Snare (Delirious book 1) (32 page)

“I guess I’ll have to give it to you then since you don’t listen to me. A cum-dripping ass might make you obey. You ready for it?”

Before I can respond, he thrusts deep, his cock pulsating and then exploding in my ass. His warm semen spurts into me, filling me up as he roars. Tension builds in my body as he comes inside me, tugging at my hair so hard that it’s impossible for me to divert my eyes from the stuffed bunny. I want to tear it all apart. The animals. Him. This place. Even myself.

I’m sobbing uncontrollably as the memories seep back into my mind.

The blood, the horror creeping under my skin as I witness the scenes that took place in my past. A hard slap on my ass brings all the fucked-up pieces of the puzzle together.

“Tell me what happened. Tell me everything! NOW!”

The words pour out of me like a stream of pure thoughts. “Mister Flufbuns. My pet bunny… they killed it. And then they murdered my mother.”

Accompanying song:
“Chord Left” by Agnes Obel

Woodstock, Connecticut – January 29
th
, 2013

I used to watch the world in amazement. Enjoy the songs the birds sang as they flew over my head. I drew energy from the wind blowing my back, pushing me forward, spats of rain dropping onto my head, leaves rustling past my legs, the sun warming my skin, laughter filling my ears. I could go on and on about the things I loved—the things people never really stopped to think about it. Just listen. Stop and listen. Hear the world buzz, your heartbeat, life continuing forever.

I wanted to capture it all and show the beauty of this world to the people inhabiting it. My camera was my best friend. Never far away from me, I carried it around everywhere, any place I could imagine. Whether it was a school, my home, a family member’s house, the zoo, on vacation, or anywhere else, my camera and I were inseparable. Taking pictures was my way of witnessing this world, learning to love it. It was my way to forget about the deplorable situation back at home.

It wasn’t until my parents’ relationship deteriorated that I viewed the outside world as a place I didn’t want to live in anymore. My family was never a solid one. I didn’t realize this until I was old enough to leave for college, when the cracks in their love started showing. Going to college severed me from them, and in turn, they severed from each other. I was the thread that had kept them together.

I tried not to think about it and focused on college instead, which was very difficult. I missed my pet, Mister Flufbuns, a lot. He’d been my companion for such a long time, but I couldn’t take him with me, so my mom took care of him. The only thing I had to cheer me up during tough days was my camera. My father often visited me, my mother not at all. She and I never had the best relationship. We both had a phone, but she didn’t care to use it either. Except for that one phone call.

The day I heard my father was violently ill.

When I discovered how bad his situation was, I couldn’t continue. Not with anything. College was put on the back burner. Soon after, my father died.

We never knew why it happened or even how.

All I knew was that my mother never cared. Not one bit.

Or she was the world’s best actress. Either way, my world came tumbling down. Nothing could be worse than this. Or so I thought.

That one phone call gives the word ‘evil’ a whole different meaning.
Evil
tells me to come home. It isn’t a question. There isn’t even an
if
in my mind. The moment my mother is mentioned, everything comes crashing down upon me.

Vacation with my best friend Ashley comes to an abrupt end and I immediately pack my bags. Ashley comes with me as support. We both jump on the first plane we can catch and make our way to my home. Except, home isn’t home anymore.

What we find is hell.

My bunny. My sweet, cute pet, Mister Flufbuns.

Slaughtered.

Torn apart like a beast ravaged him and ate him alive.

Horror fills my lungs, preventing me from breathing as we walk into my backyard. I find his remains on the grass … on the stones … against the walls. Blood smeared all over. I step over the bones and skin, his fur scattered all across our yard.

It is there, in the midst of it all, that we find my mother.

Her lifeless body among the remains of my beloved Mister Flufbuns. Blood stains her chin, and a pool grows beneath her. Her chest is covered in fur and several puncture wounds have made holes in her chest. I stop to gasp and witness the scene, paralyzed. Horrified.

