ve never felt so good in my life.” I smiled at him, but I was bored and impatient. His nostalgic tone wouldn’t have gone amiss on a hippy reminiscing about the summer of ’67. But then his countenance turned dark. I saw a deep self-hatred in his eyes and cruelty in his lips. Oh man, this guy was killing me.
Now he lost his nostalgic, innocent tone, and adopted one far more malevolent, one that sneered at the end of each sentence, as if every word he said mocked his own self-pity. He spoke with deliberate precision. “I’d been repressing it, Frank. I’d ignored the evil side of myself for too long. Her submission had been some relief, but it came back… it wanted blood. Our sex was becoming more and more violent. I… fuck, man… I couldn’t help it…“
He suddenly slammed his hand down on the table and stood up. He gripped the back of his head with both hands and screamed “I COULDN’T FUCKING HELP IT!” whilst shaking his head violently, like an animal shot, moaning in pain, making weird, guttural noises. Eventually he sat back down, muttered that he was sorry. He stared at his feet for a long time. When he finally raised his head, his eyebrows casting dark, elongating shadows over his eyes. I could see only a white glint of them through the dark, and a sharp smirk on his face.
There was a long, heavy pause.
“You wanna know what I did to her, Frank?
He spoke slowly, but with a sharp lick of malice on his tongue. His dark eyes were fixed on mine the whole time.
He didn’t need a reply.
“I tied her up. Tight, so she couldn’t move. She was naked, and it was her vulnerability that brought it out. She was so beautiful, so easy, on that bed, and I could tell she trusted me. It came out with ferocity. It consumed me, like the first night with her… I took out my penknife. I watched her eyes flicker from trust to fear in a millisecond, as I ran the point of the knife slowly up her midriff. That filled me with glee. I pointed the knife under her breast, and stared her in the eye as I slowly pressed it against her. You should’ve seen her struggle, Frank. She was really a thing of beauty when there were tears on her cheeks and terror deep in her eye. I pressed the point of the blade till I felt her skin on breaking point. A bit deeper, and the blood started to trickle down her ribs. I had gagged her, but oh, god, how she screamed. That was the best part.” He lifted his head up slightly, and I saw a hint of the nostalgic glow he had in his face earlier, but distorted with a deep-set darkness. “I cut lines under her breasts. Deep cuts… I traced blood back down her stomach, and held the knife in between her legs. I held it there, blade against her opening, and began to slowly push the point inside her… Before long I had it inside her… But oh god, her screams, her screams!” He blinked hard, snapping out of his reverie. Tears burst at his eyes. “Oh fuck, man, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…” He pulled his legs to his chest and shook back and forth, sobbing like a baby, pathetically repeating those words like a mantra.
What do normal people do in this situation?
I don’t think normal people get themselves into this situation
, A different voice in my head retorted sarcastically.
I could feel a smile rising again. I bit my lip. “I’ll… er… get you a drink”, I said, patting him on the head. I walked into the kitchen and looked at him through the door, sobbing like a child on the sofa, crying into his own hands. He was a picture. I couldn’t help it: I erupted into laughter.