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serawritesthings · 9 months

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AS FAR AS DREAMS GO

Pairing | Arthur Morgan x fem! reader Summary | While Arthur found sanction in his dreams, you would fret about them every night. While he longed for the sweet caress of your hands, you were unknowing, fooled by his stoic facade as your dreams only brought you nightmares. Tags | Angsty, Arthur Morgan pining for the reader, hinting at smut, intimacy, two idiots clearly in love, some sadness ensues Word Count | 10.3k A/N | Hello, lovelies! It's my second-ever fanfic; I hope you like it! Also, I got carried away, so it’s quite long (sorry)… It's loosely based on the mission with Uncle when you rob a wagon, but I have my spin on it. It’ll work more with the story this way. If you want, it can fit in with my recent fanfic about Arthur, but maybe set earlier in their “relationship.” ;D THANKS FOR READING!♡ Part two

Arthur felt you in his sleep last night.

He remembered the caress of your fingers on his icy skin, leaving scorching traces of blazing fire in its wake as your hearts collided and molded into his deepest longing. Like a strange mirror, it portrayed you as you always were: tender and loving, fiery but forgiving. But it wasn’t you; instead, it was a thought of you. Like when walking down the street and catching a glance of a person that seemed familiar, but with another look, was someone else entirely. Only in his dream-filled sleep could he allow himself the sweet torture of your presence, for in those moments, he didn’t have to think of the consequences his thoughts would bring. His dreams of you overtook his mind, whether he was willing or not. For in his mind, you had carved a path so profound that it would be etched into his senses until his last breath, clouding his sanity, never again being able to differentiate dreams from reality.

Oh, how you held him in your embrace. It made him long for the sun to disappear under the horizon once more when the warm springs of light found him in the chilly dawn. He could still feel traces of your touch in the short period between sleep and consciousness. For a brief moment, it made him question whether it was a dream or if his deepest desire had come true. You were his.

But he would wake up and find that the warmth he held in his hands had dissipated, like hot ash falling between his fingers, making Arthur attempt to dig up what remained of you from the ground. He was left aching with no relief, cold and shuddering in the chilly morning, standing over the remains of your ghost. It was like his heart had been burned with it, only coming alive once more when you returned to him at midnight.

But for you, dreams had trouble finding you at night, if they even found you at all. You could never escape reality to find sanction in the warm blanket of imagination. When dreams did reach you, memories replaced fantasy and washed over like cold, freezing water. You would fret and worry, tossing around wishing you could melt into the sheets and float to where you could become someone else. There was a time when the dreams would bring you solace, whether it was a conjecture of old memories or what your younger self would conjure up. But that was a long time ago, and you find that the older you get, those dreams drift further away. So, you had nowhere to escape, nothing to ease the hardship that daytime brought. So, sleeping is just a blink of an eye nowadays to make the night pass faster.

After a sleepless night, you sat by a tree overlooking the vast landscape. It’s quiet between the trees this morning. It brought a sense of calm to the otherwise quite hectic place. Although chilly, the wind carried a frisk waft, clearing your head. You enjoyed these mornings and often found yourself awake before the others. It’s a habit you picked up through the years, though a younger you would complain about having to rise that early in the morning. It felt like the world was entirely your own. It is even calmer in times like this, where the residents consist mainly of women when the men are out. It brought a sense of comfort to you, for they were the ones that had been kind and welcoming to you. Unfortunately, your time alone didn’t last long, for you have learned that people rose relatively early here. But the time you did get for yourself gave you a chance to ponder the time that had passed up until now.

Sean, a peculiar man, had recently been brought back from being held captive by bounty hunters soon to be transported up the Upper Montana River to a federal prison. You had immensely worried for him, finding his presence over the last few months to lighten your sometimes rather gloomy mood with his ridiculous shenanigans. Some had been unsure if going back for him posed as a good idea, but the thought of leaving him behind saddened you and many others. Somehow, you had managed to convince Arthur to lend a hand, with considerable help from Javier You knew Arthur cared for Sean, even though he’d probably rather die before admitting it.

When you first got wrapped up with these people, you admit that Arthur scared the living daylight out of you. There was a certain air around him that exuded strength and authority, never stopping short of resorting to violence. You were no stranger to what kind of man he was, what they were; neither were you of their business, but you were apprehensive of them more often than not. The womenfolk had told you countless times that Arthur could be immensely ruthless when needed and had done things that would leave your blood running cold. And you didn’t doubt them. Behind those calculating eyes and quiet demeanor lay a long life of violence and hardship. You were sure of it.

That’s why you felt stuck when it came to him. Despite all this, he was a kind man. However, he didn’t speak much when it concerned you. More so, he worked hard, and you rarely spotted him in camp. Freezing your guts out in those mountains was the longest time you had seen his face consistently. You couldn’t do more than respect him, and although apprehensive around him, you had found yourself doing it less because of his dangerous aura and more because he made chills run down your back and a warmth spread in your stomach like wildfire when he set his eyes on you. It wasn’t a fire that spread fast, destroying everything in its path and bringing misery. Instead, a fire dispersed like slow poison, mingling with your blood as it flowed through your body, claiming you bit by bit until you surrendered to its ever-so-prolonged heat.

“I heard you begged for the boys to come get me!” Time had flown by quickly, and soon, you heard the clanking of pots and the sound of steel against the wood. Sean had suddenly spoke up as he neared you, his Irish accent lacing his words heavily. Although you had missed him and didn’t want to leave him to an insufferable fate, you hadn’t forgotten his teasing. He knew very well he was exaggerating, but he wouldn’t let go of the chance to bury you in his flamboyant personality.

“That’s quite the exaggeration, Sean.” A small smile spread on your lips. “Don’t make me regret standing in favor of your return.” A snort left the red-headed man at your words. Pursing your lips, you put your gaze on him as he stood beside your seated form with his arms crossed, gazing out onto the open landscape of Horseshoe Overlook.

“Ah, how I missed ya big words and harmless threats.” You could hear a few snickers at his statement from the people gathering around the campfire. A blush covered your cheeks. You had a reputation for sounding smart sometimes, and people did not stop at anything to tease you, especially the man in front of you.

“Did ya miss me?” A cheeky grin grew on his punchable face as he raised his eyebrows, expectantly leaning closer to you.

A scoff left your lips, but you didn’t have time to answer him as the sound of hooves drew near. A certain dread always filled you at the sound. Even though you knew it most likely was someone returning to camp, you could never be too sure what state they would be in. You often worked alongside Ms. Grimshaw to help when someone got hurt, having extensive knowledge of tending to wounds and other bodily harm. It worried you, for the possibility of not being able to help someone would someday appear. Like that poor man, Davey. Luckily, you had managed to take care of Marston well enough. But he did look awful these days with that scar adorning his face; there was no denying that.

You and Sean looked up as the horses raced through the path among the trees that led to your whereabouts. You could see Dutch among them, with Arthur and Hosea. Scowls were apparent on their faces as their loud voices broke the solitude in the air, seeming to argue viciously about something.

“What’s that about?” You questioned the man beside you. “God knows, but I’d stay outta it if I were you.” He gave you a knowing look and slouched away to bother someone else. Your curiosity was piqued, but you let it be for now, raising to help Mary-Beth wash some foul shirts she was struggling with—damned Reverend.

The day continued, mindless chatter filling the space between you and the girls as you worked under Ms. Grimshaw’s sharp, watchful eyes. She had been in a terrible mood today, so her reign was relentless.

“Do you think she would be mad if we threw the clothes from the cliff edge?” A grumpy Tilly spoke up, her hands relentless as she scrubbed the fabric that never seemed to get cleaner. Sadly, it only became filthier the more she worked on it. Karen laughed as she raised her eyebrows, a mocking expression on her face. “Oh no, that won’t do for great Ms. Grimshaw. She would probably throw you right along with it.” Their laughter cut through the air, contagious as you smiled at their exchange, glancing up to see if Ms. Grimshaw had her eyes on you. But instead, your eyes found a pair of blue ones staring at you when you looked up—the brief moment left you unsure where to put your gaze after the contact broke.

You cleared your throat as you spoke quietly. “Grimshaw means well.” They groaned at you, rolling their eyes. “Sure, Miss Righteous.” They laughed again as you joined them. Before you could hinder yourself, your eyes gazed up at Arthur again, finding him staring at you again; a particular fervency lay deep within them. However, he directed his eyes away from you hastily, like you caught him doing something he shouldn’t have. Seemingly tense, the man grabs a match from his pocket, lighting its phosphorus tip from his booth’s worn leather soles. When he took a drag, he peeked at you again, his head bowed, hiding under his worn hat.

Dutch and Hosea were in a heated discussion, with Arthur listening in languidly. It probably related to what had transpired before they returned to camp. Although more collected now, there was still a tension in the air. By your observations, they were the “three main men” around here. They had been holding together most of their lives, naturally giving them authority over the gang. When they talked, you listened. Simple as that.

You touched your face discreetly, wondering if you had gotten soot from tending the fire on your cheeks again. What else could be the reason for Arthur’s stare? How embarrassing that would be. He made you somewhat uncertain already; you couldn’t possibly handle his mocking adding to that.

“I wonder what they’re talking about?” The question you asked left the girls perking their heads up and gazing at you before following your gaze, looking at the men arguing. “Yeah, it seems pretty serious,” Mary-Beth said, curious about their exchange. They had been going at it for quite a while now as evening drew closer. You observed them with intrigue. That’s when Hosea’s eyes planted on you, beckoning you over with his finger. He looked cunning as he settled leisurely in his chair, content. You gazed questingly at the girls as they shrugged their shoulders, looking as confused as you.

Dusting off your skirt, you rose from the small barrel you used as a makeshift chair and approached the men. You gave them an unsure smile, still confused, wondering what they could want to bring you into their apparent disagreement.

“Well, we have a perfect actress with us, gentlemen. I’m sure she could charm our seemingly formidable friends.” Hosea patted your arms as your feet shifted under you when he spoke up. What could they possibly be talking about? Dutch was gazing at you indescribably as Arthur stared at the table. His arms crossed, not meeting your gaze.

“Well, her damsel in distress act has saved us before.” A low chuckle left Dutch as he drummed his fingers on the wooden table.

“May I ask what you’re talking about?” As the question left you, you could see Arthur raise his head to watch you. His expression was blank, but his eyes seemed sullen, the smoke from his cigarette filling the air as he took a drag.

“Uncle’s received a tip of a supply wagon passing through carrying a payroll, lookin’ to be unguarded. They want you to help us.” His voice was quiet as he observed you, his accent thick. You had helped them on some jobs before, although only smaller ones since you weren’t as acquainted with the work as the others. You mainly had accompanied Hosea on his schemes, finding that both of you had quite the same proficiency in depicting a role. Although you had taken up some theatrics when you were a small child, you had never imagined you would use them to deceive people. You found Hosea to be a spiritful figure despite his age. When thinking about it, he reminded you immensely of your father. He was too stubborn to let himself grow old, and his spark for living and refusal to take on the habits of an older man made him seem immortal to you. But he wasn’t, which became evident to you the older you had gotten.

“Of course, if I can be of help.” You offered them a small smile, surprised they decided on you, not someone else. It didn’t seem scary for you; you would, of course, be accompanied. And they knew what they were doing, which had become apparent to you since they always managed to get out of trouble. Compared to some of the things they did, stealing from a wagon seemed mild. And with Arthur accompanying, you knew you would feel completely safe.

“S’not a good idea.” The words that left Arthur made you furrow your brows. What could be the reason for his doubt? Some parts of you understood that you might not be as proficient as the other women, but as you mentioned, playing the damsel in distress was right up your alley. And you already felt as if you were a burden around here.

He avoided your offended look as he continued, pointing his finger at Hosea. “I ain’t lettin’ h-anyone get hurt just cause Uncle got told a tip from some sad, half-witted lowlife! Now, I ain’t against looking up the lead, but we handle it without the theatrics an’ all, Hosea.”

You were about to speak up, but Dutch did before you could. “It would give you the advantage to have someone stop the wagon; that way, you have the man unguarded and on the ground.” He gave you a look-over. You leaned slightly away from his calculating gaze, his squinting eyes examining you.

“Yeah, that’ll do; let Uncle prove his worth this time. Bring Bill and Charles with ya.” With that said, he stood up from his chair and nodded at you with a beaming grin, and sauntered off. Wonder what Molly saw in him. Often, you found him to lean towards arrogancy, the way he let everyone else do his dirty work. But they all seemed to listen to him, which meant what he did gave some positive outcome.

“Trust me, Arthur, she’ll do good. And she might make up for your dumbness.” As Hosea’s chuckling figure slowly disappeared, you gazed curiously at Arthur, who was scoffing, staring after the man.

“I know how to handle myself, Arthur. And I know you know that too.”

“Sure.” He dragged out the word, voice mirroring his now grumpy mood.

“So?” You raised your eyebrows. He gave you a questioning look. “What’s the matter?” You asked.

He let out a long breath. “It ain’t safe. A random tip could be risky. It probably means someone else heard ’bout it, too, if the man was willing to give up the information. Likewise, it could be a setup. We don’t know, do we?” You leaned on the table before him, placing your hand to stead his bouncing knee. You knew what he meant. But every mission was risky, especially these days when you had law coming at you from what appeared to be every direction. Despite this, you had to do it to survive, and you wanted to show them you were capable.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to find out.” Your voice was mild, an undertone of understanding lacing your words. Even if it were Uncle’s idea, it would fall on Arthur either way if things went wrong, as it always did. And you knew he cared, even though he never showed it. Or think he didn’t show it.

