Monster
Drip, drip, drip. The sound of water dripping in the distance, echoing around the room, disturbing the silence that fills the darkness. The sound of metal scraping on the wall startles the woman forced from her sleep, her arms burn as do her feet as she tries to move but the rope around them drags across her bare skin. A hiss leaving her lips as she struggles, fear striking, her heart frozen as she hears the scraping of metal getting closer and closer. She turns her head trying to see what is behind her but her eyes only meet blackness when she opens them.
Only then does she feel the fabric that is tightly wrapped around her head, blocking any light from the room ever entering. Her panic worsens, her heart beating against her chest, her ribs taking the assault that her heart causes as it tries to escape the very place that keeps it safe. The hairs on the back of her neck prickle to attention when the sound of metal fades only to be replaced by the sound of heavied footsteps.
Her neck strains against the back of the chair as she turns her head up trying to take a peak below the fabric that traps her in the dark. A flicker of light, a flicker of hope gone too quickly when she twitches in the reaction and the material slips and extinguishes the mere thought of hope.
The strain on her neck against the wood becoming painful she lets her head fall forward, the muscles in her neck sighing in relief at the moment. Her hands continue to try and fight the ropes that bound her to the chair, but the burning is too much and she allows her body to fall limb. Only then does she notice it.
The silence.
The footsteps, the metal, the water. All stopped.
All to be heard is her heart beating against her ribs.
Thump, thump, thump.
“You’ve not screamed yet.” The woman jerks her head up at the voice, the back of her head hitting the chair causing her to groan at whoever was standing in front of her to laugh. “You know your mouth's not covered. You could have screamed, but you chose not to. You chose not to scream for help, to call to anyone, who might hear, to save you. You fight against the rope, fight against what keeps you bound here. Fight against what you cannot fight. Yet you don’t use the one thing that can save you. The one thing that could have a hero swooping in, untying your hands and setting you free. It amuses me.”
“Why shout for a hero who shall not come? Why make my throat bleed with my screams when I know there is no one to rescue me. Why break my sanity by ripping my throat raw, scratching my voice till I no longer have one, burning my lungs with wasted air? Why would I scream into the emptiness that must surround me when I fear, I shall never see the light of day.” The girl tied to the chair, bound with no escape huffs a laugh with a pained smile.
“You are not like the ones I have had before.” The stranger voices with intrigue, the other woman’s eyes darting left to right under the fabric covering them as she hears slight movement in front of her. “No one has ever answered back so quickly.”
“The ones before me?” The woman tries to swallow her fear and hide the croak in her voice.
“Yes dear. There were, oh, so many before you.” The girl in the chair flinches when she feels a gloved hand touch the left side of her jaw, the softness of the touch contradicting the rough leather of the glove. “So many, I must say I may have lost count. So much wrong with them, it caused them to meet their fates.”
“What are you going to do with me?” The adrenaline of waking up bound, the confusion within her mind trying to get their bearings has worn off and all to be left is the fear.
The fear of the known unknown. The fear of an ending that is inevitable, inescapable, unavoidable. The fear of what is to become after her undoing, the arrival of the becoming of death. The fear seeps out of every pore of the woman’s body, the way the hair stands on her arms a warning too late of the situation she finds herself in. Her lips become dry, her throat becomes tight, her heart beat reaches her inner ear as it begins to pound in her head.
“I don’t know what I am to do with you.” The voice of the strangers brings the woman’s attention back to the present of what is supposedly in front of her. “I never truly know what I am to do when I begin my work. Not until they speak to me, not until they squirm against whatever punishment I see fit. Not until they beg.”
“You don’t scare me.” The woman in the chair spits out, smirking slightly when the stranger's hand on her jaw reacts to what she assumes is the stranger wiping her face.
“No dear.” The stranger grabs onto the woman’s jaw harshly, digging a blade's edge into her neck just enough for a little blood to trickle as the stranger leans forward to whisper in her ear. “You are fucking petrified.”
“Fuck you.” In a moment of pure petrified rage the woman tilts her head back only to bring it forward at full force, a crack echoing around them both as her forehead makes connection with the stranger's nose.
The stranger's head snaps backwards, blood instantly spurts from their nose as the bridge of it snaps pouring down their face and onto the other woman’s shirt. Their grip on her jaw is so tight that as they tumble backwards with the force and shock of the hit they bring the woman with them. The knife against the woman’s neck slices upwards slightly before the harsh ricochet of hitting the floor causes it to jump up and slice up the woman's cheek to her eyebrow; cutting some of the fabric around her head as it does.
