“Who are you?” he questions, pushing away from the desk and rising from his seat. He’s tall, much taller than me at five foot nothing, but I’m faster.
“I’m the little girl that plays with knives. I’m the little girl that makes you cry,” I recite my rhyme. It’s so pretty, just like me. That’s what Pike tells me. He loves me. I love him.
“Get out of my office before I’ll call the police.” His hand reaches for the phone, but I can’t help giggling at his empty threat. Why do men like to throw around words that mean nothing?
“I’m the little girl that makes you bleed. I’m the little girl that makes you scream.”
I watch his fingers tap nine, then one. Before he has the chance to tap the one again, the sleek blade slices through his hand and blood spurts in every direction.
“Ohh, all the pretty red.”
“You’re fucking crazy,” he hisses, attempting to grab me, but like I said, I’m faster.
“Molly,” my daddy sighs from the doorway. “Stop playing with him and finish it.”
“Awww,” I pout, pulling the knife from his hand, causing him to grunt in agony. Before he has time to think, the knife slides into his chest—in and out, in and out.
He slumps in his chair, gurgling my favorite sound as his body shudders. The crisp white dress shirt is stained with pretty patterns before I straddle his lap and rip the material open. His chest isn’t hairy, which makes me smile. I press the tip of my weapon on the smooth tanned flesh, slicing into him, making a pretty picture for the police to find tomorrow.
A soft hum between my legs makes me smile as Pike steps up behind me. His cock is hard against my back and I rock into it, making him groan in pleasure. The pattern of the uppercase P is deep in his flesh. The rest of the letters, the e, the d, and the o, are clear as day on his chest and I can’t help giggling.
“You’re a sick bitch, baby girl. My sweet and perfect little Molly.” His voice is husky and rough, just the way I like it.
“Of course, I am, that’s why you love me.” I laugh. I’m happy that he loves me as broken as I am. The carving before me has made my panties wet. “Such a pretty body for such a pretty night. The little girl is happy, giving you a fright.”
“I love you more than life, Sweet Molls,” Pike tells me, kissing the side of my head as he pulls me into his arms. I’m once again drenched in blood, but my need is satiated. He lifts me bridal style, walking us to the fire escape and I know Pike is taking me home for a good fuck.
The Choice
Pike
I’ve been sitting at the kitchen table staring at the small, wooden box in front of me for the past hour. It’s midnight and Molly still isn’t home. I don’t know where she’s gone, and she didn’t leave a note of any kind to tell me where she went off to.
I worry about her going out alone because sometimes, her little rhymes tend to creep out onto the tip of her tongue and she’ll sing a song to anyone that’s willing listen—and those who choose to ignore her, usually get to meet the void inside of her.
That comes with blood and a happy girl after.
It shouldn’t bother me as much as it does because I know that Molls can handle herself, but it still fucks me up not knowing where she is.
The clouds shift in the dark night sky, allowing a thick sliver of moonlight to illuminate the contents in the box and I blow my breath out in a rush. Do I want to do this? Do I want to add more to the monsters that are already inside of her head, or mine for that matter?
I know I won’t decide until she gets home.
Whenever the fuck that is, I think as I cast a glance at the green digital lights on the oven. It’s only been three minutes since I opened this fucking box and I can’t stand the silence of these empty halls. Either I would be able to hear her tossing and turning in our bed because I’m not in it, or I would be smiling at her as she sat across from me and stared with child-like adoration, as she sometimes tends to do.
I use my forefinger to flip the lid down and my thumb to catch it and push it back up. It’s a silent melody that will help keep me calm now that I need it. Little things like this—tricks I’ve taught myself not to lose my shit over Molly being out on her own usually work for the most part, but the longer I sit here doing this, the more I’m convinced that ripping the fucking lid off might be a better way to ease my current stress level.