He was about to speak, but a loud voice broke through your conversation. “Gotten over me that fast, has she? Already moving on to the gang’s grouch? I’m hurt. Here I walked around thinkin’ you missed me!” You gave Arthur a last look, squeezing his knee to gaze at Sean as he dramatically held his hands to his heart. Laughing at his antics, you stood up. “I’m not sure anyone missed you when you were gone, right Arthur?” You strolled off with the Irish man following you, not noticing the wistful, prolonged stare the blue-eyed man had set on you since you touched his knee with your delicate hand, the feeling of your skin leaving a fire trail he couldn’t douse.

“That’s it, Ada.” The grey coat of the Andulasian was silky under your palm as you graced her sun-warmed coat, giving her a carrot you stole from Pearson’s wagon as you distracted him with your mindless chatter the following evening. Her ears perked up at your soft voice, munching. She nickered contentedly as her mane blew under the frisk breeze that wafted around you.

“You know, you should’ve settled for a faster horse instead of an Andalusian. She’ll slow you down.” A gruff voice broke out in the otherwise calm spot as the sound of spurs clanking was accompanied by heavy footsteps. You looked up at the man, noting how he leaned lazily against the empty hitching post and put his hands on his belt. It surprised you, it did. He didn’t usually instigate a conversation with you.

“She’s fast enough, my Ada. And she’s family now, so.” You voiced your thoughts softly, hearing his statement from many others when Arthur, Dutch, and Micha returned to the desolated mining town with two horses and a crying Sadie up in Colter. The horse piqued your interest when you set your eyes on her, and Arthur kindly let you keep her for the time being, planning on selling her when they got the chance. Your disagreement was apparent, and not putting up much of a fight; he let you keep her. Hosea, too, opposed it when he saw the mare, but your stubbornness made him laugh. I’ll let you figure it out on your own then, he had told you.

“Well, at least we’ll know you’re safe if you get attacked by a snake.” A low chuckle left Arthur, still finding you’re choice of a companion foolish.

“Oh, are you making jokes now?” You looked at him as he straightened and strode towards you. “Cause if you are, it’s not very funny.” You backed away slightly, not used to him being so close. He put his gloved hand on Ada’s soft coat and patted her softly. A waft of smoke reached your nose as he stood next to you, coupled with the smell of a man who did hard labor. But amidst that, there was something else, something warmer and manlier. “Well, she’s real pretty, that’s for sure.” His gaze went down to you before he directed his gaze, fastening the tie strap you didn’t secure well enough.

You rarely saw Arthur with his hat off, his hair usually peaking out from under the well-worn leather. But he didn’t wear it this morning, and you wondered why. It blew softly in the wind, a slight beard adorning his face. It fit him well, adding to his roguish appearance. He was pretty handsome.

You didn’t realize you were observing him as he focused on your not-so-good job putting on the saddle. He didn’t seem as on edge as usual, the constant frown gone and replaced with a serene expression. Arthur didn’t look as frightening this way when he was relaxed, although his advantage in height and bulky form made up for it.

“Be careful today, yeah?” He gave you a curt nod when you replied that you would, walking over to his horse. You saw Charles walking in your direction, greeting you with a smile when he got close.

“We should head off as soon as possible; I’m worried we might miss the wagon.” His voice was calm, as it tended to be often. Sometimes, it felt like Charles was a shadow as he kept quiet, primarily to himself. He rarely got into trouble and handled things with a clear mind. You could but only like him, finding his solitude comforting and much like your own.

When Bill and Uncle appeared, you hoisted yourself into the saddle, giving Ada a soft pat before setting her in motion. Uncle had told you it was just up the road from camp, near the crossroads where an old, ruined church remained. “You ride first and hitch up the horse in the trees behind the church. We will stop near the crossroads to look for the wagon passing through as you get them to stop and get down on the ground.” Arthur said calmly, pointedly looking at you.

As you rode off, Arthur stared after you as you disappeared between the trees. The worry had settled in his stomach when Hosea brought up the idea for you to tag along. He wasn’t opposed to you doing your share in the gang, but bringing you on such a spontaneous mission made him uneasy.

“She’ll be fine, Arthur, and we’ll have our eyes on her the whole time.” Charles’s hushed voice dragged him out of his thoughts as he secured his gun on the saddle. Even though Charles seemed calm, a slight worry still tainted his words.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just…”

“I understand.” They sat in their saddles, heading out after Uncle’s lead.

“You know, after this, you will realize how much I do for this gang. Looking up this lead has not been an easy feat, gentlemen.” He looked proud in his seat, bringing his hands up like he already had secured the money. “Sure, Uncle, drinking and talking to some bum who just might be lying to you is exactly what this gang needs right now.” Uncle just scoffed at Arthur.

“You know, you should be nicer to me, Arthur, and you will be after you realize this will bring us a well-deserved fortune.”

“Yeah? And what are you going to spend it on? More booze?”

The church where you said goodbye to Ada was no short of run-down. Missing planks, bottles with an unnamed liquid inside, and cigarettes everywhere made you wonder what kind of people sought shelter here. You didn’t have trouble finding it because it wasn’t too far from camp like you were told. Trying not to think about leaving Ada in such an environment, you wandered towards the road you were told they would pass through.

‘

You hid behind a tree, shielding you from anyone coming down the path. You hoped Uncle was correct; otherwise, things could go south fast. No stranger would let a hurt woman linger on the road; likewise, they wouldn’t let her stumble to the seat with a hurt leg, meaning you would get the driver on the ground. Simple but effective. You only hoped Uncle had been correct, that this would be easy.

Taking Karen’s advice to loosen a few buttons on your shirt, you revealed some of your cleavage. Make him more willing, quoting her words. The skin now exposed glows in the sunlight from the light layer of sweat coating your skin from the heat. You smile to yourself. This’ll do just fine. You run your hands on the ground to dirty up your skirt like you had been crawling in the dirt. You didn’t want to think about how hard it would be to get it out of the fabric since you likely had to clean it.

Peaking up from the tree, you could spot Arthur, Uncle, Bill, and Charles from a distance, gazing upon your spot as masks adorned their faces. Who were they trying to fool? They looked ominous where they sat on their horses. God, if the driver got the slightest look at them, he would run the other way, and the operation would be over. You felt your hands grow clammy at the suspense as your shoulders tensed, sitting on the ground as you leaned against the tree.

You took your face in your hands, massaging your temple. “Okay, wagon approaches; I frantically run out from the woods, screaming at the driver to help. He stops and steps down on the ground to ask me what’s going on, hopefully worried. I tell him I’m getting chased by a maniac, and the others will handle the rest.” You breathed out as your heart beat wildly, voicing your plan aloud. “Easy peasy, right?”

That’s when you heard it, the crunch of the wheels rolling in the ground in the distance growing louder. Taking a deep breath, you ruffled your hair slightly and leaped out from the tree, running towards the road like satan himself was after you.

“Mister, please!” Your voice shrieked out, startling the man. With an exasperated expression, you stumbled down after tripping on your skirt, getting dirtier from the mud covering the path. Holding your hand on your leg, you gazed up at the men above you who looked at you alarmed. His face was adorned with small eyes and wrinkles that depicted his old age as he had to squint to see you. It made you question why such an old man drove a fortune alone but pushed the thoughts away. “You have to help me!”

“Miss, what’s happened to ya?” Immediately, he slowed the horses, stepping down from the wagon to inspect the predicament before him. He looked friendly, just like his tone was kind, and worry filled his eyes as he jogged towards you. Kind, but foolish.

“Some men trailed me, oh some god-awful men trailed me, and when I cut through the woods with my horse, she freaked out and bucked me off!” Panic settled in your voice as you looked pleadingly at the man holding your shoulder. “Please, mister, my leg hurts awfully bad; I think it’s broken.” Tears filled your voice, choking up the words leaving your mouth. His hands found your shoulders as he kneeled. “Come here, Miss. We’ll get you home, yeah?” You nodded at him with pleading eyes.

The air around you was calm, and the wind blew softly, contrasting your shrill voice in the early morning as he helped you stand up. With your weight on his shoulders, he didn’t even have the time to turn around before the cold metal of a pistol met the back of his head.

The pistol cocked. Frozen beside you, the hands supporting you grew still as the blood on his face drained, eyes staring into yours like he could see Arthur behind him in the reflection of your eyes.

“Let’s not do that. Why don’t you step away from the woman and throw your gun on the ground?” Arthur’s cold but calm demeanor frightened even you, looking different from the man you were used to. “Real slow now.” His eyes found yours, staring from under his hat as he spoke. A chill went down your spine, now understanding why he had a reputation for coming off as frightening. Behind him, Charles was rummaging through the wagon as Uncle and Bill stood behind him on their horses, acting as lookouts as their rifles were pointed at the man beside you.

“Listen, I work for Kerosene and Tar, Leviticus Cornwall, alright?” His voice was shaking, but he still tried to scare the men. Bold. You could hear Bill curse in the distance, the name familiar to them. Judging from their reaction, it wasn’t good news, and the anxiety rose in you like wildfire again as you tried to get away from the man holding you, his presence now suffocating.

“Hey, step away from her old man.” Arthurs’s voice grew firmer as the words rumbled in his chest, pushing the gun tighter against his temple when the man grabbed your shoulders harder. When you turned your head towards the elderly man, he looked as frightened as you, shocked by how the situation had transpired.

“Hey, Arthur, I got the money!” Charle’s satisfied voice made you both look up, but as you did, the sight of horses charging towards you in the distance made your eyes widen. Your breath stuck in your throat at the picture, your pulse rising as you struggled to control your quivering palms.

“Aw, shit. Uncle!” Arthurs voiced his annoyance at the downturn of the situation as he hit the elderly man with his gun, his body falling limp beside you as he held his head in his hands. Shocked, you looked at his squirming body as he writhed on the ground. Before you could shake away the shock that nailed your feet shut, you felt a pair of arms shake your petrified form.

“Get your head straight girl!” Amidst the loud sound of hooves filling your ears from every direction, Arthur shouted at you as he grabbed the horn on the saddle and hopped onto his horse. Sitting tall, he placed his arms under yours so he could lift you. Now seated before him, the sudden motion made your head spin as the world around you stayed a constant blur.

“Bill! We’ll split up, make it harder for them to track us. You go with Charles and Uncle to the left, and we’ll go straight! Stay out of camp for awhile!” His shouting brought you back to reality, the sound of bullets heading towards you growing louder the clearer your head got. Bill shouted in agreement as he cursed loudly and took off hastily, rifle in his hands as the three escaped the scene. Making a clicking noise, Arthur urged the horse to move, the force pushing your body forward from the sudden speed. The severity of the situation dawned on you when you glanced back at the riders following you. Your heart beat heavily against your chest; the number of men chasing after you could only be likened to a whole army.

“There’s so many!” The wind wisped your hair around you as you flew through the country. You glanced back at Arthur. “Yeah, I know! But I think the others got the worst of it!” His statement did nothing to calm your racing nerves as bullets rushed past you. Boadicea’s muscles moved fervently under you as Arthur spurred her on. Fast didn’t seem like fast enough. The pace painted the world blurry as you

rode on for a long time, the skies beginning to turn dark.

After a long while following the road, Arthur steered off it and up a hill into a tightly grown forest. “I think we’re losing them!” Your voice flew in the air as the wind in your ears whistled when you looked back. Almost stumbling on a rock, you both flew forward as Arthur’s heavy weight fell on you momentarily. A choked sound left your throat as the air left you, and you heard him curse out a sorry behind you. Recovering quickly, Boadicea picked up the pace once again as you gazed behind you, trying to see if they had gained on you.

Why in the world were there so many? Maybe Arthur was right, and it was a setup. After a while, the sound of hooves slowly grew distant, the only noise being your heavy breaths intermingling as you felt the adrenalin still run through your veins.

“Shit, Arthur. What the hell was that?”

“That is why you don’t trust Uncle’s shit plans!” His voice was sharp like glass as he realized he was right like he usually was. “Foolish-minded fools, the lot of ’em!” He voiced his thoughts angrily. He was tense behind you, every move filled with a raging fury as he swiftly urged the horse forward.

“What do we do now?” You voiced your concerns worryingly. You had no idea where you were; the place was unfamiliar. It had grown chilly as the sun disappeared from the blue sky, the cold wind now apparent as the danger dissipated, and your body grew aware.

“We find somewhere to hide until the next morning; they’ll probably be out looking for us, seeing as they think we have their money.” You hoped the others were well, even though you weren’t entirely too happy with how things had transpired. If Arthur wasn’t lying, they got the worst of it. You wanted to voice your concerns but decided to keep it to yourself for the time being; not entirely too sure that’s what he wanted to hear right now.

“I know a place where we can hide. It’ll be cold, but we’ll be safe. For now.” Unbeknownst to you, he glanced down at your shivering form.

