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My bedroom is like the rest of the house’s decor: gothic. While only the panel of wall behind the bed is painted black, the white walls are covered in macabre artwork. Pictures of Xero hang among canvases that feature skeletons, creepy dolls, scenes of torture, and all manner of Shinigami. After tonight, I’m beginning to understand my love for Japanese death gods.
I don’t bother to shower before bed, since I already scrubbed my skin raw. Not a single trace of Jake remains on my body, save for the bruises. Maybe I should have taken his online threats seriously, but I thought my security measures were foolproof.
After undressing, I wash down double the recommended dose of Temazepam with several swigs of vodka and slip between the black silk sheets. My muscles still ache from dragging a full-grown man into the cemetery and digging his shallow grave, and I’m desperate for sleep.
My eyelids become heavy, and slumber pulls me under in minutes. Before my eyes fully close, I swear I see the reaper hovering in my doorway. His cold breath makes the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. He drifts closer, his skeletal fingers reaching out to caress my cheek. I’m too drowsy, too sedated to flinch, even as his icy touch makes my skin erupt in goosebumps.
I dream of Xero, all alone in a desolate afterlife, his eyes filled with hurt and anger over my betrayal. I dream of JakeRake69, burning in the fires of Hell. Flames engulf him, reducing his flesh to cinders, only for it to regenerate. His screams ring through my ears with the sweet melody of vengeance. I should revel in seeing my attacker get his comeuppance, but I can’t look away from Xero’s accusing glare.
Hours later, the first rays of sunlight stream through my eyelids, pulling me out of sleep, but my skin tingles with static electricity. Sensation gathers low in my belly and the pulse between my legs pounds in sync with my frantic heartbeat.
“Fuck,” I croak, my throat still hoarse.
Whatever dream I had must have been erotic, because my clit has never felt so swollen. I reach down between my legs and rub my aching bundle of nerves. My other hand twitches toward the dildo Xero commissioned from a mold of his erection, but I close my fingers into a fist.
I am no longer worthy of using him to get off.
Not after such a devastating betrayal.
So, let’s make do with my fingers and make this quick.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I focus on the sensations, but my mind’s eye keeps dredging up his beautiful face. Strong brow, framed with platinum hair and irises glowing brighter than blue icebergs.
It’s his mugshot that went viral, the one where he wears a septum piercing along with a pair of snakebites on his perfectly plump bottom lip. A dusting of stubble covers his square jaw, accentuating the sharp angles of his face. Utter perfection. My mind’s eye travels down his thick neck to muscular shoulders and a sculpted chest. His abs are chiseled with a dusting of blond hair leading to?—
“Xero,” I whisper as I climax.
A thud hits the closet. I leap out of bed, my heart pounding loud enough to rouse the dead. Crossing the room in a few steps, I grab the handle and yank open the door.
Something large, something stiff, something heavy and cold falls into my arms. I stagger back with a shriek, only for it to tumble onto the floor with a loud crash.
It’s a body.
But not just any corpse.
Jake stares up at me through sightless eyes, his lips parted with shock. Black blood encrusts the stab wound in his neck, revealing a trail of fluid down to his bare chest.
Three things hit me at once.
One. The corpse I buried last night has found its way back into my home.
Two. I really need to take my meds.
Three. I’ve already forgotten the third.
THREE
Alderney State Penitentiary
Dear Amethyst,
Your blood-red envelope captured my curiosity, but your confession of murder has captured my attention.
Tell me more.
Xero
P.S. Most women spray their letters with perfume. You’re the first who has scented the paper with their pussy.
