Disclaimer: I don't have permission to use the WWE superstars in my fiction. No disrespect is intended. The characters are loosely based off of their television personas.
A/N: So this is the new story I'm working on. I know I have a bunch of others to finish, but this is the one occupying my mind right now. I don't expect this to get a lot of reviews because of the intense subject matter; it's really dark and sadistic and definitely not for everyone. It does not paint the main characters in a flattering light. So if you can't handle Jeff and Edge as not so nice guys, this isn't for you.
I have always wanted to write a psychological thriller, so here's my attempt. If you decide to try it, I hope you like it. I'm not sure if is really the place for this, but this is the most excited I've been about writing in a few months. There's a good chance that this story will not stay on this site either. It may be a little much…this is an experiment. It may just be continued on my myspace and website depending on the feedback (I don't want to offend anyone). We'll see.
Warning: This story will contain rape, torture, sadism, violence, slash and anything else I can think to throw into it. This story is disturbing and not intended for minors!
Scratch the Surface - Chapter 1
The amber light of the cigarette as I inhale sends a flash of brightness across the room. As soon as I take in a healthy drag and feel the cool flavor of menthol opening my lungs, I suddenly become aware of everything else around me. This room looks like all the others. It's small, dirty, and the only window in here is covered by a thick screen of dust. I find myself wondering what this room looked like when it was functional. How grand was it before the wrecking balls came in and destroyed the adjoining building? And did this room have all of the latest amenities before the slum lord forgot that he had tenants living here? I wonder what kind of people lived here before. Not that it matters much now, I guess.
This place is abandoned, has been forever judging from the huge termite holes in the walls and the places in the floor boards where the wood has completely rotted through. It's a death trap if you don't watch your step. We spend enough time scoping the layout in the daytime so we'll know exactly where we can and can't step. I know for sure I could close my eyes right now and walk from this room to the front door and manage to avoid the hole in the floor that's covered by that tacky ass rug.
I guess that's why we always choose places like this. They aren't so easy to escape from. I mean, if they actually manage to get away from us, they'll have one hell of time actually making it to the outside without breaking their necks in the process. It's an unfair advantage, but it's the just one thing that we have to do to protect ourselves.
The muffled sound of whimpering makes me look over in that dark direction. I can't really see what she's doing, but judging from the sound of the table leg scraping across the floor, I'd guess she's trying to get her hands free. I hate that he ties them up so tight. The sound of a struggle always makes me feel sorry for them. And what's even worse is he insists on gagging them and leaving me here to watch them.
The least he could do is leave the gag off so they could talk to me. I know that ain't the smartest idea, seeing as how they could start screaming. But sometimes, when I know that he'll be gone for a while, I untie the gag so we can talk. If nothing else, I think it helps them to relax.
They don't scream, usually. I don't really know why. I like to think it's because they know I don't really want to hurt them. I don't know. I can't really explain it. It's like, I don't want to cause anybody pain and knowing that someone got hurt because of something I did disturbs me. But on the same token I love the power of fear. I love the look on their faces when they realize it's me. Really, who would ever suspect me of anything?
I don't know how I got like this. I wasn't one of those types you read about in the DSM-IV that labels sociopaths as displaying symptoms since early childhood. I didn't grow up in some broken home and I wasn't abused as a child. Nobody touched me and I didn't have any traumas to blame anything on. I've never had brain damage or ever been bullied before. There's no explanation for it. I once had this shrink tell me that was the scariest thing about it. There was nothing in my pathology to suggest I would turn out the way that I have. According to her, that's what makes me a danger to society.
I'm a whole lot different than him, that's for sure. He's the sick one out of the two of us. I don't even ask anymore where he gets some of the ideas he comes up with. I think he's watched one too many scary movies and now he wants to play everything out in real life. He worries me sometime, because it's getting to the point where this isn't enough for him anymore. Every time we've got to do a little bit more, make the chase a little harder, punish them a little longer. It's because he doesn't seem to ever be satisfied.
I remember when we first started, it was cut and dry. We'd see someone we wanted and we'd grab them, have fun and drop them off in some remote area of town when we were done. Now, it's this big, elaborate game for him. He's into wooing them, getting them to come willingly and then when we get them in the car the fun begins. He's into the screaming and begging now and I honestly don't think any of them walked away afterward in the past few months.
He's getting out of control, but what can I do about it? It's not like I can walk away from this life. I'm in it too deep and truthfully I don't want to. I tried once. I tried to make a clean break, but the hunger got to be too much. I felt like I was going to crawl out of my own skin. My heart raced all the time, my hands shook, my mouth stayed all juicy… I couldn't sleep or eat. I guess this is my addiction.
"If he comes back here and finds out that you got your hands free, he's gonna be pissed." I feel like it's the least I could do. She should at least know that he's not really a person you want to fuck with. If he ties you up, when he comes back, your ass better still be tied up. It makes him crazy if they upset the scene that he has in his mind. "If you don't break your wrist trying to untie yourself, if you're free when he gets here he'll do it for you."
I notice how quiet she is suddenly, but I can still hear her muffled cries. I almost feel sorry for her. Almost. But she has something I need so my sympathy only goes so far. Still, I feel like I should be doing something to try to make her stay here a little more enjoyable. I mean, she did ask to come. She wanted us to show her a good time, but I'm sure this wasn't what she had in mind.
