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TIANA

P ing!

That’s the second time my phone goes off. It must be Elias telling me he’s here. A loud chime sounds throughout the house shortly after, signaling the doorbell has been rung.

Mama stops me in my tracks. “Finish setting the table and bring out the food while I get the door. You need to do something around here and get off your lazy ass anyway.”

My retort burns when I swallow it back and do what she says. As always. By the time I’m finished setting the plates and silverware, the room is still empty without a sound to be heard. Did they leave?

Curiosity propels me toward the front door, but I’m soon frozen in place when I peek into the foyer. My hand slaps over my mouth to conceal any sounds wanting to escape me. It should both surprise and hurt me more that my fucking mother is sticking her tongue down my boyfriend’s throat, yet all it does is fan the flames of rage until that inferno spreads like wildfire.

Fuck this.

I fucking knew there was something strange about the way she always found a way to spend time with him. It should’ve tipped me off when he would take her side in any discussion, both of them pushing me to the point where I would have to excuse myself in order to compose myself.

Fuck them.

My ears buzz unbearably as tears threaten to rise to the surface. Not here. I need to get the hell away from them right now before I act without thinking. The walls seem to close in on me as I make a run for it out the back doors, collapsing in the garden as the tears flow freely.

Fuck the world.

I would burn alongside them, if only to watch them suffer and repent with my own eyes.

What am I meant to do with all this pain? Continue to swallow it for dinner in hopes that I become accustomed to the taste? No. No, they need to learn that their actions come with grave consequences. Is that not what they’ve both been teaching me for as long as they could? Tonight, they’ll have a taste of their own medicine. As I look at the garden, an idea strikes me. One that I’ve been keeping in my back pocket for over two years—almost literally.

As an experiment, I planted Valerian roots in the back with my mother being none the wiser. I’ve gone down countless rabbit holes on how to use it against others. I’ve already ground the roots into a baggie of fine dust, yet I could never bring myself to use it.

Sobs turn into laughter as everything inside of me burns with a passion that I’ll wear like a second coat. They make everything seem like it’s my fault. I’m the broken girlfriend. I’m the horrible daughter.

They wanted to paint me as the villain...Let me show them what a villain truly looks like.

The thread that was holding my composure has finally snapped and not one part of me wants to mend it. I want to nurture my pain and paint this town crimson. Like a switch flipping, I see the world through rose-colored glasses. I must have fallen in love with my rage somewhere along the way. All I feel is conviction with a slight thrill as the blood in my veins simmers.

Carrying myself with a newfound confidence, I dash into my room and then right back to the kitchen. Time to see if this powder I made will work the way I’ll need it to. A musty odor akin to dirty socks attacks my nose as soon as I open the jar. Luckily, we’re having paella with saffron-infused rice, shrimp, chicken, and a mix of vegetables. Those scents will hopefully be strong enough to mask it.

Elias’ voice can be faintly heard from the dining table as he talks with my mother, his secret lover. No time to dwell on anything other than the present and moving forward. To not raise suspicion, I sprinkle some paprika and black pepper over the dish. “For the final touch,” I mutter aloud while sprinkling the beige powder from my special jar. Despite the erratic pounding of my heart, my hand remains steady.

They pushed me here. They brought this upon themselves , I think, my lip tipping up at the sides.

“Took you long enough,” Mama grumbles, her face dropping as soon as I enter the room.

I’m sure my absence was the highlight of her night so far.

“Baby, aren’t you going to serve me?” Elias asks when I silently take my seat.

Since our very first meal together, he’s asked me that as if it’s expected of me. Usually, I argue until I give in or just relent in the beginning. This time, I’m ready to serve him a good amount with extra seasoning . As dinner goes on, I’m almost giddy watching them dig into the meal while I push my food around my plate.

It doesn’t take long before the tensions ease from their shoulders, almost unnoticeably. They’re extremely relaxed, but Elias is never relaxed—not really—and Mama only lets loose when she drinks. Elias is always putting on different masks, coiled so tight he doesn’t let his guard down even when he is drunk.

Drunk. That’s exactly what they seem to be.

They both look as if they’ve had a few glasses of wine and it’s starting to hit them all at once, their slurred words making less sense as the minutes tick by. Their blissful ignorance of what’s happening to them is somewhat entertaining.

I know something you don’t know.

Elias’ brows knit together as his arms drag him down, closer to the table.

“I…I don’t feel-,” Mama’s eyes flutter closed as her head dips down before jerking up, fighting her sleep. Then all at once, she slumps over the table, face-planting in her leftover food. Elias turns slowly to meet my gleeful smile. It’s his last sight before he follows suit.

The silence in this room is deafening. Grabbing a handful of Mama’s hair, I lift her head to let it drop again.

It worked. Holy fuck, it really worked.

This is only the beginning of all the fun we’re going to have. If my research serves me correctly, I have at least four hours to tie them up and move them to the basement. Fuck, Elias is twice my weight.

Did I think this far ahead? Absolutely not.

Will I let that stop me? Absolutely not.

I haven’t made it this far for nothing. First, I find all the rope we have in this house to secure their arms and legs together later. Dragging Mama’s body takes more effort and strength than I anticipated, not to mention I almost fucked all my plans up by tripping over one of the steps on my way down. By the time I’m back upstairs standing over what I’m sure will be my hardest task, almost an hour has already gone by. I’m not entirely convinced I can pull Elias’ weight on my own, but there is no going back now.

