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I glance toward the window. When the hell did I leave it open? Is thesalt circle broken?
He advances through my protective perimeter and passes the foot of the bed.
Panic restarts, turning the edges of my vision black. I thrash within my invisible restraints, my mind screaming, my gaze fixed on his glowing eyes.
Cold fingers pull back the sheets, exposing my trembling thighs to the cool air. In one swift movement, he lifts my nightgownup around my waist.The pulse between my legs pounds a staccato beat. Arousal floods my clit. The muscles of my core tighten in anticipation of another night of torture.
Terror consumes my consciousness, and my last hope before I succumb to the darkness is that maybe, this time, he’ll allow me to come.
THIRTY-NINE
Alderney State Penitentiary,
Dear Amethyst,
How didn’t I know what was happening to the girls? I appreciate your frustration. Everything changed when I finally realized why they were so upset, but that’s a story for another day.
In short, my life was sheltered. From the age of seven, I lived in a gated community, where I had little contact with the outside world. I was not allowed to access the internet or watch television, and my reading material was restricted. Every child at my elementary school was part of the community, and parents like my father wielded power over the teaching staff.
When I was moved into the facility at the age of ten,my window to the outside world became even more restricted. There were no friendly housekeepers to give me another perspective on life. Everything I learned from that moment on was spoon-fed to me by my tutors.
There was no way for me to comprehend that a grown man could see young girls as anything but innocent children.
One by one, the girls disappeared from the facility, and by the time I reached eleven, all that was left were ten boys. The tutorsexplained that the girls had quit the program and had either returned to their families or the streets.
Over the next several months, even some of the boys I joined with ‘left’. Sometimes they didn’t return from missions. Other times, they were told to pack their things and leave. Younger children would arrive every six months to replace those who departed, and after my growth spurt, I became a teaching assistant.
I regret helping to train child assassins. For the longest time, my moral compass was skewed.
Stockholm syndrome is a powerful thing, especially for a child. I’m ashamed to admit to being desperate to succeed and earn my father’s approval. During that time, I looked back on what my father did to the woman who raised me as a mercy killing and blamed all the cruelty I endured on my brothers and stepmother.
My mind was so warped that I saw that man as my savior. All the tutors at the facility revered him, as did the other boys. I even earned respect among my peers for being his son.
When I turned fourteen, my father came to visit the facility to update me on the status of his younger son. My attack left him with permanent brain damage, leaving the housekeeper and my stepmother having to tend to his most basic needs.
The news hit me harder than I expected. I hadn’t intended for my actions to burden the housekeeper. My father added that I was too old for the facility and gave me two options. The first was to return home to live with his family, and the second was to join an academy, where I would train with like-minded students.
I chose the latter, and that was the true beginning of my corruption.
Fan questions:
I do not feel remorse for my killings, although I am capable of the emotion. Every person I tortured to death only suffered hours of torment compared to the years of pain they inflicted on me. All I did was enact retribution.
If I could have a superpower, it would be teleportation. I would leave death row to appear before my fans on camera. Afterward,I would take you upstairs and make you moan my name all night. No prison would hold my body, and no cell would hold my spirit.
Yours,
Xero
P.S. Was the lingerie I sent your size?
FORTY
AMETHYST
My head no longer throbs when I wake up the next morning, but I can’t say the same for my heart. Or my pussy. My arms and torso feel like they’ve been encased in ropes.
The dry membranes of my throat stick together as I try to swallow, and it feels like I’ve screamed myself hoarse.
