One
Okay darlings, who wants to read four pages of an R-rated original story that I wrote just now? It's not finished, it's a mere taste, and it features the murder of a little girl, Bad Language OMG and lesbian sex. Anyone? Show of hands, please!
WARNING: This story contains violence and people (almost) doing the nasty. Lovely badness all around.
There is something immensely satisfactory about a bloodied knife, he thought as he regarded the crimson stains on the shining metal. Something definite. He liked that feeling.
He had loved her more than ever in that moment. She had been everything then. Her screams had been the divine choir of angels, and her white arms had flailed helplessly like wings trying to carry her up to heaven. A little saint she’d been. And he had loved her to the death.
He regarded the little body and wondered what had been her mistake. She must have done something wrong. Everyone that felt the cold kiss of his knife did. Maybe she had said something, or seen something that she shouldn’t have seen. Perhaps she had just been in the way. He didn’t question anymore. He only carried out the order; he never gave it.
But he must be a right bastard to do this to a little girl, no matter what she’d done. He looked at the body again. Her hair was red and tangled and dirty, but it had been silky-smooth and hay-blond once. Her strawberry-coloured mouth was still open in a silent scream, and her eyes, brown as hazelnuts they were, were staring at him without seeing. He could see heaven in those eyes, and he knew that was as close to it as he would ever get.
It was the cut over her throat that had killed her, and it gaped huge and dark red. A clean cut with a sharp knife. He’d wanted to give her a quick death, a sweet girl like that didn’t deserve such a violent end, but the order was never his and he didn’t get to decide. The one who made the call did. It wasn’t supposed to look like the assassination it was. Just the work of a psychopath. A madman. So it had to be this way: A clean cut. It was the only thing he could do for his girl. His daughter.
“You leave a beautiful corpse, my love,” he said as he brought her cold hand to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles. “It’s the best I can do.”
And then the curse is lifted for a second, and he’s allowed to weep.
-***-
“So you’re telling me,” says the doctor, and her smile is that of a woman who knows that there are armed guards standing outside the door, “that you are in the possession of a cursed knife that tells you to kill?”
“Yes,” he says calmly. “That is what I’m telling you.”
What is the point of lying? He’s lost everything as it is. It’s better this way. This way, he doesn’t have to do it again. This way, it ends.
The doctor smiles, a little gentler this time. “And where, pray tell, did you get such a knife?”
He smiles back at her, making his slightly demented, slightly insane. He leans forward, and he whispers conspiratorially: “From the gods, my love.”
-***-
SOME YEARS PREVIOUS
To live. To live in that final, glorious moment just when you’ve stopped singing and you can wait for the applause to start. That’s what Be-Be does, night after night. The moment, the precious second before she opens her eyes and smiles, knowing that she did good and that there will be people cheering, that’s what she exists for. Her only reason.
They take longer to come tonight, her applause. But once they do, she feels more alive than ever. People are standing in their seats, pounding the tables, stomping their feet in utter ecstasy. Oh, how she loves them now! Oh, she wishes she could give them more of her! They deserve her!
“I’m sorry!” she calls out, smiling warmly and happily. “The show’s over, folks! Don’t you guys have homes?”
They laugh a little at her lame joke, and the applause fade somewhat. Be-Be stays on stage, because she knows that when she gets off, she’ll only be sad little Breckin; a nobody, a nothing. She stays and let the applause crash over her like tidal waves of praise. It is over way too fast, and she’s Breckin again.
“You were good tonight,” says Tarika and smiles before giving Be-Be a peck on the cheek. “They loved you.”
“I wish they’d stay,” mumbles Be-Be. “Why can’t this night last for a little while longer?”
“Heavens, then we’d never get home,” laughs Tarika. “Aw baby, is the old crone really such a pain?”
“Yes.” Be-Be sighs dreamily. “It would be such a relief to get away from here... You know, sometimes I don’t think there are ever any managers sitting in the audience on these nights. Dick always says there are, but no one ever comes up to me.”
“I come up to you.”
Be-Be smiles warmly. “No offence, babe, but you don’t own a record company.”
“If I did, would you love me more?”
Be-Be leans over and almost violently presses her lips against Tarika’s. Tarika tastes of cheap liquor and peanuts, but there’s that little bit of hot, foreign spices in there too, the taste that makes Be-Be’s mouth water and her eyes gleam hungrily.
“Baby, I don’t think it’s possible for me to love you more than I already do,” she murmurs. “If I tried, it’d break my heart.”
Tarika smiles her special smile and lets her caramel-coloured hand gently glide down to rest on Be-Be’s hip. “Do you want a drink?” she asks.
Be-Be thinks it through. “I think the crone wants me home as soon as possible. I’d kill to stay, but until I’m twenty I have to do as she says.”
“Only a week left,” purrs Tarika seductively and nibbles at Be-Be’s earlobe. “And then you’ll be aaall mine...”
