Page 20 of Peep
I’ve spent a sizable chunk of today conjuring up ideas about what Jahmar’s ‘big secret’ is. Maybe he’s dealing drugs; perhaps he’s a sex worker or has an obscure kink. I think I’d be fine with all of the above, so there’s no need for all the dramatics. Unless…
I scoff a laugh, shunning the ridiculous thought. I need to stop watching true crime before bed. Of course, he’s not a murderer. He was only teasing me about having a body in that trunk. Surely, I’d sense if he were fully deranged. There’s no way I’d let a murderer come on my face.
Closing my eyes and sucking in the air around me, I click on the feed. I count back from three, then open my eyes to look at the screen.
What. The. Fuck.
I blink hard several times to make sure I’m not imagining it. My blood runs cold, pumping furiously to the organ threatening to climb out of my chest and land in my lap. My hand shakes violently, forcing me to grip my phone tighter.
There’s a naked middle-aged man I’ve never seen before strapped to Jahmar’s bed. At first glance, it could look like some kinky bondage set-up, but what makes the scene undeniably harrowing is the fact there’s a clear plastic sheet underneath the man, and he’s out cold. I mean, he could be asleep, but the way his head lolls to the side, and his mouth hangs open, he looks almost dead.
My eyes dart around the room, searching for Jahmar or any more clues about what the fuck is going on. Peeking out from the corner is that creepy fucking trunk. Is that how he got the guy up here? He kidnapped someone, and now he’s going to torture them to death, and he wants me to watch.
“Hell fucking no. Absolutely not,” I say to myself, abruptly standing.
No matter how much I fancy him, there’s no fucking way I can just stand by and watch him torture someone. The fact that he thinks I’d be ok with this is incredibly alarming.
I start pacing the small changing room like a wild cat trapped in a tiny cage. My hand aggressively runs through my hair.
I gasp when Jahmar comes into view, dressed head to toe in pale green scrubs, surgical gloves and a mask. He’s holding a silver tray with an array of surgical instruments.
Oh god, this is bad, really fucking bad. What the hell is he going to do? Slice the guy open and sell his organs on the black market?
My brain starts to ache as it works overtime, trying to make sense of what this clearly demented man is up to.
Jahmar looks up at the camera and pulls his mask under his chin. I abruptly stop pacing. A cold expression paints his usually smiley face, making heat climb up my throat. Then a sinister smile claws at his cheeks, and he winks at me. He knows I’m watching; of course he does. My dinner curdles in my stomach, and I have to focus on my breathing so I don’t throw up.
“Ok, think Anders. Fucking think,” I mumble, pacing again. “I’ll go up there and demand an explanation. Yes, exactly. That’s what I’ll do,” I tell myself, hoping that saying it out loud will help me find the courage to do it.
What if I confront him, and he turns on me? I don’t fancy being strapped to his bed and tortured, too. No, thank you.
I could contact the police and say there are some weird noises coming from his apartment, but what if the man is there of his own accord, and this is some messed up kinky doctor role-play. Jesus Christ. There are too many variables. Not only that, if he is committing a crime and doing something seriously fucked up, the police will want to thoroughly search his apartment and, most likely, the whole fucking building. They’ll find my cameras.How the fuck do I explain that? Shit, they’d probably assume I’m an accomplice. No matter what I do, I’m fucked.
My breaths grow wilder, panic bubbling in my chest. I sit down on the bench, put the phone beside me upside down and hang my head between my knees, sucking in as much air as I can before releasing it. I need to calm the fuck down, or I won’t be able to think straight. Several minutes pass, and I eventually control my breathing.
I reach for my phone, flipping it over. This can’t be real. From what I can see, Jahmar's performing full-on surgery on the man. I zoom in to see exactly what he’s doing, but it’s hard to get a real view; his hands, arms, and shoulders keep getting in the way. His focus seems to be on the man’s crotch area.
I’m frozen in place, watching on in horror as he works on his victim.
A sharp pain runs through my skull, no doubt an impending migraine from the stress of this messed up night.
Why the hell did I have to get involved with this man?
I feel like I’m backed into a corner with no view of the exit. I just have to pray and hope this isn’t as dark as it seems; hope that the man strapped to Jahmar’s bed is here of his own free will. Maybe Jahmar does back door plastic surgery for an affordable price. Although, that’s probably wishful thinking. I lose track of time as I watch Jahmar perform the mystery surgery.
Jahmar looks up at the camera, and I think he smiles; it’s hard to tell behind the mask. Then he holds a silver surgical bowl up to the camera.
Oh god, no. A deadly shiver travels down my spine as I take in the contents. Jahmar swills two bloody, egg-shaped organs around the bowl, and bile rises up my throat.
He castrated the poor bloke.
Unable to keep watching, I exit the feed. No man willingly pays to have his balls removed. When Jahmar said he had a secret, I could’ve never conjured up something so fucking twisted.
I kissed this man, I let him touch me—fuck, I helped him come.
My lungs squeeze as I struggle to breathe. I had doubts about him, but a tiny part of me hoped for more. I can’t get involved with this man; he’s sick and dangerous. Despite my own wrongdoings, I have to draw the line somewhere. I can’t allow myself to be dragged into something so inherently wrong.
Turning off my phone and scrambling to my feet I lean over the sink and splash my face with bitterly cold water. I’m a fucking mess. My skin is almost translucent with how pale I am. I use a paper towel to dry off my hands and face. I need to leave. I can’t be here, not with what I now know.
