Page 27 of Love Her Ruin
My own scars tingle. The ones on my back, my thighs, my stomach, the underside of my breasts. Cigar-shaped, pressed into my skin by Vincent's hand while he told me I was nothing in that Kansas City alleyway. They pulse now, a phantom heat, as if they recognize the ritual unfolding around them.
Some of those scars have been carved out, reshaped by James’s knife into little hearts stamping my skin. Violence molded into love, taking transformed into giving.
I exhale, a plume of gray that drifts across the basement.
Vincent watches me from his shadow-chains. His eyes are red, swollen, the pupils blown wide with fear. He hangs like a carcass in a butcher's shop, waiting for the final cut.
But this is new.
This is mine.
And I will not rush it.
I hold the cigar between my fingers, studying the ember at its tip. It glows like a small, malevolent star. The smoke curls upward, thin and gray, and I watch it rise until it dissolves into the shadows above.
"Let’s continue," I say. "Do you have anything you want to say to me first?"
“Will it make any difference?” Vincent rasps.
“Here? Not at all, but it may help you where you go next.”
He remains silent, only staring at me.
I hand the cigar to Eddie. His fingers brush mine as he takes it, and I feel the warmth of him, the steadiness. He doesn't flinch from what we're about to do. He's here with me in every way possible.
I turn to the table where the harness waits.
Black leather, buckles, straps. I run my fingers over them, feeling the grain, the give. The giant dildo rests beside it, the three-foot long black one I got for my nineteenth birthday, the same one Daddy poked out of a vent in my bedroom when he wasn’t fully formed yet, and I fucked it. Part of it anyway.
It's heavy when I pick it up, a weapon disguised as a toy. I know exactly how it will feel sliding into Vincent.
I step into the harness. The leather settles against my hips, and I pull the straps tight and click the buckles into place. The weight of the dildo pulls forward, a counterbalance to my own body, like a second spine. I adjust it, angle it, make sure it's secure.
When I look up, every eye in the room is on me.
James leans against the wall, arms crossed, his smile a blade. He's been waiting for this, practically vibrating with anticipation. His hands twitch at his sides, one of them already grasping his knife.
Eddie stands near the workbench, the cigar still in his hand, his gaze dark.
Daddy is a shadow coiling around me, watching patiently, his presence a pressure against my skin. I feel him in the air I breathe, in the beat of my own heart.
Vincent starts to cry.
“Anything you want to say to me now?” I ask him.
"Please," he whispers. "Please, I'll do anything."
"You already did everything," I say. "This is the receipt."
I wait for him to say more, or try to backtrack his way out of this, but he continues blubbering.
I take the cigar back from Eddie, and the tip glows red, hungry. I walk toward Vincent, the dildo swaying with each step, a pendulum counting down to zero. He tries to wriggle away, but there's nowhere to go. The shadow-chains hold him open, spread, and vulnerable. His arms are stretched above his head, his legs forced apart.
I stop in front of him, take another drag of the cigar, hold the smoke in my lungs, and feel it burn. Then I lean in and blow the smoke into his face. He coughs, chokes, his eyes watering.
“Remember when you said I was nothing while you raped me?” I ask. “Am I nothing now?”
I bring the cigar to his chest and press the ember into his skin just below the collarbone.
