Page 2 of Asylum
His face darkens to a crimson as if his head is about to blow off his shoulders. His fists clench at his sides, his stance widening, readying himself for a fight.
Please. Fucking. Do. It.
My wish is granted when he lunges forward, both his hands flying to my throat. My reflexes are catlike as I jump back, raising the fire poker with lightning speed, swinging it like a batter going for the season’s record home run. It connects with his temple, the hook sinking into his skull with a squelch. He falls to the floor with a thud, into a heap beside his beloved, dead wife.
Blood gushes from his head, seeping into the rug beneath him. I watch with fascination as the crimson liquid stains the cream material, the area growing larger until it meets Linda’s. He rocks from side to side, cradling his head, whimpering. “Please. I’m your father,” he whines, pleading for mercy.
Moving to stand over him, I plant my feet on either side of his neck. “You’re nothing to me.” Positioning the poker at his throat, I slam it into his jugular, blood spraying my lower body and the floor around us.
His hands fly to his throat, gasping for the oxygen just out of reach. Pulling the poker from his neck, my skin prickles as I watch him suffer, the adrenaline in my veins pumping harder than ever before.
His eyes widen comically before slowly drooping as his breaths become shallow, slower, a satisfying death rattle vibrating his chest. Wetness blooms between his legs, the smell of his urine mixing with the smell of her shit.
A hysterical laugh bubbles up my throat, and I fall to my knees beside his dying body, bending down to whisper into his ear. “Rot in hell, cunt.” His chest deflates for the final time, and I fall back onto my ass.
Fuck, that felt good.
My body trembles, the urge to kill still in the forefront of my mind. I struggle to calm my racing heart, my fingers tapping away on my knees. I have to stop this. I need to get out of here.
“There’s one left!”The voice in my head argues, and I begin counting to snap myself out of this murderous prison.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
With every number I speak, my fingers connect with the skin over my kneecap. My mind is spiraling, and I continue counting until my body stops trembling all together.
I’ve never reached this level of insanity before, the counting usually bringing me back before things get out of hand. It’s only happened a few times before, at school, always triggered by some little cunt running her mouth. Dad was pissed when I put the last girl in the hospital, the bruises from the beating marring my skin for two weeks. He punished me for something I can’t control, something I hardly remembered. It was like a switch flipped, and I was a different person.
Sometimes it feels like there’s another being living inside me. I’m in a constant battle with the stranger in my head, and when it comes to my emotions being heightened, it always wins.
Glancing at the two dead bodies beside me, reality sets in along with the gravity of what I’ve done. My chest tightens, terrified of the consequences of my actions. Just as the panic threatens to cripple me, the voice returns.“I’ve got you.”
My body relaxes, a floating sensation making the air around me lighter, more comforting. The smells disappear along with any guilt or worry I felt only a few moments ago.
Two less assholes in the world.
One more to go.
The front door creaks open, snapping me back to my present situation. When I look up, my eyes clash with my tormentor, my stepbrother. His jaw drops as he takes in the scene, his gaze lingering on his mother for a few short moments. He steps further into the room, my skin buzzing with awareness.
Danger.
He’s only seventeen, but his large, imposing form and evil demeanor has me second guessing my ability to overpower him. I’m strong as hell when my anger takes over, but he could easily subdue me without much effort.
My mind reels as I glance around, waiting for an idea to hit me. I silently curse the voice in my head for making the decision to kill Scott but offering no help in doing so. All thoughts disappear as he comes to stand in front of me, offering his hand. Quickly masking my surprise, I slide my fingers across his palm, and he pulls me up, wrapping his arms around me.
“What happened, little sister?” He whispers against my cheek, my stomach roiling at his closeness.
His warm breath whisps across my face, a single throb in my head signaling what’s coming. I’m fighting my own mind to stay in control so I can carry out my plan to kill this motherfucker.
“Your mom slapped me,” I whisper, playing the obedient little stepsister he’s come to know.
I fought like hell the first time he sexually assaulted me, but after he knocked me out, being complicit and conscious seemed smarter. I wanted to know what was happening to me. Up to this point, I’ve disassociated during the act, planning my getaway once I’m alone. My eighteenth birthday is only a couple of months away. All I had to do was wait, but my temper fucked everything up.