After a while, you could feel your breath calm down enough for you to relax slightly. Although you were still sitting up tensely, aware of the position you were in. Arthur was a big man, towering behind you, almost embracing you as his arms held the reigns at your sides. The warmth radiating from him was immense, and the softness of his scout jacket softened the impact of your back to his chest as the horse galloped. It did make you somewhat uncomfortable being that close to the man, but as time passed and the colder the air got, you found yourself sheepishly leaning backward to stop the chills running through your body. You hoped he wouldn’t mention it or, worse, push you away from him.

The top of your head only reached his jaw when you glanced up at him, leaning your head back slightly. He was focused on the road ahead; eyes squinted angrily as he still grumbled bitterly under his breath. The corners of your mouth raised slightly before you curled your lips under your teeth, turning to look forward. He really was a grump sometimes.

Leaning forward, you ran your fingers through Boadicea’s mane as you patted her neck to try to calm your nerves. “You know, I’ve never been good at riding horses, so thank god you’re with me. No coordination whatsoever.” You laughed, trying to distract yourself from being chased through the now-dark country. Even though you couldn’t see them anymore, they were probably still on your lead. “We should be lucky we didn’t end up in a ditch somewhere. When we stumbled over that rock, I thought we were don-”

“That’s the place over there.” His gruff voice interrupted your nervous blabbering.

Your head perked up at his mention. It wasn’t much to cheer for, run-down seeming like a compliment compared to this place. Although still standing, it looked like it would fall apart if someone as much as touched it. But it had a door, and the windows were barred, protecting it from the winds rummaging through the landscape. I guess that counts for something.

“You sure they won’t find us here?” A gust of smoke from the cold surrounded you when you spoke. Logically, if they had followed your direction, they would probably have gone rummaging through every abandoned house they encountered on the way. The only answer you got was a grunt, and you almost rolled your eyes at him. What splendid company you would have for the rest of the night. Although, he had been right about the whole ordeal, so it wasn’t hard for you to see where he came from. If your previous thought had been correct, all of this would fall on Arthur. With him being in higher authority in the gang, he also held more responsibility and had to make sure the plans went along smoothly.

As you approached the cabin hastily, he stopped the horse in a quick motion, the dirt flying in the air as it surrounded you both. Hopping down from the saddle, he patted Boadicea gently on the neck. “Come ‘ere.” His hands went around your waist as he hoisted you down from the tall animal, fingers squeezing subtly around your waist as he steadied you on the ground, avoiding your gaze.

“Why don’t you hitch her up by the door? I’ll have a quick look in the cabin.” As he pointed to Boadicea, you gave him a curt nod as you did what he asked. “Will she be alright out here all night?” You blurted out as you fastened the rope against one of the planks in the fence surrounding the cabin’s front porch. A distant reassurance from Arthur could be heard as he ensured you would be alone and undisturbed. Giving the animal one last pat, you stepped up the wooden stairs, wrapping your arms around you. Since the sun had disappeared from the sky, it was dark inside, and your eyes found it troubling to adapt since the moon didn’t light up the room.

The house was eerie. Furniture still adorned the chipped, wooden planks with thick dust covering the various surfaces. The air was cold, with the smell of wood mingling with the ever-so-slightly scent of moldy food left on the plates. It looked like the people that had been living here had just walked away during their dinner.

“I wonder who lived here.” you thought out loud. Your voice was barely a whisper like the people were still sleeping upstairs. Although muted by the carpet, the floorboards creaked when you stepped inside, the fabric now muddy from your shoes. Arthur was shaking the planks nailed to the windows from the inside, making sure they would stay in their place

“Come on. I’ll keep a lookout for a while, see if I can hear them passing by. Get some rest.” He pointed you toward a botched chair in the corner. It didn’t look like the most comfortable chair, but it would have to do for the night. Not that you had a choice anyway.

“Are you sure? I can accompany you if you want.” Your words grew warm at his selfness, looking at him with a prolonged gaze as he reached to take off his jacket. He held it towards you and, as he secured his hat, bowed his head as he headed out the door.

“Nah, get some rest, alright?” You were left in the darkness as the door closed, trembling from the shivers racking through you with the heavy jacket hanging from your grasp.

What the hell was he thinking? He daydreamed about you like he had every right to imagine you that way when you rode with him. Hell, you would probably spit in his face if you knew that most of his thoughts involved you. What a sad man you are, Arthur Morgan, thinking you could ever get your hands on her. Pure and warm, that’s what you were. You were too good. Your care extended further than his ever had, treating him like he deserved your kindness. Deserved you. He kept his distance from you, only speaking to you when necessary to try to make you understand that he wasn’t a good man—but being as close to you as he had during the ride shut off his brain entirely.

The guilt ran through him as he sat on the porch, leaning against the door. Being in the same space as you proved to be too much for him now, the smell of your hair still clouding his mind. Shit, it was impossible to keep you out of his mind. Raising from the coldness of the ground, he swept his hands over his face, leaning his arms to rest against the fence as he observed into the distance. The place was surrounded by trees, somewhat deep in the woods, quite far from the path. He hoped it was far enough, not wanting to put you in more danger than he already had.

Irritation was still running through him at the outcome of the situation. He knew this would happen. At least they got away with the money. But if Cornwall’s men managed to get ahold of Bill, Uncle, and Charles, it wouldn’t matter. He didn’t feel up for a rescue mission right now; they had far more complicated things to think about.

As you sat in the chair for a while, wrapped in the oversized jacket Arthur lent you, your eyes became familiar with your surroundings. Finally, you could breathe out, although the stress from the predicament you just got yourself into raced through your body, making it hard for you to rest. It was dark and cold, and you missed the comforts of falling asleep in your bedroll at the lookout, surrounded by the women’s quiet whispering. Although, you felt safe enough knowing Arthur was outside in case anyone would stumble upon you two.

There was a large table in the middle of the room where Arthur had placed his satchel and some benches adorning the walls by the stove. A fireplace was by one of the walls with various portraits perched on it, along with some candles and other trinkets. Yawning, you stepped up from the seat, wrapping the jacket tighter around you as you stepped towards the wall, examining the portraits. You wondered who they were as you ran your nimble fingers over the dusty surface, a stoic face now starting to show. You laughed slightly under your breath; the man looked downright horrified as the woman beside him smiled warmly. Was that his wife? You turned the frame, squinting so you could read the writing.

“Ms.Hevett with son, Mr.Hevett.” Hmm, they both appeared to be very old. Mamas-boy maybe? You giggled again, putting your hand over your mouth to dull the sound. Returning the portrait, you glanced around. Oh, maybe Arthur had a match to light the candle! Well, of course, he had a match; he smoked every chance he got.

You tiptoed towards the door as it creaked when you pushed it open quietly. You called out for Arthur gently, seeing him leaning on the fence. His head turned to yours, alarmed, looking behind you as his hand rested on the gun in his holster. “You alright?” The words flew out from his mouth as he tensed, walking towards you. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just wondered if you have a match.” He looked at you for a moment, then furrowed his brows as he grabbed the edge of the door. “A match? Why? You don’t smoke.”

You glanced sheepishly at him now, realizing you might be bothering him. “Well, there’s a candle in there, and I just, I, would be more comfortable if it wasn’t so dark. That’s all.” He scoffed slightly at your words. “You supposed to be sleepin’; what does it matter if it’s dark?” He asked you in disbelief. You only pursed your lips, staring at him as the moonlight reflected on his face. A sigh left him as he beckoned you inside, giving one last glance around the outside of the cabin.

“This candle right here. If only we had some firewood, we could also warm the place. See, there’s a fireplace! I imagine the house was cozy when it wasn’t run-down.” You babbled as he followed behind you, reaching for a match in his bag. As he did at camp yesterday, he lights the match at the sole of his boot. Immediately, it casts the room in a warm blanket. It didn’t feel so eerily anymore, and the flame flickered around you softly.

He raised his brows as he spoke. “First, you want me to light this damned candle, and now you want me to go chop us up some wood?” He sounded more amused than his earlier cranky mood, but still, you looked at him unamused. “It was just an observation, alright?”

He chuckled lightly as he looked at you, observing you for a few seconds before speaking up. “You okay to sleep now?” His rough voice spoke the words as he motioned to leave again.

“Um, sure. Arthur, did you know a mother and her son had been living here? It said so on the portrait. I wonder what happened to them?” The words left you hurriedly, looking to say something to make him stay with you for a while longer. It was hard to explain, but you felt safer with him. In here. With you.

You pointed towards the portrait. He glanced at you shortly before stepping back into the room. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been here a few times.” His answer was short.

“Oh.”

The air was stuffy, and the tension grew thick as you looked at each other. Neither of you knew what to say since Arthur always seemed to get tongue-tied around you, and you were unsure of how to converse with him. You draped the jacket even closer, staring at the floorboards.

“Ya still cold?” He startled you slightly, your head perking up at his words. “Umm, yeah, a little, but the jacket’s helping… so.” He nodded at you, grabbing the belt with his hands, tightening his lips together, his eyes never leaving yours. He looked like he was expecting you to say something, waiting for the words to leave your mouth.

“Oh, sorry, you’re probably cold as well. Here you can have it back.” You stepped towards him, the jacket slipping off your shoulder.

“No, no. You take it, I’m used to it, alright?” His words were kind and selfless, and you felt terrible for not bringing your own jacket. Of course, he was cold; it was freezing in here. Knowing he cared enough for you to put your comfort before his own made your heart beat slightly faster.

Once again, he went to exit the door and leave you in the empty house, but the moment he opened it, the words left you before you could stop them.

“Will you stay in here?” It was silent as the raindrops started to fall outside, pattering on the roof as the tension grew suffocatingly thick. Glancing at you with his head bowed, he cleared his throat.

“It’s just I’ll feel safer with you in here. That’s all.” Feeling the need to explain your sudden outburst, you felt a blush rise at the humiliating situation. He probably thought you were childish, finding your words annoying and demanding.

Giving you a curt nod, he closed the door behind him, pushed one of the side tables against the door, and locked it.

“It won’t rain in, so don’t worry. Now,” He leaned back on the chair by the table in the middle of the room, putting one leg over his other to lean the ankle against it, taking his gun out of the holster and cleaning the dirty metal. “Get some sleep. We’ll set out in the morning.”

You listened to him this time and sat on the chair, bringing your legs up towards your chest as you closed your eyes. You knew it would. be hard for sleep to find you, but you still gave it a chance.

You were wrong; you were able to sleep. But it didn’t last you very long, for the cold had seeped through both skin and bones, leaving you with tremors running through your already shaking body. You could still hear the thunder in the distance and the heavy rain splattering against the wooden roof. You opened your eyes, finding another pair staring right at you. You felt your stomach turn, the display of emotions running deep in his eyes as he observed you. His legs were spread wide where he sat, keeping sight of both you and the door in case someone barged through. The flickering of the faint light hit his eyes, painting his otherwise blue eyes a darker tone. It felt like a dream.

“Alright, that’s enough.” A heavy sigh left the man as he stood up. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he walked over to you. Grabbing under your arms, he lifted you as he sat on the chair. Gently, he placed you on his lap, with your head resting on his neck and legs draped over his thighs.

“Jesus, woman, you’re freezing.” As he talked lowly, you could feel his voice rumble in his chest, the feeling soothing against you.

Oh, darn it, he was warm. How could he be so warm? No thoughts except warming your freezing frame made you wrap your arms around his waist, the thick jacket covering both of you. You felt his hands run over your arms, trying to warm you up as you moved against him, relishing in the heat from his body as you nuzzled your cheeks in the crook of his neck.

And finally, you fell asleep.

“Arthur.” Jolting awake, Arthur’s eyes widened in the candle-lit room. His whole body tensed up as he gazed down at you, alarmed.

Seemingly unhurt, a worried expression was on your beautiful face.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked you. Shushing him, you placed your hand on his bicep carefully.

“You were mumbling in your sleep. Is everything alright?” Your eyes were tired but warm as he blinked down at you, now noticing his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you towards him. “Yeah, ’m alright.” His words were low, choked at the sight of you staring this tenderly at him. This was a dream, he told himself.

As his arms relaxed around you slightly, you wrapped yours tighter around his neck. He was so suffocating, his scent surrounding you from every direction as you basked in its grasp. His eyes were intense, the now sullen look he always carried vulnerable, as the folds around his eyes evened out. It still felt like you were in a dream, and you longed for it never to end. Good dreams never found you, but now you had it in your hands as the comforting blanket cloaked around you like Arthur was wrapped around your scorching body.

No words were spoken as you gasped slightly, nimble hands stroking up his arms as the broadness stretched against his shirt. His cheek was warm when you placed your trembling fingers on his scruff, tracing small figures as you observed the scar on his jaw and the slight bend of his nose from getting it dislocated often. As you grazed his skin, your eyes never left him, even when he closed them to revel in your touch. Being this close to him was comforting; the contact was foreign to you but something you had longed for. Feeling wanted by him was what you wanted your dreams to turn into for the longest time. And it finally did.

The world around you grew quiet; only your breathing was audible as his chest moved under you, heavy intakes of breath raking through him. Letting your gaze fall to his lips, yours parted slightly. Through hazy eyes, you closed the small distance between you. A warm surge spread through you as his chapped lips met yours, his slight beard tickling your skin. A low moan escaped at the contact, and your heart burst at the seams, the fire flaring and oozing with each movement. You always wondered what pressing your lips against his would be like, his stoic character making it feel like your wishes were miles away. But now you knew, and it felt better than you imagined. His hands were still around your waist, holding you tightly as you felt all the excitement overflowing in your veins at his apparent contentment of your actions.