The stranger falls on their back with a loud grunt, a large puff of air leaving their lungs as both the woman and the chair fall upon them. The knife clatters to the ground, blood staining the recently sharpened blade. With the hand now free of the weapon the stranger goes to grab their nose only to pull away the moment they feel it move and a surge of pain course through them, yet no sound leaves their parted lips apart from a low growl filled with anger: the taste of metal staining their tongue as blood pours from their nose.
The stranger's hand that is still gripping onto the woman's jaw moves down to her throat and tightens like a boa constrictor against its prey. The air within the woman’s lungs becomes trapped, the air she wishes to take in stopped by the forceful hand bruising what used to be porcelain skin. Now stained with the blood that leaks from her wounds, the bruises, and the hand of a stranger who wishes to do her harm.
“Yes!” The stranger chuckles, and even though the woman feels like her time has already come, her vision becoming blurry as her chest becomes painful with the lack of breath, she finally takes in the voice of a stranger. “You have some fight left in you my dear. A spark of hope you may not even know you feel. But I, oh I am going to do everything I can to get it to burn out. And then - well - I am going to have so much fun with you. So much fucking fun.”
The stranger's hand lightens on the woman’s neck allowing them to feel the gulp of air she takes in, a harsh few coughs following as dirty air escapes and clean air replaces it. The stranger’s hand tightens again but this time allowing just enough room for the woman to take small breaths. Before the woman can think of what comes next she feels something wet press against her neck, taking a few licks at the fresh wound there before it moves to her jaw and makes its journey upwards to her brow.
As the mask rises with the movement from the stranger her eyes dart to the left, catching sight of the stranger's tongue just as they remove it from her face. She fights against everything keeping her on top of the stranger but it only causes them to laugh at the struggle.
“Oh my dear, you waste your energy on such thwarted attempts of escape.” The stranger uses their hand on the woman’s neck, moving the other to the seat of the chair, to turn them over.
Their hand stays on her neck, their other moving to grip onto the woman’s left leg with yet another bruising grip. The stranger uses their grip to scrape the chair along the floor, a horrible sound that makes the women cower more. They move to a crouched position to be able to keep their hand on both the woman’s leg and her neck at the same time, not allowing her a moment of reprieve from the constant threat of them.
The woman takes a shuddering breath as the grip on her leg softens and the stranger starts to drag two fingers up her leg, her mind racing as she feels the gloved fingers touching her skin. Realising that when she was not conscious the stranger must have cut up her pants she starts to squirm against the touch, trying to escape even if her efforts are fruitless. A shiver travels the length of the woman’s spine, as the stranger's hand stops just short of the top of her thigh the other hand moves from her neck to her collarbone.
“Oh my dear, though you may be tied, though you may just be a mere game to me, a toy in which I play with. Although you may not be able to see me, I myself am quite able to see you. And my goodness you are a different kind of beautiful. I do not know what it is you possess that makes me crave what hides within you.”
The woman’s eyes close behind the fabric as she tries to calm herself, even if just for a moment.
“I surely have what all the other people before me had, those that you have lost count of, that causes you to want to do me harm.” The stranger hums, their hand on her collarbone leaves her skin to brush the woman’s hair out of her face.
“Perhaps my dear, but none of them have managed to break my nose and none of them ever speak with such certainty of death until many a day. Many a week. Many a month of torture. They choose to scream, they choose to cry, they choose to bargain and they may even choose to remain silent. Yet once they have finally accepted that they are to die no matter what they do, no matter the amount of promises I break about letting them go if their family is to pay me money. But it is not money I have ever been after.”
The woman’s bottom lip trembles as she takes in the strangers words, feeling them as well as hearing them move. Their hands leaving her body completely, feeling their presence move from the floor next to them to instead move to stand. A long sigh leaves the stranger's mouth as they bend down, their hands wrapping around the top rail of the chair. The woman’s mind freezes of her racing thoughts of what the stranger could mean by their words as she feels herself and the chair rise from the ground.
“You are quite fun, and it is only the first few minutes … at least for you.” The woman feels her leg attempt to tap nervously within its binds, tears finally seeming to prick at the corner of her eyes at the reality of her situation.
“For me?” The legs of the chair hitting the floor echo around them as the woman’s words sit in the air between the two of them.
“Yes my dear.” The sly voice of the stranger makes the woman sick to her stomach as they come to stand in front of her, their hands on her legs as they bend down to rest their chin on her knee.
