Loving You Dead

Loud sobs and whimpers escape from his lips, echoing throughout the entire room while I continue to crush his body with my own, enjoying his little show of waterworks.

“Don’t cry,” I taunt, pecking his cheek and then leaving my lips to linger there. “You made me feel so fuckin’ good...”

He breaths in shakily, refusing to speak, even with the tape having no contact with his face. Well, at the moment that is. You can’t fuck a mouth with there’s a barrier on it now, can you?

“Do you want more?” I asked, my fingers beginning to toy with his crotch.

As of exactly half an hour ago, we’re both dressed down to nothing, courtesy of my hands.

He cringes and averts his eyes from the ceiling to my face, giving me the chance to read them. And like the past twenty minutes, there’s been nothing. It’s a few moments later when he shakes his head, telling me no. I frown against his skin and he freezes as if afraid of what I might do.

“Too bad,” I smirk, still speaking into the hollow of his cheek, “’cause I do.”

It’s funny though, he isn’t fighting anymore, it’s almost taken the fun out of it, you know? I tell him this.

“I really wish you’d do or at least say something,” I whine, pulling back to show him my pout. “This isn’t fun anymore.”

Something lights up behind his eyes and he wriggles his arms around, which are still attached to the bed.

“Then stop,” he says in barely above a whisper, coughing up some of the fluid I had forced him to swallow before adding, “please.”

My eyes narrow down at him and he cringes at my gaze, knowing he’d regret what he just said.

I decide not answer him but instead, my hands find their way back to the knife left ever so carelessly next to his waist and I bring it up to my face and drum my fingers across the blade. He swallows loudly and I watch the previous little nick I had left on his neck move up and down along with the skin. I grin and set it down gently next to my leg before grabbing the now half used roll of duct tape and stretch it out once more.

He makes this small whining sound in the back of his throat and he shakes his head violently as his eyes follow along with my actions.

“Please,” he begs, his eyes watering again, “don’t... please!”

I ignore him and decide not to bother ripping off the piece but instead I stick one end on his cheek and wrap it around his entire head twice, smiling at the tiny sounds he’s making before leaning down to cut it off with my teeth.

I throw the roll somewhere at the foot of the bed and turn my attention back to him. I cock my head to the side ever so slightly and admire how helpless he looks as hope begins to refill his mind and he fights against his bonds.

I have to admit, it’s turning me on and I feel my dick begin to twitch again.

“You look so hot when you do that,” I gush before grabbing his face with one hand and pressing my lips to the cold silver that cover his, “so hot.”

He says something back to me, though I obviously can’t tell what it is. I grin widely before I grab the knife again and shifting my legs down so I’m resting on his thighs. I lean down and lean my elbows on his waist, knife still in hand before moving my head down to lather his hips in spit with my tongue.

More tears stream out of his eyes as he watches me move the blade back and forth between my hands before I stop and keep it in my right. I turn it downwards, facing his chest and I begin to move it down gently so the tip rests against his abdomen. His small whimpers turn to loud obnoxious screams and I silently thank God for giving me the thought of gagging him. Someone would’ve surely heard him by now.

I apply pressure from my hand to the tool so it digs slowly into his skin, drawing the tiniest bit of blood. I don’t think he’s ever yelled that loud before.

“You know,” I say to him suddenly, ignoring his cries and pleas. “I wouldn’t be doing this if you hadn’t been cheating on me.”

His cries quiet down and he breaths rapidly through his nose before craning his neck upwards to look down at his legs to me. He has confusion in his eyes, clearing asking what the hell I was talking about.

“You’re playing idiot again,” I say in a sing-song voice before taking the knife and digging a curve into his chest, like I'm trying to shovel out a hole in a soft ground.

His pupils widen and he cries out in pain as I remove the blade and a dark vermillion begins to pump out of his skin. I press it to his body again and draw another curve on the other side, so it resembles a twisted version of a heart. I wait a few moments before his breathing slows down but the tears are still evident on his face, creating pools just below his eyes.