You snuggled into him, holding his cheeks and caressing them with your thumb. Slowly, you leaned your head back, feeling dizzy from the emotions clouding your brain. He followed you as you pulled away, almost as if you hauled him towards you like tied with a lasso. His breath warmed your skin as his lips were placed in the conjecture of your neck as he leaned against you. As you giggled slightly from the tickling sensation, he breathlessly chuckled as he left wet trails up to the space under your ear, caressing the small of your back with his large hands. His gloved hand against the fabric of your blouse felt enticing, your back arching due to his touch, your upper body now pressed flush against him. You held his head close as your hands were buried in his thick hair. His lips found yours again, shifting against you fervently as he moved with more vigor.

Of course, it was a dream, Arthur thought to himself. It bled into every nightly thought he has had of you now for the longest time. Your scent reached his nostrils. It was so sweet, so you. Small arms were wrapped around him, and your legs were now glued at either side of his thighs as your soft lips touched the skin under his ears in a silent kiss. Shivers wracked through his body as he ran his coarse hand alongside your waist, the soft woolen fabric hugging the curve of your waist tightly. Small gasps emitted from you as your hands ran up his stomach to his chest, planting small, tender packs against the slightly sunburnt skin, looking up at him through hooded eyes. Sinful, that’s how you looked.

He lifted you slightly, capturing your soft lips in his. The sweet caress of your skin against his felt divine, the wet noise of your tongues finding each other mingling with the sound of the rain outside. As the jacket slid down your shoulder, the man was left staring at the soft curve of your round breasts, revealed from the unbuttoned cotton of your blouse, the slight hardness of your nipples showing through the fabric.

“Arthur”

“Mmh.” He was too far gone now, but he kept assuring himself he was dreaming. You would have never put your hands on him if he wasn’t. He had noticed how you huddled closer to him from the cold when you rode on the horse, your figure nestling against his, curves snug against him. Did you do it on purpose? Were you aware of what you were doing to him? He was still trying to recover from what transpired in his head when you escaped the riders. No, not from the bullets seeking to pierce his flesh, but your bottom. Your soft, tantalizing rear. It had been flush against him as you leaned forward earlier, the round hips taunting him temptingly, almost as if they begged for his hands to caress the soft curves that stretched the fabric that covered it. Damned skirt. What he would have done to push it up your legs and reveal the tender flesh hidden beneath them. Your slit bare against the saddle’s leather as you squirmed, jiggling your cheeks like you were begging Arthur to give in to your desire. Shit. He shouldn’t have been thinking about you like that, not when you were right before him.

Leaning forward slightly, you ran your fingers through Boadicea’s mane as you patted her neck. You spoke, but the words that left your mouth turned into nonsense in his clouded head.

He had given you some nonsensical answer as he stared down at you through hazy eyes as your hips moved in sync with the horse’s motion, words flexed mindlessly out of his mouth as his restraint seemed non-existent. Your terms of cheerful disbelief grew distant as heat traveled through his body at his unholy thoughts, mouth too dry to give you a coherent answer. His hands moving on the reigns, trying to keep them from indulging your softness against him so he could feel the tremendous friction he was sure would send him straight to heaven. Christ, you riding on a horse should be illegal.

But now you were here, with him, and he had your soft body in his grasp. The tension from his earlier thoughts became apparent, his hands moving on their own as they familiarized themselves with your curves that felt so real. Too real.

Suddenly, you felt his hands on your button as he hastily lifts you. Automatically, your legs seek ahold of his waist, arms around his neck. He moved quickly over the floor as the lightning lit up the room from the cracks in the door, laying you down on the table and leaning down to cover your body with his. He was so close to you now, feeling every part of him press against you—every aspect.

Snap!

Frozen in place, wide eyes adorn your face from the sudden sound. Arthur was still above you as he sharpened his ears, finding it difficult to hear since the rain hit the ground loudly outside. The snap had been just outdoor, like someone stepping on a branch. Panicked, you tried to find a reasonable explanation: an animal, a branch falling, or maybe Boadicea had moved.

Slowly, Arthur raised his body from yours, leaving you flustered and scared on the table. With a frightened stare, you looked at him as he raised his finger to his mouth, slowly stepping away so the wooden planks wouldn’t creek. Leaning against the door’s side, his hand rested on his pistol. Stay still. His eyes told you to do as he said, and so you did. It’s not like you were able to anyway, your muscles petrified. They had found you. The worst outcome filled your mind; what would they do to you if they got the upper hand? Turn you in, or worse, put a bullet between your eyes?

The loud noise of the door slamming open made you shoot your eyes toward it, finding Arthur standing in the doorway with his pistol pointed out into the dark.

“Aw, shit.” His throaty voice was laced with disbelief, making you lift your head from the table. Your laugh filled the space as the back of your head hit the table with a loud clang, eyes squeezed shut from the sight in front of you. It had seemed like Boadicea had found a friend, the stallion standing still from the sudden intrusion and ran away in haste. “C’mon, get outta here!” The surprised man cursed after the horse, beckoning it out as your hands found your face. The adrenaline still racing through you made your hands shake as the hilarity of the situation made you speechless. Placing your hand on your racing heart, you sat up as the old cutlery clinked underneath you, hearing Arthur’s loud, angry steps hit the porch steps.

Standing before you, he sighed at your amusement, but you could see a slight smile worm its way underneath his frown. Although it quickly disappeared as he gazed at you before him. Right.

What in the world were you thinking? Now clear-minded, the intimacy you had shared entered your mind. Shame rose in you as your cheeks blazed, taking ahold of your blouse to cover your exposed state.

“Um…” You didn’t have the chance to finish the sentence before he cut you off. Hastily, he grabbed his rifle on the table and the pouch in harsh movements, making sure not to touch you before he went towards the door with big steps.

“It’s soon morning. Stay here until then; we’ll leave in a while.”

After the door slammed shut, the quietness was deafening. Now alone, you could see the slightest bit of light entering the cracks in the walls, but it didn’t ease the heaviness in your chest. It hadn’t been a dream, you thought to yourself. Every minute had been actual: his coarse hands, desperate lips, and body heat. If you closed your eyes and focused enough, you could still feel the traces of fingers over your clothing as his smell reached your nose once again, like he had united with the ghosts of this house and now haunted you. Taunting you. Why had he reacted so yet touched you so fiercely? You felt a pang in your chest at the thought, not understanding.

Opening your eyes, you buttoned your blouse in shame and put your hands on your cheeks as you lifted yourself off the table. It was still chilly in the room but not as bad as the night before. Mindlessly, you wandered over the space, sat in the chair where Arthurs’s jacket lay, and brought your knees up to your chest, hugging it tight with your arms. The blissful moment you had together faded, the warm touches dimmed into cold, malicious blows to your heart as the hope of finally having a pleasant dream vanished, the moment turning into an all too familiar nightmare.

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melodrama-ticcc · 6 months

Text

— “ 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 ” ; 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕𝐈𝐈

𝐒𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐌𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐲

𝘈 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴.

𝙃𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙠 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙞𝙩.

𝘈 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘛𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥.

𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫. 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧. 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧.

ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ: ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿˢ ᵐᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐᵉˢ. ⁱ.ᵉ. ᵈᵒᵐᵉˢᵗⁱᶜ ᵛⁱᵒˡᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃᵇᵘˢᵉ, ᵍʳᵃᵖʰⁱᶜ ᵛⁱᵒˡᵉⁿᶜᵉ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗᵃˡ ⁱˡˡⁿᵉˢˢ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵘʳᵈᵉʳ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ʳᵃᵖᵉ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ˢᵘⁱᶜⁱᵈᵉ, ᵐⁱˡᵈ ᵍᵒʳᵉ, ʳᵉˡⁱᵍⁱᵒⁿ, ˢᵉˣᵘᵃˡ ᵗʰᵉᵐᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢⁱᵗᵘᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ.

—

The bitter scent of cow dung and wet earth taints the air as they drive through the countryside with the windows of Johnny’s truck rolled down, the crisp air of fall frisking in and nipping at their pink-tinctured cheeks. The hazy sun that shines above them is shrouded in an onslaught of melancholy-looking clouds, gray and fluffy. As though God himself knew it was to be a day of foreboding and augury.

He is intoxicatingly respectful, a pleasant counterpart, his actions nothing short of chivalrous. Even with his right hand rested atop her left knee and his twilight eyes shifting hastily from the road to the low cut of her top and her complacent countenance.

He seems prideful, that was simply in his nature, she knew that. But still, the smug and pompous visage he wore was nothing short of self-congratulatory. He knew well and good what he’d set out to do all this time, and his accomplishments continued to fuel the fire that fueled his innermost desires.

At first sure, he imagined what it would be like to kill her, to have her delectable body parts hanging on display in the cold room with the rest of his favorites. He debated what she’d taste like; would she be savory, sweet, tangy? Perhaps her difficult temper made her somewhat sour. Though maybe she’d be tough, chewy, her stubbornness giving her a rough mouth feel. Or, she was tender and soft, perfectly meaty on account of that finely toned body of hers. But he settled on spicy, with just the faintest modicum of sweet, like honey. It suited her well, that difficult personality intertwined with her pleasing appearance.

Inevitably he’d decided against devouring her early on, had a change of heart one might call it. For there had always been something special about her, a certain uniqueness that shared likeness with no other. She was perfectly imperfect, a wonderful mess.

From the moment he’d laid eyes on Rebecca and her starlet veneer he was smitten by those big blonde curls and doll-like eyes. In them her crazy wrought, beckoning him like wailing red sirens. He knew, he always knew. It was her passion for carnage and the sanguine that possessed him to have such a desire to court her, for he saw the potential, the endless capabilities of what her savage fantasies could provide both him and the family. That had been the prime reason behind his efforts to expedite the process, get her to show her true colors before he’d indoctrinate her into the family tree. Of course, he’d never admit just how maddening she could be, how effortlessly heady. Just like he’d never be able to deduce how badly he’d needed companionship, someone to understand him. Or the way he dreamt about her so lewdly; her nude body drenched in someone else’s blood while he rutted into her and grazed over her skin with his blade. Her willingness to please and entice suited him perfectly, and all the while they’d live some kind of macabre and strangely ideal life. With her that perfect little trophy wife she wanted to be so much, and he the breadwinning man of the household. A perfect front to their hedonistic world of bloodshed and Slaughter.

He hadn’t always felt that way though. There was a trial period, so to speak. The times at which he stalked her attentively and sought out her short fused temper, the times he’d make her think she was going insane, and most especially the times he’d encourage her to embrace that erratic side she despises so much. All of it, it was all a test. A test that determined whether or not his suspicions were to be proven true, whether or not she was worthy of his salvation and attention. Once they had been, the rest would come with time.

Of course she’d piss him off just as much as any other member of his family would, when she’d get a lip and mouth off or strike him. It was disrespectful sure, but he found amusement in that, he liked it when his women fought back. Thrill of the hunt you could call it, he reveled in the adrenaline the chase gave him, it was a game and he loved playing it. That, and he was certain she’d become eager to cater to him in no time, this was only a part of the process.

And yet despite all that fussing she made, all the bold proclamations of hatred and detestation she’d voiced, she sat here in his passengers seat. Akin to the possessive hand rested over her knee and his sinful eye undressing her divine body in brief gazes of lust. He could’ve kept her in the cold room and toyed with her corpse whenever he pleased. Could have sex with it whenever he wanted. But that could have very well been a waste of potential. He’d said it before, she was different. Not like those adulterous girls he brought home for meat, no. She had the bad man in her like he did.

“I watched that movie you told me ‘bout, the one from the drive in, you ‘member?”

“You talkin’ ‘bout Psycho, darlin’?” He smiles.

“Yeah, I watched it.” Becca looks to her hands, watches as they fiddle with one another before she looks back up, then to him. “Liked it an awful lot, there’s just one thing about it, ya’ know, kinda rubs me the wrong way.”

“What’s that?” Johnny only chortles, glancing to her.

“Well, why’s it always gotta be the boys killin’ the girls.” She huffs, pausing only to be met with his intrigued attention. “I just, I hate it. Makin’ us out to be some helpless little thangs.”

“What you mean we?” Johnny shakes his head. “You ain’t a girl, you know that, surely.”

“What you gettin’ at?”

“Oh come on now pretty thing, you ain’t no girl. Girls are childish, immature, naive, girls ain’t able to hold the house together and make a home, a family, you know that. Girls ‘re what I bring home and use for meat. You’s smart, use that head of ya’s.” His statement is met with an image of both confusion and wonder, staring to him with curious eyes and a bewitched demeanor to her. Johnny only smiles, looking her over with those damn captivating eyes. “You a woman. Ain’t no girl, that’s what’s the difference.”

It must’ve clicked then, for the look on her face mirrored than of an epiphany. Her perspective shifting in that instance, eyes wide with adoration. He saw something in her. She knew it. No man had ever looked to her so seriously before, with so much reverence and praise.

