am-books Chapter 27: Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder
Chapter 27: Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder
Chapter 27: Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder
"Jason, darling, What are you doing out of your chains? And with my toys, no less." Lindsey took a step towards me as I gripped the knife tighter.
My mind was racing with how much I hated Lindsey. “You fucked up my relationship, Lindsey. What if Erica can’t get past what you’ve done to me?”
I can’t stop thinking about the idea of Erica rejecting me for becoming this disgusting, impure being. She’s kept the room quiet and empty beside the bed. The only thing I could even do was fuck them. It was a nightmare. I was going fucking crazy in this solitary confinement. By the end, I looked forward to the fucking just as a means to remember I was more than just a floating subconscious.
The thought of losing Erica these past weeks made me fucking furious. Angrier than I ever thought imaginable.
With a primal roar, I lunge at Lindsey, the knife glinting in the dim light of the room. My muscles, weakened from my time in captivity, strain with the effort. Lindsey's brown eyes widen for a split second before she gracefully sidesteps my attack, her designer blouse rustling softly.
"Oh, Jason," she titters, her laughter echoing off the bare walls. "Is that the best you can do?"
Before I can react, Lindsey's delicate hands become vices around my wrists. She slams me against the wall, pinning my arms above my head. The knife clatters to the floor, the sound reverberating through the empty room like a gunshot.
"You're so weak," Lindsey coos, her breath hot on my face. "No wonder Erica stopped looking for you.”
Her words cut deeper than any blade, and I feel my resolve crumbling. ‘Erica wouldn’t stop would she?’ Lindsey's laughter grows louder, more manic, filling the room and drowning out my thoughts. But then, like a lighthouse in a storm, Erica's voice cuts through the chaos of my mind Obi Wan Kenobi style.
"Look, if you're ever in real trouble, forget all this fancy stuff. Just use your head, literally."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
Erica taps her nose. "Headbutt. Aim for the nose. It's simple, effective, and even you can't mess it up."
At that moment, clarity washes over me. With all the strength I can muster, I slam my forehead into Lindsey's nose. There's a sickening crunch, and she stumbles backward, blood streaming down her face.
"What the fuck! I’m going to take a fucking eye for that!" she shrieks, her composure shattered.
I don't hesitate. I dive for the knife, my fingers closing around the handle. As Lindsey lunges at me, I pivot and drive the blade deep into her chest. Her eyes go wide with shock, her mouth forming a perfect 'O' of surprise.
My eyes were wide, pulsing, feral. “You look like surprised Pikachu.”
“What?” Lindsey's designer blouse blooms crimson, the blood stark against the white fabric. She staggers backward, her legs giving out as she collapses to the floor. The knife stay’s in my hand as she falls. I watch as my heart pounds.
As the adrenaline subsides, the reality of what I've done crashes over me. I've killed someone. But as I look at Lindsey's lifeless body, all I can feel is hatred. Immense hatred and anger.
‘Someone wanted to separate me from the one I earned through sheer force of will.;
“MY DREAMS BENT REALITY! FOR ME! THIS WORLD EXISTS TO GIVE ME ERICA! AND YOU THOUGHT TO THREATEN THAT!” I screamed out my internal thoughts at the husk in front of me.
With a savage snarl, I lunge forward, the knife clutched tightly in my hand still. The first stab sinks into her cheek, the blade grinding against the bone with a sickening crackle. Lindsey's eyes fly open, unseeing and vacant, but my fury doesn't abate. I stab again and again, each blow punctuated by my ragged breaths and guttural growls. Blood spurts from the wounds, coating my hands and splattering across the pristine marble floor.
As I continue my relentless assault on her face, the room around me fades away, replaced by the image of Erica's face, her piercing blue eyes, her full lips curled into a smirk. I see her standing tall and proud, watching me with an approving gaze, and I know that I'm doing this for her. For us. For the twisted love that binds us together in this strange, inverted world.
My arms grow weary, but I don't stop. I can't stop. Not until every ounce of my rage has been expended until there's nothing left but a disgusting mass of flesh beneath me. And when it's finally over, when I've reduced Lindsey to an unrecognizable pulp, I stand up, my chest heaving, my heart pounding.
I see the door to the room open, and Lyra stands there. She falls to her knees at the sight of her friend’s now destroyed visage. “What have you done?”
“Get me Lindsey’s phone.” I say calmly and with a smile, still catching my breath. I then notice I am soaked in Lindsey’s blood, bone, and brain matter. “And a towel.”
Lyra's delicate features contort in horror as she takes in the scene before her. Her eyes, wide with shock, dart between my blood-soaked form and Lindsey's mutilated corpse. The pristine white of her butler's uniform stands in stark contrast to the crimson carnage surrounding us.
Swallowing hard, she nods jerkily and approaches Lindsey's body. As she draws closer, the full extent of the damage becomes apparent. Lindsey's face is a mangled mess of flesh and bone, barely recognizable as human.
Lyra's stomach heaves, and she retches violently, barely managing to keep her composure. With shaking hands, she reaches into Lindsey's pocket, averting her eyes from the gruesome sight. Her fingers close around the phone, and she withdraws it quickly, as if burned by the contact.
Stumbling backward, Lyra rushes to a nearby supply closet. I can hear her fumbling with the handle, her movements frantic and uncoordinated. She returns moments later, a fluffy white towel clutched in her trembling grip.
As she approaches me, I can see the fear in her eyes intensify. She holds out both items, maintaining as much distance between us as possible. I take them from her, noting how she recoils at my touch, her eyes never leaving the knife.
I wipe my face with the towel, leaving streaks of red on the pristine white fabric. Lyra watches, her face a mask of revulsion and terror. I dial Erica's number, the phone slick with blood in my hand.
