Page 154 of Hate to Love You

God, this blade is sharp.

Dissection was always my favorite part of class, something I excelled in. It was like muscle memory, knowing exactly how much precision and pressure needed for a clean cut.

I should stop, I should help Heather up, tell her to keep her mouth shut and leave…but I don’t.

“How does it feel? To not be so special after all?” I spit, throwing her words back at her. Running the blade down her neck to her blouse.

She thrashes her head from side to side, her muffled pleas falling on deaf ears.

This is as much her own fault, as it is Roman’s.

She suddenly stills as she sees me lower the blade closer to her skin. Slicing through her blouse it falls open, exposing her chest to me.

“I really should let you go.” I mutter, shaking my head slowly. “But this is way more fun.”

Screaming, she flails frantically as she kicks beneath me, using her hips to try and buck me off. I twist my legs under hers, locking my ankles and preventing her from moving.

I lean forward, my cheek rubbing against hers.

“And everyone deserves to know what you are.”

With one hand over her mouth, I press the knife to her skin, slowly carving her chest.

A blade like this doesn’t need that much force, the knife cuts so easily, so smoothly that it feels like an extension of me.

Heather’s eyes are rolling into the back of her head by the time the first letter is done, and snot is running down her face.

I’ll admit the “S” looks a little wonky, but my attention is pulled to the blood pouring down the side of her boob. I trail my thumb over it, feeling the hot raised skin.

The cut is clean and precise, but the letter isn’t perfect.

I can do better.

Adrenaline pumps through my veins, and her screams are muffled beneath me, covered by my hand and my maniacal laughter.

The blade passes through layers of skin like they are paper, and the next letter looks so much better.

So much cleaner.

I carve the next, and then the next, the high and euphoria from slicing her skin making me almost feel dizzy.

Eventually I finish, signing my artwork with a simple X.

“Perfect,” I grin up at her. “X marks the spot. Or I guess it marks the slut in this case.”

She sobs beneath me, her makeup streaking down her cheeks, mixing with the blood on the floor.

“Now listen to me, Slut,” I start to say, but Heather just continues wailing.

I grab her hair, smashing her head against the concrete and making her screw her eyes shut.

“If you,” I hiss, “continue throwing yourself at Roman, you’ll find yourself like everyone else who has crossed me: dead before dawn.”

My eyes fall to her chest, entranced by the way the blood trickles and pools in the cuts.

However, when I glance down at my hands, everything catches up with me and the reality of what I’ve just done hits me like a slap in the face. I was so lost in the moment that I didn’t really think about my actions.

Heather is covered in blood. I am covered in blood. It’s on my hands, under my nails, it’s fucking everywhere.