The sound of her girlfriend’s voice makes Be-Be feel hot inside. She wants to leave, right now, she wants to go home to Tarika’s wonderful apartment and throw Tarika down on the carpet and fuck her senseless. But she can’t. Not yet.
“Don’t do that to me,” she whispers and sucks Tarika’s lips to hers again. “You’re making me... very disturbed, baby. And you know I can’t stay.”
Tarika answers the kiss with the same hunger as herself. “I want you.”
A hand ends up on Be-Be’s left breast, slowly rubbing the nipple through the thin white fabric of her tube-top. Be-Be whimpers softly and has to tear herself away from Tarika’s warm arms.
“Vixen,” she growls. “I have to go.”
Tarika pouts, and her dark brown eyes suddenly look huge and abandoned. “You don’t have to leave right away... You could... call the crone and say that you’re running late.” She smiles wickedly. “She doesn’t have to know where you sing.”
Be-Be surrenders then. What can she do? She wants it. Tarika wants it. “Wait here,” she mumbles hastily, and heads off for a payphone. As she leaves, she allows for a hand to caress Tarika’s jeans-clothed behind.
The phone call is over and done with quickly, not only because Tarika keeps on massaging her breast as she speaks, but also because she’s finding it increasingly harder to breathe. Red fog is starting to slip over her eyes.
No...
Not now. It can’t happen now. Not here.
“My place?” breathes Tarika, her own desire now apparent to all.
Be-Be can’t refuse. Her mind is befuddled, she can’t think. Lust is mixed with the Curse.
Oh God...
She remembers being dragged outside, following Tarika like a zombie. She remembers the call of the Curse, screaming at her, and suddenly she can feel It. And she was sure she’d left it home tonight... Apparently she didn’t, or it can sense her wherever she goes.
Tarika keeps on kissing her, her hands wandering freely over Be-Be’s body. Be-Be responds, but without enthusiasm. Her own need fades away in the presence of the Curse. She remembers Tarika stopping for a moment, looking at her oddly.
“Honey, are you okay?” she asks, and her voice sounds like it comes from far away. “You look a little... strange.”
She doesn’t remember the scream.
Previous Chapter------------------------------------------------------------------->Next Bit
***
Ah, Roman de la Croix would be so proud... *purrs*
You have to excuse me, I'm not always like this. I just saw Sin City last night and it got my muse going. And YES, before you ask, I DID fell in lust with Kevin, the flesh-eating mute that moves like a shadow. How's that for my sanity, I ask?
WARNING: This story contains violence and people (almost) doing the nasty. Lovely badness all around.
There is something immensely satisfactory about a bloodied knife, he thought as he regarded the crimson stains on the shining metal. Something definite. He liked that feeling.
He had loved her more than ever in that moment. She had been everything then. Her screams had been the divine choir of angels, and her white arms had flailed helplessly like wings trying to carry her up to heaven. A little saint she’d been. And he had loved her to the death.
He regarded the little body and wondered what had been her mistake. She must have done something wrong. Everyone that felt the cold kiss of his knife did. Maybe she had said something, or seen something that she shouldn’t have seen. Perhaps she had just been in the way. He didn’t question anymore. He only carried out the order; he never gave it.
But he must be a right bastard to do this to a little girl, no matter what she’d done. He looked at the body again. Her hair was red and tangled and dirty, but it had been silky-smooth and hay-blond once. Her strawberry-coloured mouth was still open in a silent scream, and her eyes, brown as hazelnuts they were, were staring at him without seeing. He could see heaven in those eyes, and he knew that was as close to it as he would ever get.
It was the cut over her throat that had killed her, and it gaped huge and dark red. A clean cut with a sharp knife. He’d wanted to give her a quick death, a sweet girl like that didn’t deserve such a violent end, but the order was never his and he didn’t get to decide. The one who made the call did. It wasn’t supposed to look like the assassination it was. Just the work of a psychopath. A madman. So it had to be this way: A clean cut. It was the only thing he could do for his girl. His daughter.
“You leave a beautiful corpse, my love,” he said as he brought her cold hand to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles. “It’s the best I can do.”
And then the curse is lifted for a second, and he’s allowed to weep.
-***-
“So you’re telling me,” says the doctor, and her smile is that of a woman who knows that there are armed guards standing outside the door, “that you are in the possession of a cursed knife that tells you to kill?”
“Yes,” he says calmly. “That is what I’m telling you.”
What is the point of lying? He’s lost everything as it is. It’s better this way. This way, he doesn’t have to do it again. This way, it ends.
The doctor smiles, a little gentler this time. “And where, pray tell, did you get such a knife?”
He smiles back at her, making his slightly demented, slightly insane. He leans forward, and he whispers conspiratorially: “From the gods, my love.”
