Page 52 of Asylum

I blink. “You’re the only one who hurts me, Atlas.”

It’s his turn to blink, as if confused by my words. “But I enjoy your pain, little doll.”

Pushing up on my tiptoes, I crash my lips to his. He pushes his tongue into my mouth, groaning as I deepen the kiss, pressing myself against his chest.

His kiss used to set my body on fire. In the asylum, I craved his attention, his touch. After I lost my memory, I let myself fall for him again, and the things he made me feel were borderline insanity.

I needed him.

Now, I hate his fucking guts.

I crave his blood.

“Kill him.”Embracing the freedom in her words, it feels as though all my broken pieces are stitched back together, and for the first time in my life, I’m whole.

A phoenix rising from the ashes, the warmth of the smoldering embers building inside me. The pressure becomes heavy, igniting the flames of revenge and retribution. I’m death incarnate, and there’s only one thing left to do.

Let go.

“I’ll enjoy your pain as well, Dr. Stone.” Taking a step back, I swing the fire poker around my front, plunging it into his abdomen, a squelching sound filling the air between us. He staggers back, gripping the iron rod with both hands, and I watch as true pain flickers across his face. I wrap my hand around the poker, ripping it from his gut, chunks of his insides dangling from the hook.

Is that a piece of his liver?

Maybe a bit of his kidney?

He falls to his knees, his hands flying to cover the wound as blood oozes out in a steady stream. Standing above him, I grip a handful of his perfectly styled hair, slamming my knee into his face. He howls, and I rear back, the full force of my fist connecting with his nose. The crunching of his bones is nothing short of satisfying. Squatting down in front of him, I lift his chin to meet my eyes. “Do you approve of the person I’ve become,husband?”

He’s in excruciating agony, but the crazy bastard grins, his hand lifting to my face. “You’re perfect, little doll.” He coughs, blood spraying from his mouth, leaking down his chin, a crimson trail slowly running down his throat.

A foul smell invades my nostrils, and I realize I’ve punctured his intestines. “Your body is poisoning itself. Should I let you suffer the way you made me suffer? Or should I put you out of your misery?”

He hacks violently, the wheezing and gurgling forcing more blood from his mouth. He collapses onto his stomach, his life force pooling on the floor beneath him. Rising to my feet, I stand over him, the poker still in my hand.

He’s so fucking pathetic.

Turning his head to the side, he stops hacking long enough to stutter out a few words. “I’m s-so proud of y-you.” He attempts to clear his throat but ends up choking on more blood. “If I’m breathing, y-you’ll never be f-free of m-me.”

Even as he lies dying on the floor at my feet, he thinks he’s still in control.

I’m in motherfucking control.

He’s nothing. The big, bad tormentor is just another weak, little bitch, too prideful to admit he’s lost at his own game.

Lifting the fire poker in front of me, I slam it down into the back of his neck, blood spraying my legs and waist from the force of the blow. I grit my teeth as the iron chafes against my palms, vibration from the impact rattling the small bones in my hands. Twisting it side to side, I don’t stop until the wound is gaping before pulling it from his neck, tossing it to the floor beside him.

Sinking to my knees, I plop down on my ass next to him as he struggles for one last breath.

How the fuck is he still alive?

Isn’t there something in the neck that kills you instantly if it’s severed?

Stubborn bastard.

While my humanity far surpasses his, I can’t seem to find it in me to console him or give him any inspirational words of hope for the afterlife. There’s no bright light waiting for him at the end of a tunnel. No angels to open a pearly gate, allowing him to live in a pretty garden for all eternity.

Atlas Stone is a fucking monster with a one-way ticket to hell.

The devil himself will light the son-of-a-bitch on fire.