Faster on My Own: Chapter 31
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Sam’s hostage stirred beneath the white light. Those first few blinks were her favorite. What’s going on? Where am I? How did I get here? Each one soaked in meaning. But those questions all answered themselves, and Sam could stand draped in shadows without saying a word. Let the mounting dread build until it pricked her skin like static electricity.
Her hostage: Charlotte Corday, Caroline Demiers. A revolutionary who had blood on those delicate hands with the long, slender fingers that each ended in grotesque, chewed nails. The same ones which now clenched red and struggled against the lavender rope Sam had tied around her wrists in perfect parallel lines, affixing her hands behind the chair. Charlotte looked backward, so Sam entered the light. No mere scenery for her to ignore.
She grasped Charlotte’s chin and wrenched it toward her and breathed in her shut-eye terror and Sam didn’t bother to suppress a little moan. Squeezing her face, Sam said, “oh, that purple lipstick doesn’t suit you. You’re more of a winter.”
When Sam let go, Charlotte’s mouth hung open and her eyes narrowed tight and she said, “the fuck?”
Sam whipped her hand to Charlotte’s neck and dug her fingernails into the skin. No grimace no scream, nothing but the tight composure of a well-trained woman. Her breath softly hazed out of her, past Charlotte’s ear. “Which man taught you to be this way? The dead one?”
Two steps back after a provocation, vacate the space which a snarl and gnashing teeth then occupy. A dance! With a flick of the wrist, the light above Charlotte’s head went swinging. Sam’s heels tapped out a perfect semi-circle around Charlotte, who jerked her head back and forth, following the light and the tune in Sam’s head. “Who are you?”
“You know.” Sam leaned down next to Charlotte, and when the light found her again, Charlotte chased it almost into Sam’s face. Even as the light swung back, Charlotte stayed frozen and Sam kissed her on the lips. Just a peck, perfectly chaste. The hot part came later. “We were planning a trap for weeks, but you trapped yourself so much better. Gotta give you credit girl.” Sam gripped the collar of Charlotte’s shirt and lifted her off the chair. “Girl. Girl. Gurl. You get it. It was easy.”
“I’ll kill you.” Her hostage glared defiantly over her own perfect cheekbones and into Sam’s eyes. She believed it, that she would someday get to end Sam’s life. All that hatred and rage and imagination balled up into one beautiful fiction, hot with possibility. If only she could take it and rub it on her skin, but it lived inside the head of this one and nothing Sam had planned could crack it out of her.
“You can try, but I want to learn more about a man you didn’t kill. Steven Williams.” Sam picked a knife off of the table next to Charlotte, which she placed far enough into her peripheral vision that she couldn’t see anything on it. But now she knew there was a knife. Skin idents when you drag the dull edge down and the imagination begs for blood to burst forth, to be drenched in red satisfaction. Not yet, even as the shouts for more, more, more wracked Sam’s body. “You knew him.”
“I knew him.” Cagey. Rigid. Sam had halted all of that beautiful fluid-flowing anger, but the thrill of drawing it back out animated Sam’s hands and she grasped Charlotte’s throat for one tight squeeze, and then let go.
“You dated him, you fucked him, you were comrades in arms, I know all of this. You don’t kid a kidder, you don’t fuck a fucker, and so on. Tell me something I don’t know.” A moment passed with only Charlotte’s breathing making any sound. “Come on. Anything you’ve got. What kind of underwear did he favor in his 20s?”
“None.”
“An adventurous man. Time has beaten that out of him. Anything else? You know I’m going to get what you know. You know who I am.” The recognition in Charlotte’s eyes was unmistakable, that full realization felt like Charlotte had just witnessed Sam’s perfect body in its totality. Nude, unashamed, deadly. Now the calculations. Answer the question: probably die quick. Refuse: die slow and maybe deny your captor what they want. Maybe. No one ever came up with a good answer, but their belief in themselves as they plumbed their psyche for the optimal strategy made Sam wet with futility.
Wide eyes. Her little friend had a plan. “I’ll tell you everything I know. Steven did this entire thing to try and make the revolution happen. You want details?” Charlotte leaned forward, pouty lip and revealed cleavage above her dangling shirt. “I can give you whatever you want.”
Repulsive. Sam grabbed a fistful of Charlotte’s hair and slammed her back in her seat. Back to heavy breathing and fearful glances from the sides of her eyes. Back to the tickle of excitement on Sam’s skin.
“Come on. Let’s kill him. You and me together.” Charlotte pleaded now, tears falling down her face. With the full width of her tongue, Sam licked up the side of Charlotte’s face and replaced one wetness with another.
“Don’t worry, you’re going to be with me.” The beautiful curve where Charlotte’s neck met her shoulder called out to Sam. How satisfying it would be to carve up that line. “And you’re going to tell me everything, but I have some trust issues.”
“What can I do to make you believe me? I’ll take a lie detector, I’ll do whatever you need.”
Sam coiled up in Charlotte’s lap, and brought her lips close to Charlotte’s ear so her hot breath washed all over and back onto Sam’s own face. Her right hand caressed Charlotte’s cheek, running down until her pinky just brushed those plump lips with just a hint of remaining purple lipstick– the wrong season, but that was just another glaring wrongness that crackled with the possibility of correction. Just as smoothly with her left hand, Sam cut a line in Charlotte’s thigh. Blood bubbled up and soaked into the denim on either shore and Charlotte screamed. Those caressing fingers retreated to their place between Sam’s legs, and she whispered, “Don’t worry, I’m just as wet as you are.”
“Why… why are you doing this?”
“I told you. I have trust issues. I can’t believe something if it’s just given to me.” From the table beside the chair, Sam picked up a sharp hook. “I have to take it.”
For the rest of the night, Charlotte’s screams of agony sounded just as loud as Sam’s of ecstasy, but there was no one to hear either, or to stay Sam’s bloody hand for even a moment.