“What did you do to me?” The woman's voice wavers at the thought of what could have been done while unconscious and can’t help voice it. “Did you?”
“Did I what?” The stranger's voice seems to soften with an inquisitive tone as they turn their head so it is their cheek resting on her knee instead of their chin.
“Did you … Did you harm me while I was not awake to the world?” The stranger takes in a long breath, their hand moving to rest on the woman’s other knee as their finger starts to draw small circles. The woman struggles not to take comfort in the small action.
“Are you asking if I harmed you? If I hurt you? If I took advantage of what was in front of me? If I raped you?” The woman’s eyes close behind the mask as she hums at a yes with the nod of her head.” Oh my poor dear. Who hurt you to think such thoughts?”
“Men.” The woman says without thinking but it causes the stranger in front of her to let out a short laugh.
“Terrible creatures.” The woman’s head tilts in interest at the words, but before she can question the stranger, their hands move to cup her cheeks and it silences any thoughts she has. “My dear, I did not harm a single part of you while you were not conscious of the world. Yes I may have cut your pants while you slept but only to admire you below what the fabric did hide. Nothing scandalous might I add. I did nothing more than that. Your shirt is still intact, I promise that. I kept my distance. And it may be of no reassurance to you that I was simply watching you as you slept, but that is all that I did.”
“And how am I supposed to trust the word of the person who has me tied to a chair and blindfolded so I can not see them.”
“I do not ask you to trust, I just ask you to believe. I may be a killer my dear, but I am no monster.”
“Just because you did not harm me while asleep it does not mean you won’t hurt me now I am awake, it does not make you not a monster. Just a different kind of monster.”
“Ah! How dare you!” The woman screams as the chair suddenly falls back as the force of the stranger's hand pushing against her legs as they stand causes it to tip. Her head bounces off the hard floor, stars visible in her vision at the impact. “I am no monster!”
“But you are!” The woman shouts back with a cry. “You have me tied up here, talking to me as if you don’t and yet describing to me what I am to become. Another victim of your hand.”
“And yet you spoke to me as if I was not the person who has the very power in their hand to control your life and death!” The stranger shouts back, kicking the woman in the side with their heavy booted foot. “You sit there, talking to me as if it is the most normal thing for a person to do. You do not scream, you do not shout for help and you do not cry! You talk! You talk to hide behind the fact that you are paralysed with the fear of what is to become of you!”
“Fuck you!” The woman lets out a sob at the pain in her side, where she knows a new foot sized bruise forming there.
“You are a paradox my dear.” The stranger's voice is eerily calm as they gently lift the chair from the floor, ensuring it falls gently back into its place. “I am a mess of thoughts of what I should do to you, what I could do to you, what I want to do to you. I want to see how much I can do with you before you scream, before you beg me for your life, before you tell me you can pay me. But I also seem to hate to see you hurt. I apologise for knocking you to the floor, and for kicking you. And for cutting this porcelain face of yours”
“Why do you not just end it now? If I am such a paradox to you.” The woman flinches as the stranger's finger traces the fresh cut on her face, unsure of whether she is still bleeding or not.
“Because you my dear are perfect and I have so many plans for you.”
The strangers hands move to cup the woman’s cheeks, taking care to avoid the fresh wound on her left cheek. They bend down slightly, placing their faces mere inches from the woman in front of them, who can only feel the breath on her face as an indication the stranger has moved closer. Their thumbs push just under the fabric still covering the woman’s eyes, as their forehead comes to rest against hers hiding a wince of pain with a soft puff of air.
“You are bleeding.” The woman states with confusion.
“You have done quite a number on my nose my dear.” The stranger removes themselves from the woman.
“Am I the first to have done that too?” The woman questions with a pleased smirk as she hears the stranger walk away from her, before hearing them chuckle under their breath.
“You are in fact not the first to try and do me harm.” The woman listens as she hears the stranger opening something up with a rip before wincing and letting out a small curse.
“Fine I shall rephrase. Am I the first to have caused the harm intended?” The woman shakes her head as she feels a smirk appear on her lips as she hears the stranger chuckle again.
“You are in fact not the first to leave a mark. But you are the first to actually do some damage.” The sound of a crack echoing around the room and a relieved sigh leaving the strangers mouth.
“I could tell I did something, as I now have your blood on me.” The woman allows a small feeling of smugness to fill her at the idea of harming her captor, but nearly jumps out her skin when she hears something metal hit the floor.