“You right.” It’s matter-of-fact, a soft, gentle smile spreading over her features. She seems proud. “But why it’s got to be the girls gettin’ preyed on by those insignificant little boys, I can’t help but wonder, what if it were the other way around? What if the girls killed the boys, what if they were feared in the same regard boys were. I want that.”

“Darlin’, you have that.” Johnny laughs. “Not all girls are capable of such things, it’s too easy. Women, women are capable. It’s a rare thing ain’t it, you’s a rare thing. That’s what makes you so special. You gettin’ it now?”

Again his words of veneration are met with a proud smile, her chin tilting upwards in a prideful display. It feels good coming from him.

“Yeah, yeah.” Her voice is soft, mousy, a gentle nod as she stares out the windshield. “Yeah I am.” She grins. “Ya’ know, momma always wanted to be a movie star. Used to tell me I ruined that for her.”

“You look lots like a star, I think. Could be one if you really wanted to.”

“Daddy used to tell me that. Now I think he’d much rather keep me at home.” She lets out a mirthless laugh. “Think he’s scared of what I’d do, that I might turn into momma. Momma couldn’t do it though, she was never as good as me. She was a girl.” Johnny smiles a proud smile, cheeky even, unlike his typical, more ominous one.

There’s a long period of silence that follows, one fueled by the trepidation of their deep thoughts.

“Johnny, you ever dream ‘bout it?”

“All the time, why?”

“I reckon I always think ‘bout it,.”

“So why don’t you get on with it then?”

“Hm?”

“I mean actually doin’ it darlin’. Dreamin’ ain’t ever did anybody any good.”

“And just why should I tell you that?” Ah, there’s that difficult attitude he came to know. “You forget I still ain’t know what to think ‘bout you. I shared enough.”

“Ah, but you sit here with me ramblin’ on ‘bout how you’d kill a man, what is it, with that wood splitter of ya’s? Ya. You real good with that.”

“Why you.”

“Ya know, ain’t no use in stallin’. I reckon you get on with it. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little killin’, it’s just meat.”

“Quit it Johnny boy, easier said than done.”

“Then watch me do it.”

Doe eyes caught like a deer in headlights meet his stoic gaze, a clear indication of his gravitas. It might have seemed like the least daunting exchange between the two of them, only she would have never expected such a blatant counteroffer. In the meantime she isn’t certain what to make of it, earnestly considering it before her desire for autonomy provokes the demons in her.

“No. I can do it myself, thank you.” She speaks impertinently. She could, she would prove him wrong. She didn’t need a man to show her how to facilitate her dominance and sovereignty over those insignificant boys. This was yet another thing she could domineer control over. “We ain’t friends just yet, stay outta my business.” Well now he’s gone and got her all uppity.

“Suit ya’ self, but offers on the table.”

Downtown Newt holds a plethora of run down buildings, shabby edifices and rutty looking store fronts that appear to be downright unsuitable. Shrouded in overgrown greenery and uncut grass, the establishments scatter throughout the place on either side of the main road, and somewhere along that hauntingly abandoned strip is Lewis’. A small, albeit useful hardware store washed away in faded eggshell paint and a dingy old street sign. It’s exterior is beyond rotted, the warped wood of its structure flipping upwards against the bottom edges of the building and the ligneous textures strip and prod out at passerby’s. 7270 Hangs from rusted nails, the first seven drooping upside down and the zero missing it’s upper half. A silk web is weaved from the eves of the roof to the decaying wood of the wall, the widow that inhabits it intricately spinning it’s threads around a horse fly trapped in it’s web. It’s a shit house. At least from what Rebecca could tell.

As she steps out from the parked truck and slams shut the metal door, Becca shoves her hands into her trouser pockets and treads toward the front door of the establishment, Johnny quick on her heels before he takes the lead.

“We’ll be quick. Just need a few thing ‘fore we can head back home.”

The inside is just as dilapidated as the out, stained and chipped paint with rotted wood racks for aisles. For being a hardware store, the place hadn’t seen much attention in some time. Even the dim yellow lights struggle to do as their meant, flickering every so often and buzzing like the bumble bees that soar around the sunflower fields. As they enter, a bell chimes and the clerk glances up from the newspaper he reads at the derelict counter. His suspicious expression is a clear indicator of his cynicism. He drops the paper and raises one of those fluffy, gray brows. His eyes hold the tales of a thousand wise men, full of life and knowledge one could only begin to fathom. It’s as though he knows everything and everyone, looking in them as though he’d known them all his life. The top of his head is bald, the surrounding area covered in a short layer of gray hair. He’s a large man, rotund but not so big that it’s concerning. He looks to Johnny all most angrily, then to Becca with a knowing look.

“Welcome to Lewis’, ain’t seen you ‘round here before.” His thick mustache moves when he talks. The man rises from his chair, watching Johnny pluck some rope from the back aisles. “Must be new, I know everyone ‘round here.”

“You’ll have to excuse me, my daddy ‘n I moved here ‘bout a month ago from Tulsa. I’m Rebecca Payne, live in that old farmhouse up county road one seventy two.” There’s that southern hospitality and cheeky smile, a graceful charm about her as she steps to him and offers to shake his hand. “Pleasure to meet you sir. Perhaps you’ve met my father, Raymond Payne?”

The man only laughs, a hearty chuckle that both confuses and alarms her. She drops her hand back to her side, curious as to his reaction. It’s odd, she can’t tell whether or not she likes or dislikes the man. Normally it would have taken her a matter of seconds to deter whether or not she felt inclined to trust someone. But this man was morally ambiguous. Though she knows one thing for certain; he has a strong distaste for Johnny.

“Uh huh. So you’s the ones livin’ up there with the Slaughters huh?”

“Pardon, yes, the Sawyers.”

“Right.” He calms. “Names Willie. Willie Lewis. S’nice to see a pretty face in these parts. Reckon I ain’t met yer’ father just yet, have ‘em come by sometime.”

“Real nice to meet you mister Lewis, this your place?” Rebecca’s look is dazzling and charismatic, her cunning persona out in the face of the stranger. Even so she can feel the ominous glare of Johnny’s eyes on her, a perpetually familiar feeling that draws itself in intense hatred and disdain.

“Sure is.” As he responds, Johnny comes walking through the two of them, tossing some rope, electrical wire and yellow work gloves on the counter. He gives her a bewildered glance, as though he’s annoyed about something. Before exchanging a look with Mister Lewis, one she cannot see but can only imagine is deadly given the displeasure on the man’s face as Johnny heads out the door.

“Grabbin’ my change, I’ll be back in.”

Just as soon as he’s out the door Mister Lewis leans in close, motioning with the wave of his hand for her to come near.

“Now you listen here girl, well and good.” With the same delighted smile on her lips she steps near, confusion laced in her brows as they screw upwards ever so slightly.

“Pardon?”

“You best stay away from that boy and them Sawyers all together you understand? They’s dangerous, ain’t all there those ones. You aughtta be real careful, ‘specially bein’ a looker like you. I been here some time, I know a thing or two ‘bout the folks ‘round here and summin’ ain’t right there I can tell ya’ that much.”

“Right.” Becca’s grin only grows, giving him a knowing look as she moves toward the ice box sat up on the counter and grabs two bottles of pop. She wonders what he means by that, the Sawyers. He seemed to be a loony old man, driven skeptical with old age and changing times. The Sawyers had seemed strange sure, a peculiar type of people. Unlike anyone she’s become acquainted with before. And Johnny well, he was Johnny. The homicidal maniac she’d come to be rather tolerable of. Still, the thought of what he’d meant does not fall on deaf ears, she lingers on it for a time.

“You know why they call this place Muerto County, huh?” She meets his gaze with a puzzled look. “‘S what those Spanish speakin’ people call death or summin’, this place is cursed. There’s a reason for that. Now you best heed my words girl, s’for ya’ own good.” Mister Lewis points a finger to her, his visage one of concern and patronization. To which she only chuckles and nods her head, glancing towards Johnny as he swings the door back open and steps inside.

“I’ll be real sure to keep that in mind sir, thank you.”

The remainder of the exchange is tense and stiff. It’s abundantly clear to her that Johnny is peeved about something, his dastardly semblance the final component in this puzzling conclusion. As she links her arm in his and hands him the open bottle of pop, the bubbly drink still fizzing and bubbling as the cool air oozes from its small lip, she raises her brows. Watching when he swings open the truck’s door and guides her inside.

“What’d that bastard say to you?” It’s only confirmation that he’s seething with unbridled rage, she’d only ever witnessed his heinous temper once. That time she’d been on the receiving end of his lunacy.

His inquiry is met with skepticism and hesitancy, as she brings the cold glass bottle to her lips to take a swig from that crispy tasting liquid. She’s matter-of-fact, without care. Sure Mister Lewis’ warning was odd and vague, but it didn’t much bother her.

“You mad?” Becca shakes her head. “‘S nothin’ Johnny boy, goin’ on ‘bout how you ‘n yer folks are dangerous or summin’, didn’t much care for his warnin’.” Her eyes narrow to him like a Hawk it’s prey, leaning forward just to get a better look at the bitterness written in his handsome features. “Tch, what’s he mean by that anyhow? Y’all hidin’ somethin’, huh?”

“It’s nothin’ girl.” He pauses as if to ponder. “I’ll kill that bastard.” The animosity and feral hunger for blood that seethes through his words become abundantly more clear in the wake of his fiery hot madness. Instinctively she moves to grip the wrist of the hand that held the truck door open, crushing the rough skin tightly in her grasp as she looks to him with warning. Her skin is as cool as ice, on account of that cold drink she’d been holding. And his as hot as fire, heat radiating off of him in thick waves. His gaze shoots to her and he feels as though he should just rip her grasp right off of him there, but she holds tightly, squeezing in a death grip that draws him from those irritable thoughts.

“And what goods killin’ him now aught to do, huh?” Now she’s angry, her brows furrowing downwards in a telling scowl.

“Becca, he disrespected me, he disrespected us, ‘nd the family!” He speaks in disbelief, as though it were something she should have known. His body looms over her as he inches closer, a hand grasping at her silky soft golden locks as he presses his forehead to hers with an ardent stare. “Better if you find out now — I ain’t take too kindly to bein’ disrespected. Tsk. He think he can talk you up like that ‘n then talk mess on the family well I don’t think so. Tryna pin you ‘gainst me, that’s what he doin’.” He spits, eyes trailing to the dirt ground before they flicker back to hers. There’s an intensity to them like she’s never seen before, a fervent passion for vengeance and the unattainable. They’re wild and deranged, poisoned with his own turbulent mind and bloodlust. “I’ll kill ‘em. I’ll kill ‘em if you want me to you just say the words darlin’.” The grip on her hair tightens, pulling at those smooth strands as she plants a foot to his stomach and kicks him back. He stumbles a tad, his grip faltering as he instead ops to hold onto the frame of the truck to steady himself.

“Quit it, killin’ ‘em now ain’t gon’ do nobody any good. It’d be suspicious, think rationally and quit actin’ on impulse boy. Now stop talkin’ like that ‘n get yer ass in the truck how ‘bout that?” She’s bothered, flustered even. Angered by his irrationality and apparent inability to think in a way that doesn’t throw caution to the wind, yet flattered by his apparent adoration and call to action. He’s a fine man. That’s settled it.

Johnny appears perturbed, upset and distraught at her unwillingness to accept his offer and enact such a flagrant act of violence alongside him. Perhaps he’d expected her to be more understanding, more open to the idea. He’d wanted more from her, felt entitled to her unwavering devotion and respect. He only wishes to impress her, cultivate that which he craves most inside. So naturally he feels all most betrayed, vexed, his expression one of both fury and hurt. He glares something ugly, huffing as he slams shut the car door and marches his way around to the drivers side. The remainder of their “date” is silent and uneventful, even when he drops her off, Johnny helping her from her seat in his typical fashion and bidding her farewell without so much as a word. Gentlemanly, but not without fault.

Her days are somewhat quiet after that, presumably because Johnny needed time to cool off from the dissatisfaction he found at her interjection. She knew better than to foil a man’s plan, it was always best to follow suit of them. But still, she felt partially responsible for Johnny’s wellbeing, and therefore thought it best to think practically. Something she’d found Johnny failed at when it came to his temper and sadistic urges. Still, the faults seem insignificant in light of how fit of a man he seemed to me. Maybe, she thought, just maybe, she could see herself alongside him.

But what a humorous little thought that was.

Johnny’s absence only stirred the complicated pot of controversy within her, concocting some deviant idea of an ideal world. One where she would cultivate a family of her own, and with it came the rush of those adulate emotions and the never ending pendulum of bitter resentment and desperate romance. A feeling that had become a new custom in her newfound self, though she had yet to adjust or counteract that insufferable phenomena of lost control. The fleeting feeling is all to familiar, and still just as agonizing. And still she found it difficult and tiring how he not once stopped by to see her, again, there was not a single trace of Johnny Sawyer.

With the influx of irrational feeling and fear of her own thoughts, the cravings quickly became the center of her attention. A twisted vision of of the grotesque and morbid, a delightful mess of her thoughts. She dreamt of the moment she’d enact it all, thriving in the phantom feeling of that cathartic act. In those moments her sovereignty would come rushing back to her in a euphoric affair of the sickening and deadly.

