Page 14 of Savagely Scarred

She defiled my masterpiece.

The scar I gave her while she hung from the rafters. From the knife that made her bleed while I took her from behind.

My cock twitches at the memory.

But that memory is now ruined.

Always trying to hide from me.

Always trying to outrun me.

I’ve been following her now for months. My phone is set up to receive notifications with a location when my facial recognition software flags her. But I honestly don’t need it at this point.

She’s disciplined.

She has a routine.

One she follows religiously.

She’s in this park twice a week. Every Sunday morning and every Friday evening—weather permitting. Usually, she’s with one of her less than adequate male companions, but today they are absent.

How convenient.

Her dog trots beside her, tongue lolling out of its mouth. Completely oblivious. Loyal little mutt. It would die for her, wouldn’t it?

Pathetic.

The men glued to her side have been an issue. The reason I haven’t gotten close to her yet is because she is never alone. I resigned myself to following her through the city, keeping my distance. Or watching the camera feeds of her house when I want to see her vulnerable. But the dog…

I’d slit its throat just to watch the fear bloom in her eyes again. Just to hear that sound she makes—the one that lives somewhere between a scream and a sob.

That sound was always my favorite.

As they get closer, I move to stand under the cover of the trees nearby. I pull out a pack of cigarettes and light one, letting the toxins fill my lungs. People passing by give me dirty looks.

Do I know that I’m not supposed to be smoking here? Yes.

Do I care? Absolutely not.

My eyes are trained on her.

My focus cannot be hindered.

When you’re forced to be caged for ten years, you learn to become observant. I sat in that prison, behind those steel bars, watching everyone. Studied their body language. Learned the way that they would either cower in fear, or the way they reveled in the power that they held over others.

I blended into the background so well that most didn’t know I existed. And that’s the way that I wanted it. I only communicated with men that I knew could benefit me once I was outside those walls again. Networked my way into some long term “friends.”

When I wasn’t forced into proximity with the other inmates, I isolated myself. I read to feed my starving brain. I worked out to strengthen my body. And I only let my mind wander to her when I rested. Those were the hours I first sought revenge. Death.

But now I’m not so sure I want the light to vanish from her eyes. I’m hesitant to erase her presence from this Godforsaken planet. That was all I had thought about for years. Seeing her now though, after all this time makes me second guess my motives.

She looks different now. Stronger. But I still see the girl I carved beneath the muscle. The one who used to tremble when I came home. The one who learned to obey. The one who stabbed me.

I still feel that cut. Not the pain—but the betrayal. I bled, yes. But so did she. She just hasn’t realized it yet.

She thinks she’s safe in the daylight. Thinks the sun protects her. Thinks the parks and trees and other people around make her untouchable.

But I’m here. In the woods. In the silence between birdcalls. In the stillness where shadows breathe.