“Shit. Fucking gloves.” The sound of rushed footsteps making their way back to her is the only way the woman can tell the stranger is on their way back, flinching when she feels something cold and wet touch the skin on her face. “No need to flinch my dear.”
“What are you doing?” Her voice wavers with anxiety as she tries to tilt her head away from whatever the stranger has in hand, even though she is aware it will be useless.
“I simply want to clean the mess I made of your face. It is dangerous for the blood of another to enter the wound of another. I do wish to cause you harm but giving you something bloodborne is not the way I wish to do it.”
“Maybe it would be an easy way out compared to what you have planned.” The stranger kisses their teeth as their free hand gently grips the woman’s jaw tilting her head back towards them.
“A bloodborne disease is never a nice way to go. Now I may be clean of those diseases but I do not wish to take that risk with you. Now please, let me clean you up. It is simply an alcohol wipe in my hand.”
A silence surrounds them as the stranger presses the wipe to the woman’s skin with a softness she did not expect. She presses her lips together to hold back a pained hiss when the wipe swipes directly over the slash on her cheek. But a groan rumbles in her throat when a fresh wipe replaces the old one and the sting of the alcohol causes a rush of pain through her.
“My apologies my darling. I am almost to the end of this cut in your face, then I am too sort the cut on your neck.” The feeling of the wipe leaves the woman’s face instead replaced with the feeling of gloved hands pushing together against her cheek. “You shouldn’t need stitches but I will put a large band aid over it to keep the skin together and it should heal nicely.”
“Why let it heal nicely if you are to kill me anyway?” The stranger hums and the woman holds back yet another wince as a fresh wipe makes contact with the slash on her neck.
“You could have killed yourself doing what you did.” They decided to say instead of answering her question. “You were stupid, almost ruining my fun just to get a hit in. But yet here I am with a, no longer broken but, still slightly bloody nose. So brave might be added to the list of words which could be used to describe you. Brave but so fucking stupid my darling.”
“Maybe a quick death would have been easier than what you may put me through.” The woman says defeated as the stranger's hand removes itself from her jaw.
“Maybe for you, right now it seems that way.” The sound of something ripping is heard by the woman before the stranger's hand is back on her, finger and thumb pushing the broken skin together.
“For me right now? All I know is I am going to be killed at some point. The unknowns are the when, the why, and the who.”
“All in due time my darling.” The stranger explains as they strategically place the band aid on the woman’s face to allow for the best healing to take place, doing the same thing on her neck as they both allow a silence to settle around them. “We shall leave them on for a day or two, then we use ointment to let them air.”
“You seem to care too much for someone who is a murderer.”
“Just because I do harm does not mean I can’t care.” That makes the woman in the chair let out a sarcastic chuckle with a shake of her head.
“People who do harm to others do not care for those they do harm to.”
The stranger falls gently to their arse with a quiet thumb, their left leg resting against the floor while their right sits at a bend allowing them to rest their chin on their knee. Their hands come to rest on the rope keeping the woman's legs tied to the chair. They sigh as their hand moves to the knots, humming to themselves, coming to a pause as they come to rest upon it.
“My darling, you do not know what it is like to have my heart and my mind. Do not act and speak as if you do.” The stranger's finger traces around the knot as they speak. “I do have some care, I may not remember the last time I truly cared for many. Those who have fallen before you, the care got less and less as the need to act on the want to hurt, the need to feed my desire, to live out my fantasy. I have lost myself to myself, but there are moments when I feel, I care, I hate what it is I have done. I hate myself in those fleeting moments of what used to be, yet I cannot undo what is done and soon the hunger takes over and another victim sits where you are seated.”
“You speak as if you live with regret, as if you apologise to the dead bodies of those that lay before you, as if you repent for the sins that are contained within these walls. And yet here I am another victim showing that those falsehoods of yours are just those, false.”
The sound of a smack reverberates around the room as the woman’s head turns on a swivel, the connection between her cheek and the hand of the stranger is unmerciful, the pain worsened by the glove their hand hides away in. The stranger's heavy boots make haste behind the woman before the scraping of metal is heard and the woman’s heart once again fights against the ribs that keep it trapped.
The woman sucks in a harsh breath when she feels the blade of the knife sit across her neck, not enough to break skin but enough that any slight movement could be cause for a disaster on her part. The stranger's other hand violently grabs onto the woman’s hair, yanking her head back so it hits the back of the chair. They bend down so their mouth is level with her ear, breathing as if they have just run a marathon almost feral, their tongue poking out to lick at it. The woman jostles at the action and she can feel the stranger smirk against her ear.