He stares down at me, breathing deeply still as his eyes blink open and shut while blood continues to pour out of the marks. I smirk before I grasp the handle tightly and scratch a deep ‘X’ across it, giggling at the face he makes and the loud scream that’s confined inside his mouth.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?" I ask as his breathing quickens even further, his cheeks puffing in and out.

My cock is hard again and almost to a painful state before telling me I need to get off and fast. I decide that he’s had enough torture for now before I get off him completely and sit down at the edge of the bed, spreading his legs apart harshly. I stare down at him as I bring my fingers to my mouth and begin to lather them in my saliva while he looks back at me, his eyes widening as he realizes what I’m about to do. The nerves from his brain go to his legs and he shuts them quickly, causing anger to flicker in my veins.

“You don’t want to do that,” I say to him, taking my fingers out of my mouth and grabbing his ankles with both hands, hearing him yelp as I pull his legs apart even harder than before, then pinning them down. I use my knees again to keep them there.

I put bring a hand back to my mouth and quickly coat the fingers before bringing them to my dick and lathering it in an up-and-down movement. I involuntarily let out a groan and he screams underneath the tape. I smile maniacally at him.

“You ready?”

I don’t bother waiting for him to answer, knowing he’d just shake his head and cry some more. I position myself at his entrance before I pry myself inside of him quickly, letting out a small gasp from the feeling while he continues to yell.

“Shit...” I whisper, throwing my head back, “you’re tight.”

I go inside halfway before pulling out slightly and slamming back twice as fast. He cries out and I feel him tighten his muscles around me, causing me to moan even more. I ignore the noises he’s making and continue to thrust in and out, fast and hard enough that warm blood begins to seem out of him and cover my lower half while he wails beneath his gag. Tears continue to go down in his face in rivers, wetting his skin and the pillow underneath his head, creasing as his skulls shakes back and forth, telling me no as I continue to push myself into him.

It’s exactly four minutes and well, a lot of lust filled moans later until I finally burst and come inside of him and then collapsing on top of his bloody chest. I’m breathing really heavy while he continues to cry.

I crawl up to kiss his captivated lips once again but instead, he jerks his head away from me and pants heavily, bringing his legs up to his chest so his knees hit my spine. I’m starting to get frustrated now.

It’s like I give him the fucking sex he goes out for and what? He decides he doesn’t like it? Fuck it then, ‘cause if I can’t have him, no one can. I’ll just kill the bitch and leave it at that.

My mind suddenly freezes at that last sentence and a smile begins to tug at the corners of my mouth. I find that's not a bad idea.

One of my arms snake downwards and my hand manages to find the handle of the knife again. I bring my other to stroke his left cheek, wiping away the tears carefully from underneath his eyes.

“I love you,” I say to him, pouting my lips out for emphasis. “I really do.”

He sniffs his jaw moving up and down as best as it could, despite the tape wrapped around it. I take my other hand and tuck a piece of hair behind his ear, pecking it gently before I bring my arm up and plunge the knife straight into his chest.

The skin around his mouth begins to stretch as his mouth goes wide in an agonized scream, so loud that I can even hear it. As I bury the blade deeper into his flesh, I start to laugh; real loud and real weird. I have no idea why, but I’m just finding this so amusing, the way I’m causing him so much pain.

I look back to his face to see that he’s screaming still, his eyes bulging out of his head as I push the blade even harder into the center of his chest before I scissor it up and down so it drags down to his stomach. Blood is pouring out everywhere, but I don’t stop.

Instead, I pull the knife backwards, my hands stained red before I plunge it back in so far this time, so my fingers are actually touching his insides. I have to admit, it’s just like sex all over again ‘cause it feels so fucking good.

I do this repeatedly before my arm begins to tire out and I stop, breathing heavily and still sitting on his lower waist with the knife sits inside him, the old crossed out heart scratched into his chest now erased with deep cuts, bloody grooves and a few dugout holes, one even managing to make the tip of the knife reach the mattress on the other side.