The line connects, and Erica's voice, thick with emotion, cuts through the silence. "What the fuck do you want, Lindsey!" she snaps her tone, a mixture of anger and anguish.
I feel a smile spread across my face, a stark contrast to the gory scene around me. "Erica," I breathe, relief flooding through me at the sound of her voice. "It's me. I’m somewhere in Lindsey’s house. Please bring everyone here. Call my mom for me okay? I have one more thing I have to take care of before everyone else show’s up.”
Erica’s voice on the other end was screaming in confusion. “JASON? WHAT? LINDSEY’S?”
"I know," she says softly, her fingers now gently stroking my arm. "I read it in your diary."
‘It’s funny she admits it so openly.’
I chuckle for a second. "I wrote it for you to read," I confess.
Erica nods, a knowing look in her eyes. "I know that too."
The air between us feels charged, thick with unspoken desires and promises. Erica's thumb traces small circles on my skin, sending shivers down my spine. The hospital room fades away, and all I can focus on is her touch, her scent, the way her blonde hair falls across her face.
"Jason," she murmurs, her voice low and intense. "What you did... I understand. I'm proud of you. Killing her must have been hard. But the anger it took to make that mess. That’s how angry I felt, too, looking for you.” A tear ran down her cheek.
Suddenly, her eyes seemed curious. "Jason," she spoke softly. "Why did you keep Lyra alive?"
I sigh the weight of my actions pressing down on me once more. The stark white hospital walls seem to close in, making the room feel smaller and more claustrophobic.
"She released me," I explain, my voice hoarse and tired. "I guess... I guess she felt bad for raping me so much? I really don’t know why she decided to release me?” I stated the words but they felt more like questions. “She seems to have a complicated life, and honestly, I just don’t care enough about her to want to add her dead body onto my conscience along with Lindsey’s."
Erica's jaw clenches, her eyes flashing with a mixture of rage and pain. Her grip on my arm tightens momentarily before she forces herself to relax. She takes a deep breath, visibly struggling to maintain her composure.
"But why did you blind her, Jason?" she asks, her voice strained. "Why take her eye?"
I feel a twisted smile creep across my face, a dark reflection of the turmoil within me. "Check my pants pocket," I tell her, nodding towards the clothes rack near the door. "The right one."
Erica looks at me quizzically but complies. She moves gracefully across the room, her movements catlike and predatory even in this sterile environment. As she rummages through my pocket, I watch her face carefully, waiting for the moment of realization.
It comes swiftly. Erica's eyes widened, and her mouth mirrored her eyes. With trembling fingers, she pulls out Lyra's eyeball, still wet and glistening under the harsh hospital lights.
"You kept it?" she asks, her voice a mixture of awe and horror.
I nod slowly, feeling a strange sense of pride and shame coursing through me. "She raped me over and over and over again," I explain, my voice flat and emotionless. "Every day, multiple times a day. I needed... I needed her to feel as marked as I did.”
Erica's eyes widen, a deep blush spreading across her cheeks as she realizes the full implications of my actions. The eyeball in her hand, the carnage I left behind, all of it a testament to my desperate need to return to her.
"You really missed me, huh?" she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.
I nod frantically, my whole body trembling with the intensity of my feelings. "More than anything," I choke out. "Every second without you was agony."
In an instant, Erica is across the room. She leaps onto the hospital bed, straddling me as her lips crash against mine. Her kiss is fierce, possessive, filled with all the pent-up longing and fear of the past weeks. Her hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer as if she could merge our bodies through sheer force of will.
I respond with equal fervor, my arms wrapping around her waist, clinging to her like a lifeline. The taste of her, the feel of her body pressed against mine, it's intoxicating, overwhelming. For a moment, the horrors of the past weeks fade away, and all that exists is Erica.
‘She tastes so much better than them. Her skin feels softer. Her hair silkier.’
But then reality intrudes. The lingering scent of antiseptic, the scratchiness of the hospital gown against my skin, and the dull ache of my various injuries all serve as stark reminders of what I've been through. Reluctantly, I pull away from the kiss.
"Erica," I pant, my voice ragged with desire and regret. "I... I can't. Not yet."
She looks at me, her blue eyes dark with lust and confusion. "What's wrong?" she asks, her hand cupping my cheek gently.
I lean into her touch, savoring the warmth of her skin against mine. "I know they've cleaned me up," I explain hesitantly. "But I... I need to wait for the test results. And I really need a proper shower. I can still feel their... their hands on me."
Erica's expression softens, understanding and love replacing the confusion in her eyes. But I can still see the flicker of disappointment, the way her body tenses with unfulfilled desire.
"You're pouting." I observe as I almost chuckle at the sight of her sulking.
“NO! I’m mewing!” She lied. She lets out a frustrated groan, burying her face in the crook of my neck. "Fine. Can you blame me?" she mumbles against my skin. "Seeing you covered in blood earlier, that eyeball, thinking about Lindsey's corpse... it's just so..."
I feel a shudder run through her body, and I can't help but chuckle. "I didn't realize you had such a thing for violence.”
“Violence in relation to your protection. I don’t know its revving up the ole engine.” Her eyes snap to me they go weird. “Wait is that like super gross and weird?”
‘Yes, you fucking psychopath. That is literally fucking insane.’ My adhd laughs far away while it sits strapped into the cuck chair of my mind.
“No, honey not at all.” I speak honestly as I cupped her face. It wasn’t weird to me at least. It’s exactly the kind of reaction I would have wished for her to have.
‘This is good. If the rapes cause her to get worse, then it will have almost been worth it.’ I sigh once again, relieved.