Status: a c t i v e
My Sadist King
Box of Secrets
Even though I knew I would be alone when I woke up the next morning, I still opened my eyes with high hopes that I would see my king lying next to me. But the room was empty and filled me with an unbearable loneliness. I sat up and stretched my arms, my nude body covered in warm, red wrinkles from the sheets I had slept on. Every bone inside of me felt completely new after I rose from the bed and took a deep breath. Despite the reminder of my imprisonment given by the shackles, I was relieved to be away from the frozen hell I’d been sleeping in for the past two weeks.
My king’s bedroom was seemingly normal. The thin, orange peel walls were painted a somber gray, giving off the sensation of being inside a rain cloud. A small bathroom with only a toilet and sink inside was just in reach, a few feet from the bed, and accessible for me. Other than the bedside table and lamp, the room was nearly barren--just like the living room--with only a wardrobe in the opposite corner of the bed. The obscure window was murky from old age and nailed repeatedly shut in the corners. A rusty pipe ran up the corner nearest to the bed, disappearing into the ceiling, housing the other end of my short chain.
The next thing to catch my eye was a red rose laying on the bedside table--it’s life drained and dried out. I picked up the flower and watched a couple of dry petals fall to my feet. A note written on a wrinkled scrap of paper sat underneath the lamp.
For you, Kelly.
I sank to the floor with a tiny smile on my face, hugging the dead rose to my chest and letting the thorns poke into my skin.
I had no idea of how long I’d sat there, lost in my thoughts, but I eventually snapped out of it and decided to get up. Before I rose to my feet, I picked up the fallen petals and cradled them in my hand. Soon after, I noticed an inconsistency in the chain attached to me.
A link was coming undone.
The rose and loose petals dropped to the floor as I picked up the chain in my hands. The chain had been used before and someone had desperately and unsuccessfully tried to free themself. My king had no idea about it before he killed them.
The link was nearly disconnected, tempting me to see if it would break free. I tugged and held the chain tight. Only a few more attempts would separate the link.
My hands were covered in rust as the morning waned into a scalding afternoon. Almost there, I kept telling myself. Almost there.
I asked myself if I really did want to set myself free. Did I want to disobey my king? Did I want to have him hurt me when he came home and found out what I had done? The biggest question was: How badly did I want him to lay a hand on me just so I knew that I wasn’t dreaming?
Then, finally, the open end of the link gaped and the connection was severed.
I gasped, staring at the gap between the two pieces in my hands.
Luckily, the majority of the chain had been left behind while I walked around the bedroom. I opened the cabinet of my king’s wardrobe, finding a subtle collection of shirts, leather jackets, and jeans on wire hangers. My hands felt along the black, gray, and white fabrics, occasionally bringing them to my nose and recognizing his smoky scent. At the end of the group, I found two, navy blue uniform shirts for an auto body shop. A third uniform was missing. The white patch with an embroidered name on it caught my attention immediately.
Kieran.
“Is that his name…?” I whispered to myself. “Kieran…”
For the second time that day, I froze where I was and stared into space. I was entranced by his name--being able to finally know it. But I could never be sure without more proof.
I shut the wardrobe doors and walked over to the bed. I pondered looking under the bed for anything--but that would be too typical. I opened the hollow drawer of the bedside table, finding nothing but another untouched copy of Time magazine.
I paced around the room several times, knocking on walls to check for hollow spots and stomping on floorboards to find any inconsistencies. There was nothing.
I sank to my knees and peeked under the bed, seeing a box pushed against the wall. I reached for it, sticking my body halfway into the shadows. My fingertips were coated in dust when I emerged with the box. I coughed a few times, swatting floating dust away.
The cardboard box was old and beat up--the flaps shoved into a pattern that kept the entire thing closed. I ripped them open, revealing a messy pile of manila envelopes and paper. I grabbed the first envelope I saw and opened it, finding a handful of pictures of a woman. In every photo, she was grinning from ear to ear underneath endless locks of dirty blond hair. Her eyes were the opposite of my king’s--a dark, chocolate brown with no spectrum to them. She dressed in lively colors and reeked of happiness in every captured moment.
She was so happy. So beautiful. So angelic. The complete opposite of me.
Who the fuck was she?
I shoved the photos back into the envelope and moved onto the other contents of the box. A wrinkled series of letters were scattered everywhere, between envelopes and pressed against the edges and corners of the cardboard walls. I gathered the letter at the top of the pile and unfolded it.