She’d thought about how she might find one, her first victim. Dreamt up what he would look like and how he would act. She pondered about the many interests he might have, what type of girls he was into, what he was studying, his goals and aspirations. She often settled on the physically brute, men that seemed so masculine and attractive, it made it all the more purposeful when she stole their own lives from them. She thought about how she’d wait until all the college kids came out on weekends to the bars in out in Pleugerville, how she’d get dressed up real nice in a short little dress with her makeup done all pretty and her hair blown out and messy. How she’d so effectively advertise herself as one of those sluts that whored themselves out to immature boys. She’d sit at the bar shooting whiskey, keeping a cautious eye on those who entered; who was in a group, who was alone, who was drunk and looking to score. It was easier to take advantage of those types it seemed.

Rebecca thought about how she’d strut over in those heeled pumps and bend over just enough so that he could see her cleavage poking out of her little dress. How she’d twirl her hair and bat her lashes, blabbering incoherent nothings and enticing him to come home with her with the promise of giving him the night of his life. How she’d carefully look for the perfect opportunity to leave with him unnoticed by those in the bar and drive him back to the farmhouse just an hour away. How she’d watch the excitement or arousal yearn in his eyes and the slick smile spread across his face when she’d place him on the bed and step out with the simple excuse of giving her a minute. Only to watch the same eyes fret in terror as she came back in with an axe lurched over her head and her arms swinging the thing downward towards his bare chest. His eyes once so lustrous now turnt to a weeping mess as he cried and screamed, or at least that’s how it went sometimes.

Other times she’d ask them to step into the shower with her, reducing him to a helplessly nude and vulnerable state only to step back into the washroom with the axe gripped firmly in her right hand. Her left would draw back the curtain and she’d send the blade of her weapon barreling into his lewdly wet body. The way he would scream in agony and fear as she drew it back only to do it over and over again, it pooled the slick in between her legs and tingled her insides. She’d cut up his body until his intestines spilled outward and would laugh as he struggled to scoop them up into his trembling arms, then hack away his arms, then his legs, and remove that damned dick of his the way they gelded horses for their pestilent behaviors. Then finally the head, last so that he could watch as the woman he looked to as a piece of meat turned him into that very thing. A sorry excuse of a man, she’d never even look their way.

She’d think it up while she was getting ready in the mornings or winding down to sleep. While she was doing the dishes or cooking dinner, cleaning the house or working out in the fields. She’d wake up a sweaty mess with the tight feeling of anticipation in her core. And each time she’d get herself off on it, crossing her legs tight and winding them together in an embarrassing display of the sexually vulgar and insensitive. It was the best in the shower; when docile hands would tantalizingly gloss over her slick skin and spread the bubbles from her soap bar over the supple skin of her breasts and thighs. She’d wrap her legs about each other and squeeze them tightly, squirming in pleasure when the rush of her orgasm would come flooding in all at once. With it, the gruesome imagery of her victim’s corpse as he lay mutilated and bloody on the shower floor. Just as she pulls the axe from his severed head.

The thought crosses her mind more than once, more frequently with the day of her father’s departure arriving. He’d be gone for a few days, off to pick up the cattle they’d been prepping that farmland for for the last month and a half. It was the perfect opportunity to enact her sick little fantasy, to fulfill her wants and gain back what she’d lost. After the first kill she was sure the control garnered from it would be enough to set her straight in-spite of the growing affections she felt towards Johnny. She’d never go through with it, though.

A measly four days pass since she’d last seen him, and in that time the thoughts developed to be much more prevalent and intense. This combined with the incessant need to see him once more fosters a zealous infatuation and uncontrollable solicitude. Then, as soon as it had began, she heard the news over the radio station.

William “Willie” Lewis, a local and long-time member of the Muerto County community has been confirmed missing this morning by residents of the town of Newt. The sheriff’s department says Lewis, a businessman in the area was last seen closing his storefront off county road one seventy two three days ago. They are urging anyone with any information to come forward. Locals are now demanding information regarding the string of missing persons cases in the area of central Texas, believing the disappearance of Lewis to be related to these cases; authorities have no further information at this time.

The moment it had been said had been the moment she knew who was behind the supposed disappearance of mister Lewis. It was no question, not up for debate. It wasn’t very surprising either, he’d boldly confessed to being a vicious killer with a keen interest in murder and vengeance for those who disrespected him. Maybe she hadn’t quite understood the severity of it all; how serious he truly was. Of course she believed Johnny, but she never would have thought he’d actually do it. Rebecca wasn’t frightened by any means, but she was downright dumbstruck. And before too long she’s wandering up to the Sawyer’s porch in search of him, questions riddling her brain in a sort of perpetual state of shock and confusion. Confounded by her lack of understanding and commiserating thoughts.

The second he opens that door he’s different; reserved and uptight. He looks his usual self but she’s breathless, heart sputtering in a way that makes her think she’s floating, going through the motions. Ah, she’s missed him.

He doesn’t say anything, just glosses over her with a dazed kind of look. His dark eyes sparkling with the same intensity they always held, and she can’t help but gaze into them with a certain sense of longing, desperateness. Before he’s even through the doorway she’s opening her mouth to speak but she can’t find the words, only caught up in the way he looks to her with such purpose. Like a hungry animal does it’s prey. He the coyote and she the rabbit.

She struggles to find her voice like she never has before. For the very first time she feels bested by a man, so helplessly smitten with him like a school girl the school jock. She even forgets what she’s sauntered over here to query about, as if his actions didn’t even matter. To her they didn’t, he was just like her and that’s all she needed. He made her freakish dreams feel normal, made her feel understood, like it was all okay.

“You killed him.”

Becca just stands there, watching over his pretty features while her hands dangle at her sides and her fingers itch to graze over his rugged skin. She has yet to notice the crimson that spatters over the left side of his cheek and over his nose or the the bloodied mess that tainted his arms and stained those yellow work gloves he wore, the same ones he’d bought just days before.

“Yeah? You sound surprised.”

“No, no.” Her voice is gentle and soft, quieting to a whisper as she steps closer to him. Those velvety fingers reach up to trickle over the skin of his cheek, smearing the scarlet mess that rests upon it. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it, is all.”

“I don’t hesitate to do the things I like.” He speaks dryly, without affection. It wounds her and stings at her insides. “Guess that’s how we different after all.”

“Don’t.” Rebecca groans, her tone fading from that motherly timbre to become aggressive and cutthroat. “That’s where you’s wrong Johnny boy.” The hand that rested atop his cheek clutches a handful of his hair, pulling it toward her as she feels her temper rise. She doesn’t want him to trash this, this perfect little illusion.

“Yeah well, have yet to prove otherwise, doll face.”

“I said don’t god damnit!” She breaths out, pushing him back as she stammers toward the foot of the porch. Becca feels the emotions pricking at her insides, the burning sensation in her throat a clear predilection of her breach in sanity. “You’s ruinin’ it Johnny, just ruinin’ it.” The tears sting at her eyes, burning like hell when she tries so desperately to get herself together. She’d all but forgotten what it felt like to have it all taken away from her, forgotten how weak he made her in the wake of all those fanciful feelings. She could kill far better than he ever could, that she was sure of. But she hated that horrendous instinct of rejection that cudgeled in her. He was disappointed, she hated it when they were disappointed. It was the only other thing she couldn’t stand.

“Yeah? Tell me what it is I’m ruinin’ then darlin’, appears I’ve missed summin’.” The shit-eating grin she hates so damn much makes it’s appearance yet again, spreading over his face in a blood curdling display of patronization. The shakes begin, it starts with her arms, indicated by the balling of her fists at her sides. Then her legs, and then the rumbling and buzzing that cloud her cognitions. She can’t even hear her own thoughts, riding on the cusp of a breakdown instigated by this game of his.

“I can do it far better than you ever could you know that? You think I’m less than you, tch.”

“There’s my girl! Knew you was in there somewhere.” He laughs, stepping to her in long strides. His rough fingers intertwine themselves in the messy strands of her blonde hair, pulling at them with a fervid yank as he moves her head to his face. She groans, wincing enough to make the tears drip down her cheeks before she opens her eyes back up to see his own, fiery and uncouth with the same passion and fervidity she came to love so much. She liked it when he looked at her like that, with such unadulterated ardor. “Now, I’d like to see you try. Let’s say you put that theory to the test, huh?”

“Oh fuck off Johnny!” When she’s finally had enough she flails her arms toward him, pushing him back enough to get him to release his grasp on her as she stumbles down the steps. “I’ll prove it to you, just you watch.” She hates the way he makes her feel, all warm and tender inside. How the butterflies in her stomach flutter each time he looks at her or calls her his girl. She despises the way it makes her heart jump in her chest and the way it makes her knees shaky. “Now go to hell Johnny boy, may the lord have no mercy on your devilish soul.”

“Don’t worry,” he licks his teeth, beaming as she struts off in a bewildered state of rage and arousal. “I like it when you play hard to get. Gives me more of a challenge!”

She could do anything Johnny could.

And she could do it ten times better.

That night Rebecca had concluded she’d do just that, do what Johnny did better. After all, she’d itched to do it for so long, and it was just meat.

She’d prove him wrong.

“Three days kid, I’ll be out three days. Think you can handle that?” Raymond’s always been a man of few words; Rebecca knew just what he had meant.

“Yes daddy, I’ll be just fine.”

With a sardonic countenance and cynical proclamation he sighs knowingly, looking to the deck floor while buried deep in the paranoid cognitions of his precious daughter with her axe buried deep in that boy’s flesh. For Raymond Payne knew his daughter and the mental ails that troubled her. Despite his reluctancy to accept that. And with the ever growing tensions that had become custom in the household it was only fitting he be nervous about leaving her alone even if it had only been for a brief period. Despite how many times he’d told her or how much he’d prepared.

“You need anything, and I mean anything, you head on over to the Sawyers ‘n they’ll take care of ya’, Drayton’ll be by to check on ya’.”

“Alright daddy, quit yer’ worryin’ ‘n get on with it. Everythin’s gon be just fine, I promise you.”

“You ‘member what I told you?”

“Bout makin’ sure the troughs got hay ‘n water in ‘em and stayin’ in the house? Yes daddy, I got it.”

“Right, well,” he huffs, shifting his eyes from the ground below to her face. “I’ll be off, trailer’s here.”

“Goodbye daddy,” she plants a sweet kiss on his cheek, brushing a delicate hand over his shoulder. “I love ya’, see you in a few days.”

“Yeah,” he pulls her into an embrace, patting her back softly. “be good.”

She watches him walk down the driveway and get into the eighteen wheeler he’d rented solely for this purpose; starting it up and peeling out onto the main road. Those bulky wheels kick up clouds of dirt in curling waves, dusting over the driveway. When it clears she stands there, in a stoic state of rumination. Musing the moment she’d take the axe to a man’s throat and split him in two. She’d thought about it a lot those days, cooped up in her bedroom as she stared blankly at her reflection in the vanity mirror. Brushing through her smoothed hair with empty eyes and an emotionless expression. The same expression she wore now, void of any true indication of the morbid conceptions that passed through her head. She stood there for a time, drearily watching the weeds blow past the yard in the fall air. One moment she’s bracing the cold of the early morning and the next prepping the house to kill a man.

Every move is carefully articulated, from the axe hidden beneath a storage space she carved from the wood planks in the hall to the hatchets she hid throughout the entirety of the house’s interior as an alternative plan if things got messy. Even the plastic mats, which she so strategically laid out to avoid any unnecessary mess about the freshly moped floors. Then her look of the evening; a mini shift dress complete with those black pumps she seemed to enjoy so much. It’s neckline is high with the hem tailored just below her bum, slightly flared out at its end but form fitted to her torso. The fabric is a satin black, sleek and sultry, and it’s sleeveless style does well to elongate her elegant arms. Nude stockings accent the occasion, serving as a barrier for her skin against the brisk air of the night. Her hair is curled and astray, sprayed into some loose curls that appear much more like messy waves. Her bangs just barely covering those seductive eyes of hers that were shrouded in the blackness of her makeup, and her lips painted a dazzling merlot red.

At approximately seven o’clock Rebecca departs from her abode in her father’s old blue pickup, racing along the highway with the radio blasting slow songs from the early fifties. They’re the perfect substitute to quell her anxious thoughts and the paranoia that came with a nerve wracking first time. Yet despite this blatant observation she acts with a certain dignity and confidence, exuding the sophistication and courage of a feral animal. Hungry and vicious like the wolf.

Those animalistic eyes are searching for potentials the second she enters the parking lot of that old bar. It’s nestled up on the outskirts of Pleurgerville, within just a few miles of the local college and prime time spot for students and newly graduates alike. There, in the musty halls of that old brick building, illuminated by the purplish hues of the neon bar signs she takes the stage. Sat innocently with her legs folded over the other in a partly rusted bar stool with a disintegrating cushion. She orders a whiskey on the rocks, sipping quietly on the chilled liquid as her deadly gaze meets the eyes of the many men around her. They’re all just the same, young studs too moronic to handle a real woman, too immature to see through their own world of lies and self importance. She’d kill them all if she could, sever them all one by one and make the rest watch.

