I pulled the Zippo lighter from my jeans pocket and flipped the lid before lighting it. With a smile, I held the flame against his ear, letting the flicker of fire touch his flesh. At first, he pulled away, eyes still closed, half asleep. I brought the lighter closer and pressed it against his earlobe, the flare of flames wrapping around the flap of skin. This time, his eyes snapped open, and he jerked violently, trying to get away from the searing pain. He didn’t scream. Only muffled grunts and disorientated groans.
“There she is,” I taunted, closing the lighter. “Sleep well?”
“I did…until you burned my fucking ear!”
“There’s something about watching your skin melt that gives me a fucking hard-on. It’s like getting a glimpse of what it would be like in hell for you once I drive my knife through your heart.”
He snorted, his eyes giving away his level of exhaustion. “Well, if you want to kill me, you better do it quick, since I’m bound to die of thirst first.”
“Yeah, see,” I rubbed my beard, walking back and grabbing the bag, “I thought about that, and I have a solution.”
“What? Are you going to feed me?” His chortle sounded way too fucking entertained by that thought.
“Not exactly.” I pulled out the IV bag, “I won’t be feeding you, but I won’t have you starving to death either. The only way you’re checking out from this world is with my hands around your throat.”
The way he stared at the IV bag, I could tell he was surprised, and while he tried to put on a brave face, his eyes deceived him with traces of fear. It was like the penny dropped, as if he only now realized this was his hell, and I was the devil about to force atonement in his motherfucking veins.
“What’s the matter, snake? Did you think I’d make it easy for you?”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he refused to show me his fear—other than the shadows of uncertainty in his irises.
I reached into the bag and placed the recorder on the table before pulling out the needle and tube needed to set up the IV.
“I hope you have experience in that.”
I glared his way. “Experience in what?”
“Needles.”
I scoffed. “Trust me, I do.”
“Ah. Old junkie, are we?”
His voice grated at my spine. “Shut up.”
“And a touchy subject, I see.”
Closing my eyes, I let out a breath, my fists already clenched. “You know, if I was the one hanging from a ceiling with my balls pretty much in a vise, I’d shut the fuck up right about now.”
“What was your poison? Heroin?”
I did my best to ignore him, knowing he was only baiting me into losing my shit. Being the fucker he was, he’d do anything to get under my skin, use every stone he could pick up and throw my way just to fuck with my head. But he was underestimating my hate for him being stronger than his mindfuck tactics.
“Heroin, it is,” he continued with his motherfucking condescending tone. “Funny, I always pictured you as a snow junkie, like that blue-haired pixie of yours. She was a cokehead, right?”
I lost it, even though I tried so hard to brush his bullshit off. But whenever he talked about her, something inside me snapped, like a rubber band stretched too thin. With hell burning in my veins, I grabbed the chains tied around his feet, the skin still raw and oozing from the burns. All he did was laugh, cackling like a demon who got off from pain. The sound fueled me. It made my heart beat with adrenaline, pouring gasoline on my blazing rage. The hardest part was not killing him. Not driving my knife through his motherfucking skull right at that moment. It was too soon, something I was forced to remind myself of whenever I was here in this room with him.
Pulling the chains, I lifted his feet up behind him, bending his body backward. The stench of his piss grew more potent, his jeans soaked all along his legs. Once I was done with what I was about to do, he’d probably shit himself too.
The pitch in his laugh grew higher. “You can’t break me, pretty.”
“I’m sure as fuck gonna have fun trying.”
“Did you know I timed your blue-haired pixie’s first scream? It was when I broke her leg. Her screams hit this same roof for just over nine seconds before she swallowed her cries.”
“On second thought…” I dropped the chains, the weight forcing Slither’s body to slip back down and sway. I grabbed his right leg, bending it at the knee, and lifted the chain before wrapping it around him, tying his leg in place, making it impossible for him to straighten it. I rushed to the corner of the room, picking up the ten-pound hammer which had already been there. With every sliver of rage that pulsed in my blood, with every flash of her beaten up body, her pain, her screams, her fucking wrecked soul, I swung with all my strength, aiming at his bent knee. The crack of bone breaking, the snap of his kneecap, and the sound of his screams roared through the room. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted him to scream louder. I wanted his cries to break through the roof. I wanted it to fucking sing to my blood, to bathe in his pain. So, I reared back and wrecked his motherfucking knee with another hard as fuck blow. His screams raised a pitch, and I loved it, smiling and laughing like a goddamn kid at a playground. I knew torturing him would be satisfying, but I did not expect it to feel this fucking good.
The second I dropped the hammer, I stepped back, my chest rapidly rising and falling while my anger and satisfaction collided with a burning force.