My dearest Sara,
I miss you. It’s all my fault. I knew you were never ready, but I encouraged it anyway. I guess I just wanted to move on from everything and I was rushing it. I’m sorry. There was nothing I could do to stop myself. I just wanted to start a life with you. I hope you can forgive me.
-Kieran
My hand plunged into the pile and picked a second letter.
Sara,
I wish you and I could talk to each other. It’s been almost two years now. Every day, I wonder where you are and if I could win you back.
-Kieran
P.S. Is Cassandra doing alright? I miss her just as much as I miss you.
Upon reading the second unfamiliar name, I peeked into the box and recalled seeing something that pertained to it.
Another manila envelope surfaced after I moved letters aside. It was labeled in bold red handwriting.
CASSANDRA
The open flap spewed out nearly a hundred pictures when I flipped it upside down.
A child. Cassandra was a young child.
I spread the pictures along the floor, stopping at a certain one. It was a candid polaroid of two people--my king and the woman I’d seen in the other photos. She was in a hospital bed, looking weak but encouraged by the smile my king was giving her. She had a large stomach underneath the hospital robes and in between her smooth hands. She was about to give birth.
I flipped the picture over and read neatly written cursive.
September 14th 2000 - Ready to finally meet Cassandra!
They were a family.
My lungs deflated, pushing out a remorseful sigh from my lips. I put the pictures away neatly and moved on to the other content. A folder was at the bottom of the box, pinned underneath a ragged journal covered in spots of ink. I picked the two items up and started with the journal, opening it to a random page.
January 12th, 1994
I got my fourth kill tonight. So many people in the world are just asking to be killed. The ones who wander the streets late at night. The ones who sit around, waiting for nothing while they waste away with a bottle of wine. Especially the ones who work on the streets late at night. The whores are the easiest to lure. They’ll get into a car with anyone, unaware that their throats could be sliced open any second. That’s what happened to the whore tonight.
I placed a hundred dollar bill in her hand and she was sold. Fortunately, for me, the money went straight back into my pocket after her jugular was punctured. It’s easy to kick a numbed out body into a ditch but difficult to get the blood off your dashboard in a timely fashion.
Now that I think back on it, I wish I could have fucked her before I killed her. I need a good fuck anyway. Maybe on tomorrow night's hunt.
My fingertips touched the edge of the next page and suddenly paused. From the corners of my eyes, I caught sight of a figure standing in the doorway of the bedroom. I lifted my chin and gasped.
“Kelly…” my king demanded through his teeth. “What the fuck are you doing?”
My king’s bedroom was seemingly normal. The thin, orange peel walls were painted a somber gray, giving off the sensation of being inside a rain cloud. A small bathroom with only a toilet and sink inside was just in reach, a few feet from the bed, and accessible for me. Other than the bedside table and lamp, the room was nearly barren--just like the living room--with only a wardrobe in the opposite corner of the bed. The obscure window was murky from old age and nailed repeatedly shut in the corners. A rusty pipe ran up the corner nearest to the bed, disappearing into the ceiling, housing the other end of my short chain.
The next thing to catch my eye was a red rose laying on the bedside table--it’s life drained and dried out. I picked up the flower and watched a couple of dry petals fall to my feet. A note written on a wrinkled scrap of paper sat underneath the lamp.
For you, Kelly.
I sank to the floor with a tiny smile on my face, hugging the dead rose to my chest and letting the thorns poke into my skin.
I had no idea of how long I’d sat there, lost in my thoughts, but I eventually snapped out of it and decided to get up. Before I rose to my feet, I picked up the fallen petals and cradled them in my hand. Soon after, I noticed an inconsistency in the chain attached to me.
A link was coming undone.
The rose and loose petals dropped to the floor as I picked up the chain in my hands. The chain had been used before and someone had desperately and unsuccessfully tried to free themself. My king had no idea about it before he killed them.
The link was nearly disconnected, tempting me to see if it would break free. I tugged and held the chain tight. Only a few more attempts would separate the link.
My hands were covered in rust as the morning waned into a scalding afternoon. Almost there, I kept telling myself. Almost there.
I asked myself if I really did want to set myself free. Did I want to disobey my king? Did I want to have him hurt me when he came home and found out what I had done? The biggest question was: How badly did I want him to lay a hand on me just so I knew that I wasn’t dreaming?
Then, finally, the open end of the link gaped and the connection was severed.
I gasped, staring at the gap between the two pieces in my hands.