She bats her eyelashes and purses her lips, arches her back and accentuates her perky chest. They all approach her with the same sinful look in their faces, the one that tells her they’re all deserving of a visit from Satan himself. They all talk her up, at least, that’s what she lets them think. Her cool demeanor the perfect tool in getting them to fall so helplessly enthralled with her. They reek of liquor, cigarette smoke and the faintest hint of the cheap bathroom cologne. A stench that burns at her nostrils and churns her insides. All her suave small talk and hopes of attaining someone fall short in some way or another, and it becomes increasingly frustrating to gather a victim to enact this little plan of hers. They all share the same story; a college student looking for a quick hookup in their dorm. None of them are willing to venture her way, and it makes her all the more sick of them.

By the time her goldinger glass is empty, the last sip of watered down whiskey trickling down her throat, she’s about had enough of her endeavors. Eyes heavy with trounce and mind vibrating with the burden of succumbing to defeat. The notion of it all is much to dire to bare, the very concept of failure something that twists her gut and makes her feel weak and futile. And just as she begins to quake, her pretty limbs twitching in sheer desperateness, then comes the man with the emerald eyes.

His violently green irises dance about the bar before they land on her, all most as soon as her own did. It was strange, the second she’d locked eyes with him became the second she knew he’d be dead before the night was through. He looks to her in a starkly different manner than the other boys had, his own countenance one of ferality and desolation, he’s looking for an escape.

The vacant seat beside her becomes warm with his presence, not before he orders a whiskey, neat then turns to her, a suave but cunning smile gracing those features of his.

It’s strange but for a fleeting second she saw Johnny sitting beside her, the same veneer reflected in that mischievous grin. Emerald eyes is impossibly handsome, his features much like Johnny’s but without the imperfections his scars and bruises gave off. This man was well dressed too, a nice black blazer and dress slacks accompanying those designer shoes he wore. His hair is neatly tailored in a combed back fashion, slick with grease. He’s nice looking, sure, but he didn’t look like half the man Johnny was.

His name is Matthew, a businessman from out of town looking to escape the confines of his marriage and have his way with a young, pretty little filly. Lucky for her, she’d fit the part of his pathetic little fantasy.

He shared an uncanny likeness to Johnny and a personality that replicated much of Matthias’ behaviors. A no good boy looking to score a quick bang out of his wedlock. Of course, Matthias wasn’t married, only proclaimed her mother to be his one and only; a lie he told vigorously. Just as Matthias shattered Maggie’s, Matthew would break his poor wife’s heart, and that thought reminded her just how much she hated Matthias and all the men that ever did the same. Not to mention, he’d had such a sense of entitlement, as though she’d owed it to him to sleep with him. She hated that.

It isn’t his looks that draws her to him though, no, rather the pontifical nature in which he carries himself. With his head cocked high, his shoulders pushed back and an intoxicating degree of self-importance. A haughty attitude stems from his voice, accompanied by his turgid expression. Sure, he looked like Johnny. But he acted like Matthias, that was the most crucial thing of it all. Throughout the entirety of their evening together, it becomes more and more evident that Matthew is the ideal first victim. His disdain for girls, his pride and his dire selfishness would seal his fate with the devil. Rather than see him as Matthew, she perceives him to be that damned Matthias, especially with the way in which he so desperately throws himself to her. But that’s precisely what makes it so easy to get him so drunk, to the point where he’s falling over in his seat and slurring his speech like some imbecile.

The longer she indulges his conversation the more he drinks, and the more he drinks the easier it becomes to lure in her prey into thinking how great an idea it was to travel a whole hour away for a quick hookup. Through their interactions her animosity for the boy grows, turning feral with resentment and unadulterated anger. It resurfaces the fretful feelings from long ago, that which she harbored before Matthias himself had died. It was that same phenomenon, that same hatred, rekindled in this person, Matthias’ very own rival. And it didn’t take long for her to coax him into joining her for the evening in her isolated little farmhouse just an hour away from the motel he’d been staying at. She cares little about their conversation; turning it in and out of her sadistic and inhumane thoughts of human torture and mutilation. One thing she’s sure of though; he’s a piece of shit for seeking a hall pass like this, defiling his poor and unsuspecting wife. She’d be setting that woman free getting rid of this sorry excuse for a husband.

But then again, surely his wife must’ve done something to dissatisfy him or deter him. Perhaps she wasn’t the rightful woman Rebecca had made her out to be. She’d never let her man become so desperate, she knew how to keep them satiated. How pitiful.

It was all most too easy, so linear and straight forward. Like all the pieces of the puzzle had perfectly fallen into place the moment he stepped into that bar. He was the perfect first kill, a walking symbol of everything she despised most, the very type of male she strove to enact her revenge upon. Just as she’d fit the role in his own selfish fantasies, he so flawlessly made the part in her own. The stupid little man child that thought he could so seamlessly get into her pants, a ruiner of lives, a terrible partner, a walking sin. It was as though she were playing God, taking matters into her own hands and enacting his will.

He talks ceaselessly, on and on about his personal dilemmas and home life as if he’d meant to hold it above her head; as though he held some sort of precedence over her. His pride is just as much insufferable as his lust, and the way he speaks to her and looks her over with such disrespect and carelessness for her own humanity is disgusting. So much so, it’s a wonder how she hasn’t broken character and done something drastic. No, instead she listens in and out of static, carefully, her eyes glued to the highway as she resides in the blissful darkness that were her cognitions. She was daydreaming, thinking about it, the moment his fantasy would evolve into a nightmare and her fantasy a reality. Watching those dreamy emerald eyes swell with fear and utter agony was the moment she kept drawing back to, eagerly awaiting in deviant anticipation and yearning.

He’s a man that’s had everything handed to him throughout the entirety of his short life, a newly wed and appointed chairman of his father’s wealthy company. That only angers her worse, the way he so nonchalantly flaunts his blessings as though he was God’s gift. She’d love to wipe away that arrogant grin of his.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he enjoys talking about himself, caring close to nothing about what others had to share. Her word is of minuscule value to him, and he goes on and on as if his own were the gospel. From what she can gather he’s an intelligent man, but far too caught up in his own self importance. So much so that it makes him stupid and clueless. He enjoys watching college football, a former Longhorn and A&M alumni, and reading about the intricacies of American politics. He’s an ardent supporter of the separation of business and state, a passionate nut case whose sole intention as a corporate rep is to reap the benefits his patrons provide. He boasts about a wealthy sum of money and a large scale inherited business, stresses the emphasis on his hefty fortune and the ease in his way of life. He promises her diamond rings and gold earrings, a Tiffany necklace with a shiny gold chain. Tells her he’d treat her out to dinner at the finest restaurants in Europe and buy her the most beautiful dresses she’s ever seen. She wouldn’t have to worry about a thing, it was an all expenses paid job where all she’d been required to do was keep her mouth shut and sleep with him from time to time. It was clear what he’d once disclosed in the bar was only a front, this man was looking for other women to satisfy the void that his wife could not.

Rebecca didn’t understand it. The man could have all the riches in the world and still never have worked a single day in his life. His white collar lifestyle was nothing to that of her father or Johnny, real men who knew what hard work was. The men who knew how to protect and provide, the ones who knew what real women wanted. This man was a coward, a repulsive little boy with no idea what the real world was like. She’d be sure to savor torturing him to death.

“Well, here we are.” It’s pitch black headed up the dirt road to the farmhouse she learned to call home. A single carriage light flickering on and off on the porch beside the front door. The dim lights of the truck provide some sort of illumination, revealing the front of the old house and it’s newly renovated state. Flower boxes adorn every window, full of vibrant yellow sunflowers and a bird feeder dangles from the awning of the porch.

“You live all alone up here?”

“Oh, yes. Just me. Got some neighbors up the way a ways.” She lies through a placid smile, irritation bubbling when he doesn’t act to help her from her seat or even bother opening the truck door for her. He’s already marching up the steps as soon as the truck’s in park. She hated that.

Matthias used to behave in such a way that women were below him, as though they were meant to serve and cater to his every will. Which would have been fine, if it hadn’t been for his distinct lack of manners and nauseating sense of entitlement he carried with him. Becca’d never forget the way he threw her mother around or slammed doors in her face, left her to fend for her weak self in times of great need, or the way he so openly disregarded their partnership in bed and threw insults and backhanded comments her way every chance he got. Matthew reminded her of him in that regard, held little to no value for a woman and lacked the gentlemanly qualities a man should possess. It was expected she bed him, expected she do everything for him, expected she be the sensual adulteress he wanted her so badly to be. It only strengthened her dislike for him; first a cheat and second an arrogant brute, the world needed less of those.

Selfish. They were selfish, tainted by the work of the devil. The men like Matthias and Matthew that valued women on their willingness to handout their womanhood in sinful affairs of lust. It was disgusting how he acted, like he was so much bigger than her. The superior being, the worthier organism, a blooming magnolia in the middle of winter. She’d never expected a man of his status to be so insufferably dishonorable, anticipated much more the transient type like Matthias or the naive college boys whose only desire was to get their dick sucked by loose women.

But that was the thing; he was just like Matthias. If it weren’t for his looks, she wouldn’t have known the difference; for their personalities matched and their morals had remained alike. They carried about them the same energy, the same type of sickening madness that tore families apart and ruined lives. Matthew was Matthias, and Matthias was Matthew. Two sides of the same coin.

So, as she opened her own door and aided herself out of the driver’s seat, marching up the porch steps and watching Matthew with a piercing stare, she felt elated at the flashes of his image torn into pieces and gorged out, painted in its own blood. The scowl on her face is replaced with an eery smile, one in which her pretty eyes are plastered open wide and her teeth look plastic.

“Here, allow me to show you up to my room.” The formality in her speech is all the more deterring. And it is then that she realizes the severity of her anger, the slight trepidation in her stature as she jumbles with the keys and unlocks the front door a clear indication. There, she’d proceed down the foyer, flickering the yellow lights in the hall on before promptly swiveling to the left. She leaves Matthew in her wake, who follows, albeit timidly, very slowly. Treading with a certain degree of caution at the peculiar changes in her mannerisms.

The house is well put together, furnished with a sort of womanly touch that gave it a cozy feel. That much is clear, but it the suspicion raises in the man’s head; there was no way she’d lived here alone. There was something about it, he was sure she must’ve had a husband.

“So, you live up here all alone do you?” His voice calls from behind, echoing against the halls of the home as she begins up the staircase. In her steps she halts, her own suspicion raising as her brow quirks upwards.

“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?” Inchmeal she turns around, a seamless movement that catches him off guard, especially with that of her off putting appearance. It’s odd, she seems all most feral, lost, and it’s then he feels the beating in his chest thud against his ribs. His gaze widens, watching as she gestures for him to follow. “Come.”

Nothing could stand in between a man and his sexual desires, Rebecca knew that. And so, without a second thought her delicate fingers are gradually unzipping the back of her little black dress. Letting the straps droop down her shoulders and the entire thing become putty around her body. The glimpse of lunacy in her fades, her prior deportment returning just as soon as it had vanished. She clasps the garment to her partially nude frame, luring him with a gentle wink and a mousy encouragement.

“You’ll have to excuse me while I get undressed, you’ll find I’m not accustomed to these types of things. I’ll understand if you change your mind, but, please, I’d love you to have me, I’m a virgin, you know?” She smiles sardonically, her lashes fluttering and eyes glinting in innocence, just as she begins to move up the steps. “My room is straight down the hall, I’ll be in the wash room. Make yourself, comfortable.”

The water is hot, singeing her velveteen skin and melting away her sin. A cocktail of steamed water and black makeup residue drip down the length of her body to wash down the drain, and the faint hum of her angelic voice sings and allures him in a near distance.

He’s laid there on the duvet of her plush bedding, belt undone and dick in hand as he thinks about the temptation of those groomed feet wrapped around the length of his hard cock. He watches the door frame, awaiting her to come out or call for him. Sure, she’s strange, but it’s part of what makes her special, captivating, like the breathless beauty she was.

“Matthias! Why don’t you just come join me!”

The faint, muffled call of her sweet southern drawl behind the sound of running water is all it takes, all it takes for him to shamelessly remove himself of his clothing and toss them to the floor as he moves to join her in the washroom. There the space is thick and muggy, clouded in a misted layer of warm steam. That which fogs up the mirrors and air, forcing him to navigate through a calming atmosphere of the exhilarating unknown and coital. His bare feet brush against the warm tile floors and the shag rugs, even kicking up her shedded dress and black panties. But when he draws back the curtain to see an empty tub, her absence draws a sense of paranoia and confusion in him. One that curdles his nervous stomach and antagonizes the lingering feeling of sexual release and venereal anticipation.

“Hey uh, pretty girl, where’d you run off to?” He teases, a hand still firm on his dick. Tracing up and down in haggard motions, eagerly awaiting the moment her nude body revealed itself to him.

“Oh! Hop on in, had to grab an extra towel, I’ll join you just a second, baby!”

It burns his skin, the stinging eliciting groans of pain and he sharply adjusts himself to turn down the temperature on the handle. As the water runs cold, his tingling skin is soothed, and his mind traverses to much more prevalent matters. Like the fantasy of her precious wet feet pressed against his lips and slipping into his mouth.

Much of her body is still soaked, droplets of now frigid water resting against the skin of her shoulders and the high points of her stoic face. Her bell bottoms are dampened with the wetness of her bathed skin and her wet torso soaks the blue tank top she’d just slipped into. Thick strands of darkened blonde locks coat her face in cold water, as she grabs the wood handle of one of the hatchets she’d set aside and that axe she’d hidden in the floor boards of the hall just in time to make out his groans of pain from the water scorching his exposed skin. Ah, it was all going according to plan.