I move over to the leg of the table that he's got her tied to and sit down next to her. "You smoke?" I notice the way she's trying to scramble away from me like I'm going to do something to her. I understand her reaction but really where does she think she's going to go? The binds are entirely too tight and I'm not tied up. Anywhere she can scramble to, so can I. If I felt up to it, I'd play along and show her that I'm in charge. But I just don't feel like it tonight. I just want to get this over with and go home. I'm tired. She put up much more of a fight than I thought she would. I hate when I'm exhausted before we even get started.
I fold my legs beneath me and touch the end of the lit match to the wick on the candle. It really doesn't illuminate the room much, but at least it allows her to see my face and me hers. She really is pretty especially with the way tears have stained her smudged face and her hair clings to her skin with sweat. Her teeth are so white against the soiled rag tied around her head to keep her quiet. She has the prettiest brown eyes, even if one is almost swollen shut. He didn't have to hit her so hard.
"You want a cigarette?" I hold the pack up to her face and watch as her eyes fix on me and not on the pack. "They're safe. I didn't put anything in them." I try to offer a smile to lighten the mood, but she doesn't seem anymore relaxed. "I'm gonna untie your gag, but you gotta cooperate, okay? If you scream, I'll cave your face in and I really don't wanna do that." I notice how she flinches when I talk to her. I really don't want to threaten her, but I think it's only fair that she knows what's coming if she disobeys.
I reach over to her and put my hands behind her head. Her hair feels like silk under my fingers. Even after I loosen the tie I leave my hand there for just a second to feel how soft it is. Once the gag hangs loosely around her neck, I sit back and smile at her. I don't really have anything to say to her at that moment, instead, I pack the box of Malboros and select one for her enjoyment.
"Here ya go." I feel my own mouth open as I put the cigarette up to her lips and my heart speeds up when I see her open and close her mouth around the filter. I pick up the candle and hold it close to her face and watch as the flame catches to the end of the butt. "That's better." I light my own cigarette with the candle before I place it back on the floor.
She looks like she's struggling to puff and keep the thin layer of smoke from getting into her eyes. I feel bad for the girl. The least I can do is reach across and take the cigarette away from her mouth to give her a moment to breathe in some of this moldy air.
"What are you gonna do to me?" That's the first time I heard her speak since we left the bar. While we were there I found her voice to be whiny and irritating, but now I like it. It's soft and vulnerable and it quivers with each word she says.
Hmm? What are we gonna do? He doesn't like to do the same thing two nights in a row, and we did so much last night. I have no idea what he's planning. "I don't know. What would you like to do?"
The look she gives me amuses me. I love when they're interactive. I can almost pretend that they're enjoying it as much as I am. "I'd like to go home."
"I can ask if that can happen. But you have to be good." For some reason I like to tell them the rules. I want them to know that if they are pleasing there's a better chance of them just living the memories then not living at all. Of course you always get the ones that take that information and go crazy with it. Those are the ones that piss him the off the most. Those are the ones that don't get to see the next day. Those are the ones we read about in the newspaper while we're sitting around at work talking about everything from sports to the weather.
I place the cigarette back to her lips and she takes a deep breath. I love the way the plume of smoke dances around her face as she exhales. It seems to be working; she seems to be more relaxed. "Why me?" I never understood that question.
"Why not you?" No one is so special that we can't use them. That's why we pick who we do, because they're special. "You're perfect for what we need."
"And what's that?" I notice her tears are falling faster as her fear is taking over.
"A fantasy woman." I can feel myself smirk as I hand her back the cigarette. But it was something about seeing her pink tongue touch her bottom lip that ignited something in my belly and turned on a switch in my head. All of a sudden I don't feel like I'm sitting on the floor in this broken down dirty room, instead, I'm running in a field of green grass, chasing fireflies with my friends. I feel free and wild. I feel creative and imaginative. I feel alive.
I don't know how much time passes before I hear him enter the room. All I know is I can't look at him. I can't meet his eyes. "What the fuck happened?" I hear his voice from behind me and it takes everything I have to pull my wet hands from my face.
"I don't know." I can feel the cold stickiness left on my cheeks and the warm tears that run across them. I let my eyes focus on my red hands as the candle flickers and is almost completely burnt out.
I hear his footsteps moving closer to me. He's walking slowly, so I know he's not angry, but that's no excuse. I feel his presence around me when he kneels beside me and places his fingers in my hair. There's nothing I can do but turn to him and wrap my arms around him while I cry against him.
"It's okay, baby." I can feel his lips touch my forehead while he coos and rubs my back. Even though I can't see his face, I know he's looking at the scene on the floor. I know he sees the blood still dripping from where her face once was. I know he notices that her skirt has been pulled away and instead of the gag in her mouth, her panties are half way down her throat. I swear I don't know how she got like that. I don't remember.
Clinging desperately to him, I try to bite back my sobs. "I don't understand why this keeps happening. I can't stop it, Adam. I need help."
With a reassuring smile and his fingers tracing my lips, he shakes his head. "No, Jeff. You don't need help, baby. You just need me."