Page 60 of Savage Keepsakes

When I haul her into the stall with the others, I close the door and slide over the lock.

“What the fuck do you want, you fucking bag of shit?” Tyler shrieks.

I reach for her and pull her out the door. The moment I close it, a chorus of screams erupts from the others. I push her into the killing room and strip her down.

She fights me every step of the way, but after I smack her hard across the face, she stops. Looking down at her, I can’t help but be infuriated by her lack of resistance.

Lifting her onto the surface, I secure her limbs as I look down at her on the table. Her eyes are open, but she doesn’t frantically look around.

It makes me furious. I want her to be scared. Does she not know I feed off the fear, that it helps the blackness disappear from my mind?

The expression in her eyes remains constant while I work. She seems to have accepted whatever happens. Tyler gasps as I cut the skin off her thighs, but doesn’t scream.

I’m not doing what Lucy asked, but I have two others. I had a feeling that I was on the verge of losing control, and it made me uneasy.

“Did you live in town?”

Her gaze locks with mine, her brows lowering. Her pain tolerance is fascinating as she presses her lips together.

“Come on. Answer for funsies?”

“No, out of town.”

She doesn’t move as the blood drips down the what’s left of her flesh and spills in puddles around her body.

“Anyone gonna miss you?” I ask.

“Nope. I wanted to make a better life for myself, but apparently death comes if you wish for it hard enough.”

Lowering my head, I sigh. I almost want to say something comforting, but I’ll just spare her from her suffering.

I flip her over, and a low groan escapes her lips, but she stifles a scream.

Her friends create a chaotic symphony, meanwhile, hurling every insult imaginable at me—a fitting backdrop for the situation.

I take some of her back skin and admire her legs, the soft and unmarked flesh exactly what I desire.

The scars on her wrists and the hopelessness in her voice tell me she isn’t afraid to die.

Perhaps I’m cutting the pain from her, as if the blood inside has been causing her misery. In a sick, twisted way, maybe I am saving her from the world.

Unfortunately for her, I won’t be rescuing her from the monster that lives within me.

For a moment I leave her to put the skins in salt. She is the same when I return, minus everything I’ve removed. Turning her over, I find her eyes to be closed. She’s breathing shallowly. Maybe this is all she can take.

Suddenly, they open and look into mine, pulling me out of my thoughts. If she is looking for remorse, she will not find any. There’s nothing in my vision except for bloodlust.

She is ruining everything today, lying there, seemingly oblivious to what’s happening.

It’s the feeling of being alive that drives me to do this, to keep the shadows of the past at bay.

The nights of abuse and being sold to other men by my mother are memories that plague me, their weight heavy like dark clouds. The blackness that fills me is viscous, like oil, and it seeps into every crevice of my being.

I’m not a good man, and I’ve allowed my past to transform me into someone who derives pleasure from the terror of others. Knowing that my products are being used gives me more excitement than almost anything, except for Lucy.

Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, leaving the memories to snap like little bubbles, I explore her body.

Carelessly, I pull the knife down her abdomen, cutting through the membrane to open her up. I cut her ribs out, her body twitching with each snap.

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