When the Dark Wins

Higher, higher, up my thighs, gathering cloth with my fingers, holding my breath, until I had the cloth high enough to expose my panties.

For all of a minute he studied me, up and down, his lips almost a sneer, his hands landing on my hips. He ripped his hands down my thighs, scratching me and tearing the sides of my underwear. He dropped the panties without looking where they landed, then stood and hauled me across the dark rug until we were within the framework of piping.

“Hands high.”

I snagged lip in teeth.

“I’m tying you. Defying me, Red?”

My arms rose before I could think. As expected, my body betrayed me.

“A pity,” he said softly. “I hoped to see more fire from you.”

“Give me a gun,” I edged the words out from between teeth. “I’ll show you fire.”

“There it is! Fire and spit. Another day, Red. I need to see you make cute noises tonight.”

With rope and chain, he attached my wrists to either side of the framework, then pulled the ropes taut. My arms stretched out until my muscles hurt and I squeaked.

“First noise.” He locked the knots, stalked back to the metal tray, and found a pair of scissors that might’ve doubled as a knife. The ends narrowed to a fine point.

Isak returned and began to cut off my clothes.

With my arms locked outward, there was nowhere for me to escape to, though I danced on tiptoe. Fear, there was trembling and fear. How could there not be?

Shreds of cloth were scattered, tossed, paving the air and the rug in scraps and threads of red.

His breathing harshened, turning to snarls. His bare feet slapped the floor as he maneuvered, attacking it the same as he attacked me.

By the end I was naked and panting as harshly as he, my skin blotched and bruised, etched with small scratches, some of them leaking blood. A dribble curled across my stomach and into my navel. He’d not been careful.

By his sides, his fists clenched into hard balls, fingers whitening and reddening as he tensed, relaxed, tensed.

I dared to voice a whisper. “What did I do?”

“You’re fucking perfect. That’s what.

“And broken...

“Broken and perfect. Exactly what the monster needs.”

Chapter 8

I circumnavigated her, this thing I didn’t want to touch with cock.

All tied and waiting. My restraint was limited not limitless.

“The suppleness

of muscle, of form and flexibility.”

I circled her and let my hand trail around her in a spiral.

Her muscles moved.

“A broken normal?

“There is poetry.