She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XXXIII)

Disclaimer

The following is one of many installments for a story designed specifically for my blog.  While it does step out of my usual genre, there are some things still not suitable for a younger audience.  Violent/Graphic descriptions, strong language and sexual situations may be found through different sections.  Each entry will tell a small portion of the story during different times and may not directly follow the one prior to it.  

This story follows the direct interactions, as well as the deteriorating thoughts of a young man who is struggling not only with the relationships he has with those around him, but with the relationship he has with himself as well.

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author.  Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts and webseries!

———

It took an eternity for the door to open.  The hinges groaned in protest as they attempted to deny the intruder and warn everyone else in the same breath.

His stance was wide, each foot straddling the trail of blood leading into the room beyond.  Though he wasn’t conscious of his efforts, some hidden part of him insisted that he didn’t step in the viscous fluids below.  In the same regard, he pushed the door open with the back of his knuckles.

Never mind the countless hours he had spent in this house over the last few weeks.  Forget the fact that his bodily fluids could be found in multiple rooms, as well as in the person on the other side of the door.

She cowered at the foot of the kitchen counter, a blubbering mass of naked flesh, tears and unheard apologies.  As he looked down to her; as his gaze traveled over this quivering mess he had recently shared a bed with, the contents of his stomach curdled. Protruding from her massive belly was the missing piece of the end-table.

Blood continued to bubble from the end of the hollow tube.  It ran out the end, onto her stomach and split into two crimson rivers, each which contributed to the growing pool beneath her.  Her skin was growing pasty, even by her standards.

“Scott,” she begged weakly of him.  “Please?”

Her voice quivered as he continued to look down at her.  For a fleeting moment, a puzzled expression came over his face as she spoke, but it was gone as soon as it appeared.  He had seen her lips move, but the words that were spoken had originated in his head.

“You’re crazy.”

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back as he slowly inhaled through his nose.  He could feel his body temperature rising as his old familiar feelings returned.  He was in complete control.

He opened his eyes and snapped his gaze upon Lucy Winters for the final time.

“I’m.  Not. Crazy, you fat fucking BITCH,” he screamed.  His voice was so loud that the cabinet doors buzzed from its volume.

“I’m SORRY Scott,” she sobbed.  “I didn’t mean it!”  She coughed and a spray of blood flew into the air, some of which dotted the surface of his right shoe.

“Crazy, crazy, CRA-ZY,” the other taunted in sing-song.  “You’re crazy and you know it,  Mm-ah, uh HEE-haw!”

“Oh my fucking GAWD!  Will you shut the fuck UP,” he roared, lunging with his hands for her throat.

From the corner of his vision, barely perceptible outside of the tunnel of his rage and certainly too subtle for him to immediately react, her right hand raised to intercept him.  There was a sudden flare of white-hot pain in his abdomen and as his hands wrapped around her trunk-like neck, he stopped and looked down between them.

Her hand clutched the end of a butcher knife she had been holding.  He couldn’t see much more than three inches of the blade, however, for the rest was buried in his own abdomen.

“You, stabbed me,” he croaked in disbelief.

“I’m so sorry,” she answered.  Her voice wavered with true apologetic emotion.

“You, STABBED me,” he asked again.  This time his words were spoken less with confusion and more with outrage.

He pulled himself away from her, towering over her as he looked down at the handle protruding from his body.

“Leave it in.  It’s the only thing that’s going to keep you from bleeding to death with her, on the kitchen floor.”

The other spoke, unbeknownst to him, through his own mouth.

“Wha…” she began to say.

Scott raised his foot and slammed it down onto the end-table’s leg, driving it further through her.  She reached weakly toward her killer, no longer able to see his face as she struggled onto the last threads of life in her.

Seconds later, her hand fell limply at her side.

“Shut your fucking mouth when we’re talking,” Scott and the Other said simultaneously.  “We’re dealing with a life or death situation here.”

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