Empathy (4 page)

Please be dreaming, Melody. This can’t be real. This can’t be real
.

His grip is so tight, his hand nearly wraps around my entire throat. My eyes gloss over and a single tear leaks from my eye. I can’t believe this is happening; is this really me? I feel like I’m watching someone else’s nightmare play out through my eyes.

“Life is too short, Mel. I want you to live it.”
Zane’s words mock me instead of comforting me.

The growl from my reaper drags me into the present. My throat is raw as I choke out my final words. Death is close; I feel it in the air. I walked into my tomb when I didn’t listen to my instincts and stepped foot into this house.

“You fucking coward. At least face me if you’re going to kill me,” I rasp out, my last ounce of courage spilling from me. I won’t die whimpering, this is what sickos get off on. He can’t have that. I refuse.

He spins me around to face him so fast it leaves me dizzy. He’s so strong I’m weightless in his grasp. I lift my gaze to meet the face of my killer but before our eyes connect my head is forced backwards. A sharp pain explodes against my head before my body goes limp and I succumb to the dark fog taking my vision.

My skull is cracking in two. Oh God, it’s going too spilt right down the middle. Moaning, I reach up to hold my head.

I don’t remember drinking or tackling a truck last night so why do I feel so bad? My fingers are met with a huge, seeping gash. I wince on contact.

I quickly become aware, bolting up and scanning the space around me to see if I’m alone. Silence. Stillness. I’m alone but that same eerie atmosphere lingers in the air.

I want to go back to the two seconds of not remembering. Fear ricochets from the pit of my stomach to every nerve ending, my skin covering me in goose bumps. I’m vibrating, my teeth tap dancing against each other from the force of my tremors. I have no idea how long I was laid here. Minutes? Hours?

The dark corners of the house look like a black void i can’t make anything out. I need to turn on every light to expel the night. I check myself over for more injuries, making sure all my clothes are intact. I’m still fully dressed.

Pushing myself up, I flinch when the glass from the cracked mirror cuts into my palm.

“Argh,” I croak, my throat raw, my voice unfamiliar to my own ears.

I stumble slightly once I get to my feet, and use the console table to steady myself.

“Mom! Dad!”

My brain screams at me, telling me to shut the hell up and get out of here but I just want my mom and dad.

Venturing further into the house, the blood from my palm trickles, leaking down my fingers leaving a dripping path like the breadcrumbs trail from Hansel and Gretel, only this trial leads further into a nightmare, fitting that it be blood.

My heartbeat storms in my ears, making my head throb.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Stop!

No heartbeat, no breathing, just silence, death, then my own wail and the thud from my knees hitting the hardwood floor. My bloody palm covers my open mouth. Silent screams rip at my insides, tears setting fire to my eyes.

“No, no, no, no, no, no,” I mumble, placing my palms to the floor and crawling to my father’s lifeless body. His eyes are open, staring at me, the jade green that match my own is gone. They look like a sheet of ice has frozen over them, distorting the color. His tanned skin is pale and papery.

“Daddy. Daddy, wake up. Please wake up.”

I look over his body, the dark red stain spread across his shirt like a pattern on a tie dye skirt from the sixties. It’s crazy, the things that enter your mind when nothing makes sense. I look for the wound that is letting his life escape from him, placing my hand over it, my jumbled mind trying to sift through the CPR I learnt in school. My hands are shaking so much I can’t steady them.

He is dead; my palms can feel the cold, congealed ooze of his blood beneath them. That’s when I notice the moistness under my knees. I scoot back like I’ve been electrocuted, my butt skimming across the room, kicking my legs forcibly against the wood to move me away faster, away from the nightmare I woke up in.

I rush to my feet and run towards the phone. That’s when I see her. Her head is down; the blood covering her chest completely disguises the color of her top. Her dark hair is limp, falling into a plate of food set out in front of her. The rest of the table is a mess, there’s food everywhere, and a bottle of wine has tipped over. She would be so mad at this mess.

I slowly walk towards her. “Mommy,” I whisper, knowing she’s dead, but the small girl that believed in fairies and Santa Claus has come to the surface. “Mommy, I’m home. Please wake up. Please wake up, Mommy. Mommy!”

I’m at least eight feet from her but her river of blood pooling beneath her chair is cutting of my path to her, more blood then I’ve ever seen; how can this much blood come from one person? Her skin is so pale.
Snow White,
the little girl taking hostage of my mind whispers.

I reach out to her. “Mommy.” But she’s not here anymore. There is nothing but tainted air and the shells of my butchered family.

Collapsing to the floor, I don’t know how long I sit there but it feels like a lifetime. The scent from their decomposing bodies fills my nose, making me gag. The metallic taste from the blood in the air attacks my taste buds.

There’s a buzz of noise around me, and the silhouette of a man fills my vision. I scream and try to push him away but I’m quickly restrained. I fight, screaming until I feel a sharp stab in my thigh. A numb reprieve seeps over me, blanketing me, protecting my frail splintering mind, and then… nothing.

