Burn, Baby, Burn by Michael Seale (Chapter 14)

 Chapter 14

Lust

The room was lit by the street lamp which shone thru the window overlooking the street. It cast shadows from the curtains across the room. He looked around, watching the bitch that was asleep next to him. How could the other have done this one? He thought. 

The thin blanket lay over her bare chest, it moved up and down. He could end her, here and now, if he wanted. And he wanted to, but he would wait. Oh, but it would be easy, he thought. Just to smother her face in a pillow, to shove his weight on top of her and wait for writhing wiggling body to stop. Her body would spasm, she would fight and scream. And then the light would go out of her eyes. But it would shine brightly with all the other lights he had helped.

His cock got hard just imagining it. He couldn’t help himself. He touched her. His fingers flitted over her taut nipples. They immediately stood erect. It angered him that wanted her, to have her like the other. She stirred, a slight smile splaying across her face. 

She reached over and stroked his member slowly. His eyes closed in pleasure; it had been so long since he had felt anything other than rage. He pushed her hand away forcefully, not want her like that. What he wanted was to dominate her, to punish her. 

He climbed on to her, his anger apparent. She was barely awake, eyes unopened; otherwise she would have realized that this wasn’t the same man that she had come home with. His azure eyes were black. 

His hands were around her neck, choking her as he fucked her, just enough pressure to block her air way. He didn’t want to kill her yet, but he wanted her to fear him. He forced himself in her; her cunt was still wet from before. 

She smiled at him, enjoyed him. He came in a spastic orgasm. His anger raged thru his body. He squeezed her neck harder. Her body bucked under him in pleasure. 

He stormed across the room without a word as she purred on the bed. He had wanted to punish her, but she had enjoyed him. That slut, that fucking cunt whore, he thought. His raged pulsed thru him, his cock hung wet between his legs. 

She was asleep again. He sat in the living room, naked; her stink still on him. What had he done? He thought.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” the old man asked. 

He hadn’t even registered that the fucking old man was here as well. “Fuck you” he replied. 

“You broke your own rule.”

“So, what? She’ll be cleansed no matter what.” 

“Why must you do this, you are better than this.”

He pushed past the old man and stood in the bedroom doorway. The open window allowed the curtains to sway in the breeze. 

“Look at her, it could be her. You could let the woman live, stop all of this.”

The old man was right, she looked much like his mother did when she was younger. “You know that I can’t.”

The man shook his head. He hadn’t been thinking clearly. Knowing he needed to get a hold of himself, to follow the truth. 

“The light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil. For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his works should be exposed. But whoever does what is true comes to the light, so it may be clearly seen that his works have been carried out in name of God.”

“I must deliver her to the light, she is wicked, defiled. She lives in darkness; this is the only way to save her.”

“You say this many times, always this passage; it does not mean wha…”

“It means I am to deliver them to the light!” he hissed. “He was not the light, but came to bear witness about the light. John 1:8. I am not the light, but I bear witness.”

The old man left without another word.

His hands shook; he should have never fucked her. He had defiled himself, he must pay with blood. His hatred for his own actions made him feel sick. From the kitchen, he retrieved a small knife out of the drawer. 

Back in the bedroom he stood over her, he had pulled back the duvet that covered her naked body. Their clothes lay in a tangled mess on the floor at his feet. The knife gleamed in the light from the street. She stirred, obviously cold from the losing the blanket. He held the knife to her throat. He imagined plunging it in slowly, twisting and cutting as much as he could. But first he must atone. 

“Everything is purified with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins,” he whispered.

His anger was subdued. He slit the palm of his left hand and let the blood drip over her body. Red droplets covered her face and chest. He smeared the blood on her breasts and neck. He held her cheeks in his bloodied hand, leaving a smeared crimson stain on her beautiful face.

He lay down next to her and smiled at his work. The cut didn’t bother him. He bled onto her sheets, a small puddle forming under his palm. As he fell asleep, his black eyes faded back to the blue jay blue that they were before.