-***-
SOME YEARS PREVIOUS
To live. To live in that final, glorious moment just when you’ve stopped singing and you can wait for the applause to start. That’s what Be-Be does, night after night. The moment, the precious second before she opens her eyes and smiles, knowing that she did good and that there will be people cheering, that’s what she exists for. Her only reason.
They take longer to come tonight, her applause. But once they do, she feels more alive than ever. People are standing in their seats, pounding the tables, stomping their feet in utter ecstasy. Oh, how she loves them now! Oh, she wishes she could give them more of her! They deserve her!
“I’m sorry!” she calls out, smiling warmly and happily. “The show’s over, folks! Don’t you guys have homes?”
They laugh a little at her lame joke, and the applause fade somewhat. Be-Be stays on stage, because she knows that when she gets off, she’ll only be sad little Breckin; a nobody, a nothing. She stays and let the applause crash over her like tidal waves of praise. It is over way too fast, and she’s Breckin again.
“You were good tonight,” says Tarika and smiles before giving Be-Be a peck on the cheek. “They loved you.”
“I wish they’d stay,” mumbles Be-Be. “Why can’t this night last for a little while longer?”
“Heavens, then we’d never get home,” laughs Tarika. “Aw baby, is the old crone really such a pain?”
“Yes.” Be-Be sighs dreamily. “It would be such a relief to get away from here... You know, sometimes I don’t think there are ever any managers sitting in the audience on these nights. Dick always says there are, but no one ever comes up to me.”
“I come up to you.”
Be-Be smiles warmly. “No offence, babe, but you don’t own a record company.”
“If I did, would you love me more?”
Be-Be leans over and almost violently presses her lips against Tarika’s. Tarika tastes of cheap liquor and peanuts, but there’s that little bit of hot, foreign spices in there too, the taste that makes Be-Be’s mouth water and her eyes gleam hungrily.
“Baby, I don’t think it’s possible for me to love you more than I already do,” she murmurs. “If I tried, it’d break my heart.”
Tarika smiles her special smile and lets her caramel-coloured hand gently glide down to rest on Be-Be’s hip. “Do you want a drink?” she asks.
Be-Be thinks it through. “I think the crone wants me home as soon as possible. I’d kill to stay, but until I’m twenty I have to do as she says.”
“Only a week left,” purrs Tarika seductively and nibbles at Be-Be’s earlobe. “And then you’ll be aaall mine...”
The sound of her girlfriend’s voice makes Be-Be feel hot inside. She wants to leave, right now, she wants to go home to Tarika’s wonderful apartment and throw Tarika down on the carpet and fuck her senseless. But she can’t. Not yet.
“Don’t do that to me,” she whispers and sucks Tarika’s lips to hers again. “You’re making me... very disturbed, baby. And you know I can’t stay.”
Tarika answers the kiss with the same hunger as herself. “I want you.”
A hand ends up on Be-Be’s left breast, slowly rubbing the nipple through the thin white fabric of her tube-top. Be-Be whimpers softly and has to tear herself away from Tarika’s warm arms.
“Vixen,” she growls. “I have to go.”
Tarika pouts, and her dark brown eyes suddenly look huge and abandoned. “You don’t have to leave right away... You could... call the crone and say that you’re running late.” She smiles wickedly. “She doesn’t have to know where you sing.”
Be-Be surrenders then. What can she do? She wants it. Tarika wants it. “Wait here,” she mumbles hastily, and heads off for a payphone. As she leaves, she allows for a hand to caress Tarika’s jeans-clothed behind.
The phone call is over and done with quickly, not only because Tarika keeps on massaging her breast as she speaks, but also because she’s finding it increasingly harder to breathe. Red fog is starting to slip over her eyes.
No...
Not now. It can’t happen now. Not here.
“My place?” breathes Tarika, her own desire now apparent to all.
Be-Be can’t refuse. Her mind is befuddled, she can’t think. Lust is mixed with the Curse.
Oh God...
She remembers being dragged outside, following Tarika like a zombie. She remembers the call of the Curse, screaming at her, and suddenly she can feel It. And she was sure she’d left it home tonight... Apparently she didn’t, or it can sense her wherever she goes.
Tarika keeps on kissing her, her hands wandering freely over Be-Be’s body. Be-Be responds, but without enthusiasm. Her own need fades away in the presence of the Curse. She remembers Tarika stopping for a moment, looking at her oddly.
“Honey, are you okay?” she asks, and her voice sounds like it comes from far away. “You look a little... strange.”
She doesn’t remember the scream.
Previous Chapter------------------------------------------------------------------->Next Bit
***
Ah, Roman de la Croix would be so proud... *purrs*
You have to excuse me, I'm not always like this. I just saw Sin City last night and it got my muse going. And YES, before you ask, I DID fell in lust with Kevin, the flesh-eating mute that moves like a shadow. How's that for my sanity, I ask?