“Hey, baby?”

“Yeah hot stuff, what is it?”

A feminine hand pulls back the curtain ever so slightly, enacting with such elegance and grace. Dainty fingers and reaching for him and grazing over the slick skin of his chest just softly. The tips of her nails dragging over it in soft traces, she draws her fingertips down further, and further, until she’s sure she’s reached that area just above his manhood. Then, with a delicate hand she takes the length of it into her palm, grasping at it softly and running her thumb carefully over its tip before she calls out to him with such a sweet tone of voice.

“You gonna stab me with this?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Surely you won’t need all this?” She teases, her grasp tightening ever so slightly, fingers gently massaging at it as it grows in size.

“Nah, but you gon’ take all of it.”

“I don’t think I’d know what to do with it, but I have an idea.” Her grip clasps down, crushing the thing in her fist as he groans out in pain and jerks backwards.

“You grippin’ it a lil’ tight there, this some sort of weird sex thing?”

“Nah, just need a good grip on it is all.” In one breakneck motion, her hand pulls him forward by his length and the other comes swinging downward with the hatchet to sever the appendage from his body. Warmth spews over her arms as she drops the thing to the floor, his screams of terror and hurt tickling at her insides in a pleasurable way. The thick of his blood coats her and sprays about the shower curtain, only alluding to that tingly feeling within, she’s aroused.

Just as soon as it happens, the curtain is drawn. The sound of the little metal beads gliding against a metallic rod sounding like the cacophony of ricocheting bullets. Like the red velvet drapes in the beautiful amphitheaters of Manhattan, there’s a clear shot of center stage. In it; an attractive male with a decent nude physique, his face that of horror-struck petrifaction. A strong boy in a most vulnerable predicament, his most lewd parts on full display for her viewing pleasure. Of course, it’s the conveyance of emotion that delights her, leaves her wanting more, the way his face turns ugly with fear and the way he becomes so weak in the presence of a true woman like her. She’d reduced him to nothing but a coward, revealed him for his true self; a helpless little boy whose been nothing short of spoiled.

“Now tell me, are you gon’ take all of this?”

The way her palms grip the splintering wood of her axe stings, those tiny fragments burrowing themselves into her fragile hands. It’s wonderful, the sensation of it all. The way the splinters in her palm dig in the tighter she holds the body of that weapon, the way he cowers beneath her, the multitude of her control.

There it was, it was all coming back to her.

The blade hoisted over her head shadows her sadistic smile. And then, it’s lodged halfway through his right shoulder.

The blissful sound of breaking skin and the slicing of flesh sounds more pretty than she could have hoped, a satisfying sound of a loud crack and tingling squelches. It’s all most lewd, the timbre of thick red spurting out onto the tub’s floor. It’s so carnivorous, a vibrant scarlet hue that intertwines nicely with the cool water that circles near the drain. And then his screams of agony, a rapturous blister of piercing octaves.

The rhapsodic smile plastered over her lips is irreplaceable; entirely unforgettable, a pretty grin full of derangement and intense joy. The corners of her mouth twitch violently, her cheeks aching in lew of her strained veneer. Those elegant brows twist up in delectation, a prime contrast of the scowl she donned just minutes before.

It’s all most too much for one woman to handle, the visceral scenery of it all a sensory overload for the body and mind. Pleasurable contractions cause a yearning feeling in between her legs, one of which would only be satiated by the one thing she desired most; watching him suffer and die at her own hand.

With a foot planted against the edge of the tub and a steady grip she rips the blade from his body, leaving a trail of blood and a pleasing pop as it’s released from the meat of his shoulder. Again, with the strong swing of her arms the blade wedges itself into the left side of his ribs, then his chest, and his bicep, and then his thigh.

Crimson splatters itself over her wet face and body, tainting her perfect image. It drips down the walls of the washroom, soaking the shower curtain and the tile floors as it pours in abundance down the drain. He’s wailing, begging and pleading between screams and cries of pain and suffering. Just what she wanted, obedience, submission.

“Please! Where the fuck am I? What do you want? What’re you doing to me? I’ll give you anything, anything you want! Just leave me the fuck alone you sick freak!”

The way he’s so helpless and begging at her feet makes the space between her legs pool with slick, pumping the adrenaline in her and arousing her just as all the times she imagined it prior. He is at her disposal, and his fate lies in her hands. The very fact alone makes her eager with anticipation of what’s to come, the pleasurable sensations building with each passing moment.

“Oh baby, you ain’t goin’ anywhere?” Becca snorts. “I’m sick of stupid boys like you thinkin’ they can just walk all over me, tch. You’s all the same, entitled little shits who break girl’s hearts ‘cause ya can’t keep it in ya’ pants. Tsk, you ain’t even hold the door open for me, what kinda man is that? I know the type all to well, all you’s do is ruin lives and walk all over girls like they some kinda objects? Nah, nah. And you know? It’s so funny how easy it is to manipulate y’all’s. Dress like a slut, give you big eyes and twirls my hair a little bit. A couple oh baby, oh babys and you’s wrapped around my finger. Pathetic. And now, look, whose the weak one, the one subject to my accord. Ain’t that summin’?”

Perhaps it had slipped her mind to keep the barrage of attacks going, but within an instant he’s pushed her backwards as he’s stumbled down the hall, something that pisses her off more than she knows. The feeling of his grubby hands against her chest a disgusting one that lingers and infuriates her. How dare he. Now, now the psychosis begins.

It all comes rushing in so fast, all most too quickly for her own comprehension. The influx of emotions and feelings, one moment she’s reveling in the satisfaction of an easy first kill and the next spiraling down a neverending nightmare.

“Fuck!”

Falling backwards her back smacks against the wet floor and her head thwacks backwards to crack against the floor. It’s a momentary stun that feels like an eternity, as she gathers herself up enough to get back up again. Her limbs tremble, legs and arms violently shaking in her typical display of mania and bygone control.

“You’ll regret that.”

A trail of blood and wet leads down toward the staircase, the tracks going cold down the steps. It’s then that the concern comes in, a faint worry blossoming in her gut. She bends down to examine it, only to feel the sharp pain of something cold injected into her shoulder.

“Die you bitch!”

A quick groan of pain and she’s turnt around to face him for the coward he is, a scowl lacing her features once more. Dark brows furrow downward and her eyes go dark, something sinister and malignant written in them. They reek of danger and peril, a clear sign of her hellish rage. Her tremoring, wet body saunters toward his cowering figure, her lowered head unmoving as she hovers over him.

There is something so exciting in the way he shivers and cries in fear and pain, his petrified body and conviction of terror enough to bring fourth the curdling in the pit of her stomach. It’s erotic, the way it tenses her insides and contorts her muscles in odd sorts of ways. She could get off and watching him suffer, get off on the sight of his mangled body and screams of despair; knowing she was the cause of it all.

“I’m going to love watching you die.” Cold. It’s cold. Her words are sharp and deadly, evocative of the apathetic devil within her.

In times like these, where her vigorously convulsing body is on the brink of an insane collapse that she’s at her strongest, her most powerful. In times where her control is thwarted and in it’s place a perpetual state of mania, indicates by her frenzied demeanor and vehement determination for vengeance. This time though, the loss of her composure has not dissipated just yet. She’s on the cusp of getting that control back, and she’s delighted with the feeling. It even sends her lurching toward the sensual furor the act stirred in her, chasing the sweet feeling of release as she drives the weapon into him.

The axe swings over her head and down to his shivering body, slicing through the hand that reaches to cease the incoming blow. He’s crying, much like a child whines for their mother and begs for aide. And again, she’s swinging down the axe to thwart into his mangled body, hacking into the flesh of his torso and watching the blood spill into a coagulated pool. His screams tickle her innermost fantasies, and despite her enchanted state and the thrill she experiences in the act her face is stilled, frozen in a state of anger.

The act itself comes easy to her, it’s simple, like a second nature, like learning to ride a bike. It’s a calm, calculated act that instills a sense of duty within her, quells the urge for the sanguinary that bludgeoned in her all that time. It’s something satiating, like the void within her had been filled after all this time.

“That’s it, cry for me.”

The tears that stream down his face excite her, and it’s with it the smile returns to her winsome features. He sobs like a baby, screaming for help with no avail. Those pointless wails are meaningless to her, and are met with the sickening grin she fronts while watching him writhe in pain.

“Oh baby, we ain’t done yet.”

But as it would seem, puny little Matthew had some fight left in him. For he stood, his quaking body struggling to withstand the trauma she’d enacted upon it. She hadn’t known what to expect, but the last thing was the way he grappled her and knocked the axe to the ground.

It’s no question that she’s strong, stronger than him especially in his weakened state. But she doesn’t expect him to push back so hard, underestimating the strength left in him as she’s sent tumbling backwards down the stairs. Her world goes black then, the faint sounds of whines and cries and heavy footsteps down the wood steps fading from her hearing, and then her eyes shut.

When Rebecca awakes there’s no telling how much time has passed, but her body is still soaked in water and blood and she can still hear the sound of running water from the wash room upstairs. She’s left with a splitting headache and a bruised body aching from the tumble down the staircase, the bannister wood is snapped where the back of her head smacked it, and there’s cold water and a bloodied mess left all over the house.

Slowly, her eyes flutter open, wincing shut all most as soon as they open in response to that throbbing ache in her head. A grown is elicited from her lips, and she’s slowly able to sit up. It takes time, but as she awakes from the hit she’s able to scrunch her eyes open to begin examining the scene. In a dazed state the realization hasn’t dawned on her, but the absence of her special victim is something not yet forgotten.

“Fuck! Fucking fuck!” She screams.

The panic comes crashing down like a freight train, her hands desperately coming to clasp at her face and lace into her matted hair. Pulling, tearing and squeezing in heaping handfuls, her eyes widen in fear and the fruition of impending doom. Her body wobbles involuntarily, movements erratic and timid. She’d ruined it, ruined it all.

There’s nothing left of Matthew but endless trails of blood, the front door left wide open with the cool draft blowing in.

“Shit!”

She’s screaming, searching forthrightly for his naked body. Tearing apart every inch of the house’s interior before venturing out into the night, axe in hand. The paranoia is a familiar feeling, that of the fleeting control she’d sought out to take back in the very act she’d failed at. Now, the fear of being caught looms over her like a plague, and when there is no trail to follow, no signs of the man she’d been certain she’d kill, the beast rears it’s head and she’s collapsed to her knees in the hard dirt of the front drive.

Wailing incoherencies up at the sky she cries ugly, salt crusted tears and snot dripping down her face. Her shaking hands grasp at the skin on her face, picking and tearing at it in an attempt to make the paranoia disappear. Then her hair, yanking in handfuls and thrashing her agitated figure about the dirt. All she’d wanted was that control, the feeling she knew was possible from watching his helpless body writhe in pain and die at her hand. She’d only got the pleasure of feeling half of that, a measly dose.

You killed him, you killed him, he’s dead, he’s dead, it’s all according to plan.

She chants the mantra quietly to herself, eyes bloodshot wide as she stares to the dazzling moon above her. A desperate attempt to quell the feral urges in her, to silence the demons, the bad man.

After some time she goes silent, quivering quietly as she watches the moon and grazes through the turbulent thoughts in her head.

There is only one thing she knows to do.

“Johnny! Johnny please, Johnny!” Bare footed and cold, she runs through the ridged dirt and brush that separate the properties, spanning over the plains as she screams for him. The property is quiet, nothing but the soft clanking of clattering pots and pans dangling from the trees and the old yellow porch light illuminating the front screen door.

“Johnny! Johnny come out please, Johnny! I need you!” She cries, sobbing out for him. She swings open the screen and pounds on the wood door, wailing to herself, practically throwing herself against the thing. “Johnny please I need you, I need your help, Johnny!” The cry is desperate, needy, a plead for help. “I fucked up Johnny I fucked up!” She backs up, prodding at her dampened hair and resting her hands atop her head as she paces the porch. “Johnny!”

Click!

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, his eyes clouded with sleep and suspicion in his mien. And without a second thought she’s flung herself onto him, hanging her limbs over his bare shoulders and crying violently.

“Johnny, Johnny listen man you gotta help me man, you gotta help me I-” She pauses, swollen eyes finally able to make contact with his own. “I messed up real bad, I fucked it up, I fucked it all up. He’s gone I, I don’t know where he went. You gotta help me, please.” Through strained whines and hyperventilations she relays her message. It’s a wonder he can make out what she’s saying between those cries of shame and ballistics. She groans, looking to their feet and coughing up the tears caught in her throat. “I let ‘em get away, that fuckin’ cocksucker, he fuckin’ got away.”

“Alright,” Johnny looks to her, a rough hand gripping her cheek when his rugged thumb moves to wipe the wet that drips from those pretty eyes. His hand forces her face up, and it’s with a supercilious sentiment that he examines her features, her desperate state. Observing her with a sort of contentment, satisfaction. Those half lidded eyes meeting hers with a certain degree of knowing, a mutual understanding. “Lead the way, darlin’.”

—

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭! - 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

@yixxes @bdudette @nerdykat101 @kaymarnun

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