Evil lurks in the corners. Watching us. Prowling. Waiting for us to scream.

We tried to run, we really did.

But no one can escape the devil.

Accompanying song:
“Chord Left” by Agnes Obel

Room 115. Providence, Rhode Island – May 8
th
, 2013

I am there with her.

I listen to her story and hear the words pour from her mouth like a waterfall rushing toward the vast ocean. She can’t stop. Words keep coming out in the form of mumbles, repeating over and over again. Her body shakes vehemently, so I immediately free her from her bonds. She almost collapses, but I catch her before she hits the floor. I sit down on the ground, shushing her. Her body lies sideways across the bench, her head fallen into my lap. I cradle her in my arms, pulling her close to me. Her cold nakedness catches me in a moment of weakness. In this moment, there is nothing more that I want than to take it all away again—to turn back time and remove myself from the equation, preventing her from ever remembering all the horrors her past has to hide. It’s killing her.

She shivers, sobbing, uttering words I can no longer understand. I find it hard not to feel anything. To keep compassion at bay. Compassion is the first step toward love. If I were to fall for her beautiful, broken soul, it would mean the end for us both. I could no longer keep her safe. But I can’t turn her down anymore. Fragile and waning, her life is at the edge of nothingness, and I am the only force keeping her here, keeping her in this world. From the things she tells me, I know she has no one else anymore. I am the only tether between living and dying for her. She needs me, so badly … how can I
not
be affectionate toward her right now?

I am surprised to find my own heart, still beating.

I can still be kind.

I am not
just
a bad man.

Or so I tell myself. Let myself think this, because she makes me want to believe it. I
want
to be a good man. If only it didn’t mean betrayal.

She’s stopped crying, and I take the opportunity to nuzzle her and say, “It’s going to be okay.”

She shoves herself away from me, searching my eyes for clues. And then she hits me.

She slaps me in the face.

“How dare you do that to me?” She hits me again. “You asshole!”

I don’t stop her.

She keeps hitting me, first in the face, but when she sees I won’t budge, she starts pushing and shoving her fists into my shirt. Tears roll down her cheeks as she fights me with fists and claws. Her rage bears down on me, and I will take it as well as I can. I clench my fists, ignoring the itching feeling that I should do something, hit back, or tie her up, but I won’t. This is what she needs right now, and I realize it’s part of the deal. I made her remember. I should bear the consequences.

“Do something!” she yells. “C’mon! Hit me!”

“No,” I say, calmly.

“Why? Why now? Why do you let me hit you?” she rages. “Fucking piece of shit!”

I shrug and she slaps me again then lets out a giant sigh. “Are you insane?”

“Yes,” I say, laughing.

She clenches her teeth and growls. “You don’t care even the slightest bit?”

“Oh, I do.” I lift an eyebrow. “You should know you’re the first woman I’ve ever let hit me
,
” I smirk. “Take that as a compliment.”

She stops herself before she hits me again, her hand already in the air. In her eyes, I still see the hurt, the pain. She’s broken, and this is how she lashes out to protect herself.

“It’s okay. Go ahead. Hit me. Hit me as hard as you can. I can take it.”

She winces and then punches me again until she’s too tired to move another muscle. Then she breaks down on top of me, falling into shambles, tearing up and letting it all out. I shush her while she drags herself closer to me, looking up at me with big, doe-like eyes. Vulnerable eyes. Eyes that make me want to hug her and tell her that I’ll make the men pay.

She sighs. “I hit you.”

“Yes, and that’s okay. I told you to.”

“But it’s wrong.”

“It’s not wrong if I tell you to do it.”

“I don’t want to be like you,” she mumbles, hiding her face in my shirt.

“You’re not. I enjoy handing out pain. You don’t.”

She inhales a deep breath. “I didn’t like hitting you.”

“This is what you needed to do. And you’re right, I am an asshole.”