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“Sloan, you know I love you…”
“You don’t know the meaning of the word.” I crouched down to his face to straddle his body and sit on his injured stomach. “You always loved it when I sat on your lap?” I reminded, throwing all my weight on him. “Do you love it right now?”
He gasped, wailing from the pain I inflicted.
“Do you remember my mother at all? Do you ever think about her? Ever feel guilt? Do you ever feel anything?”
“Baby—”
I stabbed him in his dick, and he instantly howled in agony. He almost rolled over, but I held him in place.
“Did you feel that?” I cocked my head to the side as if I’d lost my mind, and in a way, I did. “Because I sure as shit did.”
With a deranged glare, I moved my face from side to side, breathing in his misery. I wanted it to become a part of me.
“Papi, tell me how much you love me…”
“I lov?—”
I stabbed him in the chest, and he coughed up blood. Simply feeding my soul he stole from me when I was eleven years old.
Thinking back on a time that made me as happy as I was right then, I sang my mom’s favorite nursery rhyme she used to sing to us as children, “The itsy-bitsy spider went up the water spout…”
She said to always be like the spider, that no matter what, we always try to leave the water spout. The thought alone brought more tears out of my eyes.
It was the craziest sensation to be happy and sad all at the same time.
“Down came the rain…” I sliced across his chest. “And washed the spider out…”
“Sloan…” he choked out, falling forward, but I pushed his back against the wall to hold him up.
“Out came the sun and dried up all the rain…” I slid a small hole in his neck. “And the itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the wall again.” Slowly, I slid the knife across his throat, taking my time to watch the blood seep out. “I hope you rot in hell.”
He was dying a slow death, trying to take his last breath.
“Now this,” I acknowledged. “This is for my mother.” Holding the knife, I backhandedly dug the blade into his heart and twisted it, sucking the life right out of him.
He wheezed.
He coughed.
He choked.
As he began gurgling, his eyes started shutting, and I held them open for him. I needed the last thing he saw before he died was my face.
Until finally, he stopped breathing.
Stopped moving.
Stopped living.
And I sat there for I don’t know how long, just wanting to engrain every last inch of him in my mind. Silently praying, I’d be free of him. The memories would always be a part of me, but maybe, just maybe…
I could lay them to rest.
I considered the future I didn’t have until this very moment, trying to bury the past with his body.
I waited.