“Do not forget the one who is in power here my dear. You may not wish to anger me further than you already have by questioning my intention. I am the one who has you here tied up, I am the one with the knife to your throat, I am the one who wishes to seek out their desire, I am the one with the power. I am the predator, you are my prey. A hunter watching as its game struggles in their trap. I have the power! Not you! Me!”
The stranger pulls away from the woman whose head drops forward, a ragged breath leaving her lips as she feels small relief from the fact there is no longer a knife against her neck. The sound of clattering metal in the distance is hard as the stranger shouts into the silent room, to no one in particular.
The moment of reprieve doesn’t last long enough for the lady as the strangers hands press against the side of her face harshly squishing her cheeks and lips. Their breath harsh against her face as they mumble incoherent words below their breath, a single finger tapping against the woman’s cheekbone.
Then in a moment it all happens too quickly for the woman to even fathom she is pulled from the dark into the light, her eyes closing at the sudden intrusion of it. Though not a bright or harsh light, she has been in the darkness for long enough for her eyes to feel a sting to the change. Rapidly blinking through the pain, she manages to slowly open up her eyes allowing the minimal light to fall upon them.
Her eyes naturally dart around the room, but there is a lack of things to see beside a table by the wall to her left. She takes in the fact it has an open first aid box upon it, her eyes taking in the bloodied wipes that sit upon it. But then they flicker to what is next to the open box and sees an array of different blades, and a few boxes with insignia and labels on them she cannot quite make out. Her eyes then dart to her right where she sees the discarded knife thrown to the other side of the room, a small blood trail following it on its travels across the floor.
From what she could tell she was in some sort of basement, maybe a garage or storage room. She does not know which of three is the worst, but knowing she could be below (or joined) to someone's home makes a new fear sink in. The stranger has no fear of being caught, leading her to believe they live far enough away from a neighbour for them to feel safe enough not to cover her mouth and probably those before her.
Then her eyes meet those of the stranger. Her breath becomes stuck in her throat, her heart dropping to her stomach, her lip trembling as her eyes prickle with tears. A new fear falls upon her, a new feeling of confusion envelopes her, the feeling of heartbreak permeates through her heart and the feeling of betrayal invades her very soul.
“Hello my dear.” The stranger smiles with a sickening kindness towards the woman whose mouth falls agape at what she sees before her, who she sees before her. “Now tell me again how I supposedly do not care for you.”
The woman’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, her head shaking as the utter disbelief fills her very being. Her breath shakes as she tries to piece it all together in her head, piece together what it is she is doing here, what it is the stranger is doing here. She questions everything she believes in as the person in front of her crouches down to match her level. Their smile reaches their eyes, as they look into hers.
A new feeling dawns within her, as her eyes meet the stranger’s even when trying to avoid their look. Their eyes drag her in, a feeling of what is known out weighs the feeling of the unknown to come. Their hand reaches out to her face, all too caring, and the woman flinches away from the touch. Retracting their hand the stranger sighs, dropping their head to look at the floor momentarily before looking back at the woman with what seems to be an apologetic smile. A silent sorry held within their lips, sorrow filling their eyes.
Yet it only lasts a moment as the stranger smiles once again at the woman. A smile all too familiar to the woman. A smile she used to cherish seeing, a smile that would always make her smile, a smile that would make any of her woes disappear within the instant they are thought of. The smile that has turned into the one that shall kill her. The one she has wrongly trusted, the one in which her heart told her never to fall for. The smile that got away from her all too long ago.
“So tell me Wanda. Tell me I do not care for you the way in which you say I do.” A single tear leaves the woman’s eye as they meet those of the strangers.
“You seem to have lost all the care for me you had those years ago.” The stranger hits their hand against the chair making Wanda Jump.
“This isn’t real. It can’t be.” Wanda’s voice breathless in disbelief.
“Oh but it is. I’m right here. This is very real.” You smirk something evil that makes Wanda’s stomach churn.
“Now I know you truly don’t care for me. Not like this.” The stranger’s smirks drops turning into a scowl as they lean in closer to Wanda. “This isn’t real.”
“Say my name. Make it real.” Wanda shakes her head and the stranger grits their teeth. “Say my name.”
“This isn't real.” Wanda whispers more to herself than anyone.
“Say my name dammit, and tell me how I have lost care for you!” The stranger spits venomously, their hand hitting the arm of the chair as they do, and Wanda’s head hangs in defeat as she accepts whatever fate it is the person has chosen for her.
“Y/n.”
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