The bastard is heavy as hell. Why did I think this would be easy? I haul him from under his arms using all my strength. Frustration crawls up my throat, heat spreading to the top of my head. Damn, this is a workout. After at least fifteen minutes of struggling, I managed to wrestle his shoulders over the stairhead, using my feet to push his ass the rest of the way down.

Elias looks as if someone tried to fold him like a pretzel, then tossed him aside to the trash where he belongs. As my chest heaves for air, I let a chuckle slip past my lips at the thought.

The hard part is almost over. I need to look directly into their eyes while they suffer. They both deserve to watch everything I do to the other. This is all worth it if only to look into their eyes right before taking their final breath.

My eyes dart from the bodies to the ceiling a few times. This shit seems so much easier in movies. How the fuck can I hang their arms from the ceiling?

Maybe if you actually planned this out instead of making a swift decision, you’d be more prepared, Tiana.

Rolling my eyes at that thought, I run back upstairs for the rope as I ponder how to proceed. A pillar near the back of the basement makes me stop a few steps short. Perfect! There are four toward each corner. It doesn’t have to be fancy—they’ll be dead by the end of this either way—but I want a nice setup. After all, an artist can draw on paper, but with an easel and the proper tools, that’s when the magic happens.

This time, I work on Elias first, wrapping the rope around the thick pole from his ankles to his knees and securing him in place with a series of sturdy knots. After struggling far more than I want to admit, I maneuver the ropes around his waist and neck, careful not to choke him while holding him upright. His arms wrap behind the pole, secured tightly at the wrists. Almost towering over me, Elias seems so at ease in his drugged-out sleep.

I fucking hate it.

My nose twitches just as I jerk my arm back, my palm stinging instantly when his cheek meets my skin with a loud crack that echoes in the too-quiet room. Elias’ head whips sharply to the side and I hold my breath until I’m certain that I didn’t wake him from his slumber.

I exhale on a huff when I realize the only thing that serves as a weapon near me is an old broomstick if anything backfires or they wake up. The tools I have to work with down here are less than ideal, but someone can hand me a spoon right now and I would make a masterpiece of them with the scoop as my paintbrush and nothing else.

I’m so fucking tired. Tired of the way they treat me. Tired of the way they talk to me. Sick and tired of this vicious cycle of insanity. As I step away from his body, a scream rips from my throat, hands sealed into fists as I march to my mother’s sleeping form and kick her thigh. Tears gather as my breaths become heavier. All the times she beat me for no reason or gaslit me flash in the forefront of my mind as I seize her ankles in a furious grip, dragging her to the opposing pillar with a grunt that propels me.

Mama is the true source of this anguish that lives in my soul. Tying her up was easier than Elias, but being so close to her only ever makes me feel worse. Worse in the sense that my sadness and grief morph into deeper anger, my fingers twitch to wrap around her neck and squeeze the life out of her so she can never speak to me the way she does again, my heart wants to jump out of my chest, and the loudest voice in my head claims the only solution is to make her suffer. Make her feel the lifetime worth of pain she has handed to me.

Mama used to always say I must have a screw loose in my head. Turns out that she was right. A rush of power cascades over me at their vulnerable forms, both at my mercy to toy with as I please. This will be just what I need. Suddenly, I’m not so upset about there not being a rage room in this godforsaken town.

Relieving their pockets of any loose items—keys, a condom, phones—I set up a small camera that streams directly to my laptop and lock them in the basement to prepare myself for the real fun. I’ll monitor both of their phones to make sure no one interrupts us.

First and foremost, I need tools if I want to do some damage. Knives are the obvious choice. The sharpest knife I find draws blood with hardly any pressure at all. Alongside it I lay down a long thick knife, metal tongs, and a pair of scissors. Rummaging through the fridge for some water, I move the nearly expired milk aside when a sick idea grabs hold of me.

Tonight is the night for experiments and pushing limits, isn’t it? Let’s see how well they can take what they dish out.

My face contorts as the ghost of rotten milk tickles my taste buds. Memories circle through my mind like a carousel of cruel moments, hidden touches, and harsh truths. Bianca needs a taste of her own medicine. Neither of them will get out of this, and I won’t regret one moment of it. I’ve spent far too many years bottling up far too many emotions.

They must’ve known one day I would overflow and burn down the very people who threw fuel on the fire, right?

Set to expire in two days, the remaining milk has a faint foul odor, but it’s not enough for me. Pouring it all into a shallow bowl, I drop a dash of lemon juice to speed up the process and let it sit while I hunt for some more tools to play with.

Popping into my room, I grab my new torch, feeling my body alight with anticipation as I slip out of my clothes into something more comfortable. The torch is for when I smoke outside and it’s too windy for a regular lighter, but tonight it’ll serve a new purpose. With a hop in my step, I grab a hammer and screwdriver and head down into the basement with plenty of time to spare.

Setting up with only my thoughts to keep me company is kind of killing the vibe. Within minutes I have my favorite playlist singing through the speaker. Mad Hatter by Melanie Martinez instantly lifts my spirits right where I need them to be. While doing a little dance to the music, I spot my old metal softball bat discarded as I send a small thank you to Melanie for pointing me in the right direction.