I SIT THROUGH THE REST of class the way I always do. I’m there, for all intents and purposes, the genetic make-up of flesh and bone. My thoughts, however, left with Melody. Four weeks I’ve been coming to class. Four weeks I’ve managed not to molest her with my eyes or hands, even though my mind was working overtime, imagining her in every position possible but always reverting back to doggy style while I tug on that luscious mane of hair and fuck her hard and fast, slipping from her pussy that I know will be tight, to her ass which is probably still virginal. I want to know what noises she makes. Want to see how far I can push her. What would a princess like her let me do before telling me no?

I like the release of sex. There isn’t much I find pleasure in and I don’t really find pleasure in sex, but it’s an outlet for me. I love pushing a person’s thresholds. I love to degrade them. Sadistic? Yes.

Damn, I hope she likes it rough because my hand practically vibrates to spank that tight little ass of hers. I know I should stay away from her, that’s why I ignored her when she decided to sit next to me. I’d noticed her amongst the crowds before we even got to class; her thick layers of chocolate hair that glimmer with specks of red in the sunlight, her green eyes shine bright even from a distance. Life and happiness dance in them. She is a blossomed rose in a vine of thorns. She stands out with her perfect womanly figure, round perky tits, a small waist, and hips that beg to be held on to, an ass that screams to be ridden and legs that go on for days, dying to be spread wide and cuffed to my bed posts.

I’m not the only one to notice her. Guys swarm around her like bees to honey. She must know how attractive she is but she plays it off, nonchalant. It intrigues me but after fucking every willing slut in high school and it causing nothing but drama and attention I didn’t need, I decided I’ll only fuck outside of my own college. My desired prey needs to be depraved like me so when I do spank her or surprise her with sex toys mid-fuck, she won’t run away screaming or crying rape.

I don’t care about the law but I take great pride in eluding them if I ever step over the line. I’ve labelled this pretty little thing, Melody, off limits, and she makes it hard, especially when her firm thigh brushes against mine, making my dick want to jump out of my pants straight into hers, testing her stamina in humiliation. I want to film me fucking her mouth, just to taunt her with the fact I have it. And even though I’m not going to indulge in my fantasies, fate has intervened. It’s destined to happen so I embrace it and play along, the game set out too perfectly for me not to play.

She practically shines with the air of money. I saw a few of her texts when she didn’t know I was watching, safety reminders or something from her dad. Warning her to charge her phone, carry her pepper spray, and lock up before she goes to sleep. An over-protective parent. God, she’s from another world. I’m only here in college because I was born bright. I have no clue where those genes come from but both Blake and I are talented, with well above average IQs. Blake also paid my full tuition and made me promise I would work hard and make a life for myself. He’s convinced he won’t always be around.

‘
Some souls have a purpose, Ryan. Mine is to see you into adulthood and make sure you live and make something of yourself
.
You deserve to be happy and never feel anything but the good in the world
.’

Guilt is a powerful motivator. Guilt has moulded Blake’s entire life. He never thinks about himself or what he deserves. I often study him, trying to crack into his mind to see how he sees things from our life. He committed the ultimate sin for me and that leaves a mark on someone. He thinks by shutting the world out, being anonymous to emotions, he has no conscience. But if guilt powers him, and memories of an ultimate betrayal fuel his blood, how can he be emotionless? I never mention this stuff to him, they’re just thoughts I muse over when watching him.

I’m good at watching the world around me without people knowing I’m recording everything, storing it away to muse over later. People’s actions, personalities, desires and actions fascinate me. I’m not delusional. I know I’m not your average young man. I give a
stay the fuck away from me
vibe on purpose. I have hard-to-satisfy urges and just because they’re frowned upon doesn’t mean I don’t do them, it just means I have to be wittier than everyone else around me and, lucky for me, I am.

I grew up quickly. I was never shown affection, well except from Blake, and even then he was more screwed up then me so his affection wasn’t the cuddles and good advice kind, it was more the
I’ll buy you anything you want, I’ll show you how to fight and I will kill for you
kind of affection.

Our mother is a cold-hearted whore who lets men fuck her for sport, and that’s where I get my
women are usable fuck objects
views from. Our father was a drunk who assaulted Blake and me, completing my fucked up psyche. I didn’t stand a chance of being normal, and because of my issues, I like to be beaten for fun. I like to go to dark, smutty clubs and let Doms or Dommes whip the shit out of me. I tell them it’s to punish me for my father’s abuse, for my mother not loving me and for my brother becoming who he is for me. The truth is I want them to whip some feeling into me, make me feel the guilt Blake lets consume him. When it doesn’t work, just feeling the cursed blood inside me leak out as I taunt the Dom with my laughs at his attempts to hurt me gives me a little buzz, and I crave that buzz. I like pain, and pushing someone to inflict it is the only thing I gain satisfaction from.