I pause to stare into his eyes and they’re blank, wide open and just staring up at the ceiling, glazed over while the hazel is left what looks to be a shady gray. I click my tongue in disappointment, seeing his eyes were the first thing that had caught my attention and if I had the option, I would’ve kept those alive.

I sigh in content and slowly get off the now-dead carcass of my deceased ex-boyfriend, standing up straight and stretching while his blood beginning to dry on my hands as I wring them together. I then grab my clothes off the floor and the stench of raw and dirty blood fills my nostrils, drowning my mouth with this metallic-like taste.

I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t like it.

And that very thought is what makes realization snap, my eyes widening to the size of dinner plates as I stare down at my bloody fingers before I shift my gaze to his mangled body.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit are the only words running through my head as I scramble around the room, finding pieces of my clothing.

As much as I enjoyed that little escapade, I can’t help but worry at the thought of someone finding him and alerting the authorities. Because it’s something like this that would definitely have society on my ass.

I put my shirt on before going over to the sliding doors that lead to the small balcony that most flats have. I slip through between the streaky glass, taking a deep breath, glad the stench of his slightly rotting flesh was out of range before I look around, my hands weaving through my hair out of anxiety. My eyes shift around before they light up as they settle on the small can of kerosene used for the small fuel-eating lamp we sometimes had when we needed some light for our late night outdoor cuddles.

I smirk; those moments are way behind us now.

I grab it before going back inside, drawing the burgundy curtains over the see through doors. I go back over to the bed, taking the sweat soaked covers and the blood stained knife, holding them in both hands before I begin to tear apart the thick duvet into small pieces.

After I finish the task, I take a quarter of the bundle with both hands and walk over to the kitchen, sprinkling the mangled sheets throughout the entire room. I go back to the bed and continue to do this with the rest of the covers for the entire apartment before I find my way back to the kerosene bottle.

I twist the cap open and hold my breath as the gas-like smell adds to the one of rot and blood before I’m walking around the flat, pouring the flammable liquid everywhere, focusing mainly on the ripped covers as I slowly make my way over to the bed.

I stare at him and can’t help but think how beautiful he looks when he’s not moving. Well, if you'd minus the various lacerations that is.

I pour the remnants of the kerosene over his body, half expecting to hear it sizzle as the liquid comes in contact with his insides. Much to my disappointment, it doesn’t.

As my jacket slips over my shoulders and my wallet finds its way to my jean pocket, I take one last look at what’s left of him and I turn on my heel, horrified at what I’ve done, but satisfied nonetheless before searching through my back pockets and fishing out a half used packet of matches. I strike one against the strip and squint at the bright contrast against the dreary sense of the room.

Walking over to his body, I throw the match on his chest, grinning as it slowly begins to spread across the skin, through the gas and into his flesh. The burning stench reaching my nostrils and I gag, coughing as my lungs struggle to get the toxic smoke out. I run over to the kitchen, lighting another one before throwing it into one of the various bundles of fabric, running back to the room before lighting up two more, throwing the fourth one somewhere into the curtains.

I take this time to make my escape through the door before I trip over something along my way to it. I cuss loudly as my knee crunches against the hardwood floor and I stand up with it pounding like hell, fighting to ignore it. I glare down at what looks like to be a crudely wrapped package and I kick it across the floor, having it slam harshly into the wall.

“Fuckin’ box,” I mutter before I walk over to the door and my hand grasps the warm handle.

I twist the knob open before turning around, watching the fire dance across my eyes. I smile widely before my gaze involuntarily averts back to the box, which I now notice as a large burly looking present. I furrow my brows curiously before leaning down and looking the package over closely, knowing it wouldn't be long until everything burst into flame. Despite that fact, my fingers glide slowly over the paper before finding a large cream coloured tag hanging loosely off the ribbon tied around it.

I twist it around so the card is right side up in my hands. My eyes widen in horror and they begin to water while my jaw slacks open as I read the words written there in a faded blue ink, scrawled out hastily in his writing, as if in a rush.

Today’s our anniversary, Gerard.
Don’t forget baby, I love you.
-Frank