Oh, the Irony

"Stop! Please! Stop, stop!" Wendy screeched, the glaring bright lights of the kitchen reflecting off the blade and into her clear blue eyes.

Her attacker remained silent, mute. His face remained smug, indifferent, as he slowly raced the blade in long lines amongst her skin. The second the knife touched her, she began to bleed. His slices weren't deep; just painful. 

"SOMEBODY! ANYBODY! HELP ME!" Wendy bellowed, rattling her arms, an attempt to escape her imprisonement. Wendy's ivory wrists were tightly clasped in spiked cuffs to the wall, her legs bound by ropes of barbed wire.

"IF I HEAR NOISE FROM YOU AGAIN, I WILL KILL YOU, GOT IT?!" he yelled. Wendy nodded curtly. 

Her hopeless calls for her rescue  irritated him. It was so useless. She was his. No one else could have her. She was his. 

His face finally contorted to an angered grimace. He drove the butt of the knife into her gut. Her breath caught as her coughs spewed bright red liquid, she made some sort of gurgling, choking sound, and afterwards began retching for air, spitting out her blood. Her breath sounded like wheezy, gravelly, tired, inward growling. The boat they were on rocked. 

The man's face returned to his indifferent expression. He dropped the long, steel weapon and gathered all her illustrious red hair in his hands. Wendy screamed louder than ever. She knew what he was going to do. 

Twisting Wendy's so tightly that she groaned in pain, he began to stroke it. It fell all the way down her back, in beautiful, shining, perfect ringlets. She squeezed her eyes together tightly. 

He began smelling it. Her hair smelled like blood and sweat, and he devoured it's tangy scent with his hooked nose.  She shuddered as he moaned in pleasure at the smell of her hair. How sick; how twisted. 

He then bent over to retrieve his harmful tool and slowly began sheathing Wendy's hair from her scalp.  She muffled her own screams by sewing her lips painfully tight together. The killer smirked at the little squeak that escaped her mouth as he rid her from her gorgeous, red, hair.

He put the hair in a heap next to them, quickly ridding himself of his blood-drenched clothes. He hungrily snatched up her detached locks and rubbed them against himself. Wendy shut her eyes tighter when she realized what he was doing. The boat violently and rapidly thrashed about, making her sicker than she already was.  

"OPEN YOUR EYES WENDY, OR I WILL STAB YOU. DO YOU WANT ME TO STAB YOU?!" he yelled angrily at her. She vigorously shook her head no and wrenched open her dark brown eyes. The scene that unraveled before her was revolting. She gasped loudly, and immediatetely regretted it. She gasped and shut her mouth mechanically as he screamed at her. 

"WAS THAT SOUND, WENDY? WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT MAKING NOISE?!" He yelled cruelly, smirking. He thrusted himself closer to her and bent down to whisper in her ear. "I guess you want it then."  

Her captor ripped her underwear to shreds and abused her. He violated her, the pain making her scream. This brought him inspiration, his demented mind thinking Wendy enjoyed it. The sick bastard. 

"WHAT IS MY NAME?" He yelled, reaching his climax. 

"I-I..." Wendy hesitated. 

He screamed in pleasure then. He was done, but remained in that position.  "Ive watched you, Wendy. You're so gorgeous. I've always wanted to touch you, your hair." He murmured. She shuddered; she was afraid. "Every day, Id wait on the docks just to watch you. When you were little, ever time you'd walk by, you'd salute and say, 'Aye, Aye, Captain!' I remember. You made me want you so bad, but you were so young."

And then Wendy remembered. She remembered skipping along the docks as her parents fished. She remembered waving 'hi' and calling him captain. She remembered entering his boat and eating cake with him. 

Wendy bit down hard on her bottom lip. She struggled to remember his name. "I s-still don't know your name," she said softly, too scared to speak up. 

"Daniel Hook. Now scream it, Wendy! NOW!" He demanded. Wendy shook her head no. "WENDY. NOW!" Wendy refused. She would rather die than live like this. This angered him, her nonresponsive attitude. He reached for his knife and held it to her bare chest. 

She knew it was coming. She braced herself and decided she would die laughing; she thought: 'Ironic, Captain Hook killing Wendy,' with a smirk and nothing more as the boat lurched with great force, adding momentum as he plunged the knife into her.