Luckily, the majority of the chain had been left behind while I walked around the bedroom. I opened the cabinet of my king’s wardrobe, finding a subtle collection of shirts, leather jackets, and jeans on wire hangers. My hands felt along the black, gray, and white fabrics, occasionally bringing them to my nose and recognizing his smoky scent. At the end of the group, I found two, navy blue uniform shirts for an auto body shop. A third uniform was missing. The white patch with an embroidered name on it caught my attention immediately.
Kieran.
“Is that his name…?” I whispered to myself. “Kieran…”
For the second time that day, I froze where I was and stared into space. I was entranced by his name--being able to finally know it. But I could never be sure without more proof.
I shut the wardrobe doors and walked over to the bed. I pondered looking under the bed for anything--but that would be too typical. I opened the hollow drawer of the bedside table, finding nothing but another untouched copy of Time magazine.
I paced around the room several times, knocking on walls to check for hollow spots and stomping on floorboards to find any inconsistencies. There was nothing.
I sank to my knees and peeked under the bed, seeing a box pushed against the wall. I reached for it, sticking my body halfway into the shadows. My fingertips were coated in dust when I emerged with the box. I coughed a few times, swatting floating dust away.
The cardboard box was old and beat up--the flaps shoved into a pattern that kept the entire thing closed. I ripped them open, revealing a messy pile of manila envelopes and paper. I grabbed the first envelope I saw and opened it, finding a handful of pictures of a woman. In every photo, she was grinning from ear to ear underneath endless locks of dirty blond hair. Her eyes were the opposite of my king’s--a dark, chocolate brown with no spectrum to them. She dressed in lively colors and reeked of happiness in every captured moment.
She was so happy. So beautiful. So angelic. The complete opposite of me.
Who the fuck was she?
I shoved the photos back into the envelope and moved onto the other contents of the box. A wrinkled series of letters were scattered everywhere, between envelopes and pressed against the edges and corners of the cardboard walls. I gathered the letter at the top of the pile and unfolded it.
My dearest Sara,
I miss you. It’s all my fault. I knew you were never ready, but I encouraged it anyway. I guess I just wanted to move on from everything and I was rushing it. I’m sorry. There was nothing I could do to stop myself. I just wanted to start a life with you. I hope you can forgive me.
-Kieran
My hand plunged into the pile and picked a second letter.
Sara,
I wish you and I could talk to each other. It’s been almost two years now. Every day, I wonder where you are and if I could win you back.
-Kieran
P.S. Is Cassandra doing alright? I miss her just as much as I miss you.
Upon reading the second unfamiliar name, I peeked into the box and recalled seeing something that pertained to it.
Another manila envelope surfaced after I moved letters aside. It was labeled in bold red handwriting.
CASSANDRA
The open flap spewed out nearly a hundred pictures when I flipped it upside down.
A child. Cassandra was a young child.
I spread the pictures along the floor, stopping at a certain one. It was a candid polaroid of two people--my king and the woman I’d seen in the other photos. She was in a hospital bed, looking weak but encouraged by the smile my king was giving her. She had a large stomach underneath the hospital robes and in between her smooth hands. She was about to give birth.
I flipped the picture over and read neatly written cursive.
September 14th 2000 - Ready to finally meet Cassandra!
They were a family.
My lungs deflated, pushing out a remorseful sigh from my lips. I put the pictures away neatly and moved on to the other content. A folder was at the bottom of the box, pinned underneath a ragged journal covered in spots of ink. I picked the two items up and started with the journal, opening it to a random page.
January 12th, 1994
I got my fourth kill tonight. So many people in the world are just asking to be killed. The ones who wander the streets late at night. The ones who sit around, waiting for nothing while they waste away with a bottle of wine. Especially the ones who work on the streets late at night. The whores are the easiest to lure. They’ll get into a car with anyone, unaware that their throats could be sliced open any second. That’s what happened to the whore tonight.
I placed a hundred dollar bill in her hand and she was sold. Fortunately, for me, the money went straight back into my pocket after her jugular was punctured. It’s easy to kick a numbed out body into a ditch but difficult to get the blood off your dashboard in a timely fashion.
Now that I think back on it, I wish I could have fucked her before I killed her. I need a good fuck anyway. Maybe on tomorrow night's hunt.
My fingertips touched the edge of the next page and suddenly paused. From the corners of my eyes, I caught sight of a figure standing in the doorway of the bedroom. I lifted my chin and gasped.
“Kelly…” my king demanded through his teeth. “What the fuck are you doing?”