Page 48 of Beneath Her Skin

Elias’ brows knit together as his arms drag him down, closer to the table.

“I…I don’t feel-,” Mama’s eyes flutter closed as her head dips down before jerking up, fighting her sleep. Then all at once, she slumps over the table, face-planting in her leftover food. Elias turns slowly to meet my gleeful smile. It’s his last sight before he follows suit.

The silence in this room is deafening. Grabbing a handful of Mama’s hair, I lift her head to let it drop again.

It worked. Holy fuck, it really worked.

This is only the beginning of all the fun we’re going to have. If my research serves me correctly, I have at least four hours to tie them up and move them to the basement. Fuck, Elias is twice my weight.

Did I think this far ahead? Absolutely not.

Will I let that stop me? Absolutely not.

I haven’t made it this far for nothing. First, I find all the rope we have in this house to secure their arms and legs together later. Dragging Mama’s body takes more effort and strengththan I anticipated, not to mention I almost fucked all my plans up by tripping over one of the steps on my way down. By the time I’m back upstairs standing over what I’m sure will be my hardest task, almost an hour has already gone by. I’m not entirely convinced I can pull Elias’ weight on my own, but there is no going back now.

The bastard is heavy as hell. Why did I think this would be easy? I haul him from under his arms using all my strength. Frustration crawls up my throat, heat spreading to the top of my head. Damn, this is a workout. After at least fifteen minutes of struggling, I managed to wrestle his shoulders over the stairhead, using my feet to push his ass the rest of the way down.

Elias looks as if someone tried to fold him like a pretzel, then tossed him aside to the trash where he belongs. As my chest heaves for air, I let a chuckle slip past my lips at the thought.

The hard part is almost over. I need to look directly into their eyes while they suffer. They both deserve to watch everything I do to the other. This is all worth it if only to look into their eyes right before taking their final breath.

My eyes dart from the bodies to the ceiling a few times. This shit seems so much easier in movies. How the fuck can I hang their arms from the ceiling?

Maybe if you actually planned this out instead of making a swift decision, you’d be more prepared, Tiana.

Rolling my eyes at that thought, I run back upstairs for the rope as I ponder how to proceed. A pillar near the back of the basement makes me stop a few steps short. Perfect! There are four toward each corner. It doesn’t have to be fancy—they’ll be dead by the end of this either way—but I want a nice setup. After all, an artist can draw on paper, but with an easel and the proper tools, that’s when the magic happens.

This time, I work on Elias first, wrapping the rope around the thick pole from his ankles to his knees and securing himin place with a series of sturdy knots. After struggling far more than I want to admit, I maneuver the ropes around his waist and neck, careful not to choke him while holding him upright. His arms wrap behind the pole, secured tightly at the wrists. Almost towering over me, Elias seems so at ease in his drugged-out sleep.

I fucking hate it.

My nose twitches just as I jerk my arm back, my palm stinging instantly when his cheek meets my skin with a loudcrackthat echoes in the too-quiet room. Elias’ head whips sharply to the side and I hold my breath until I’m certain that I didn’t wake him from his slumber.

I exhale on a huff when I realize the only thing that serves as a weapon near me is an old broomstick if anything backfires or they wake up. The tools I have to work with down here are less than ideal, but someone can hand me a spoon right now and I would make a masterpiece of them with the scoop as my paintbrush and nothing else.

I’m so fucking tired. Tired of the way they treat me. Tired of the way they talk to me. Sick and tired of this vicious cycle of insanity. As I step away from his body, a scream rips from my throat, hands sealed into fists as I march to my mother’s sleeping form and kick her thigh. Tears gather as my breaths become heavier. All the times she beat me for no reason or gaslit me flash in the forefront of my mind as I seize her ankles in a furious grip, dragging her to the opposing pillar with a grunt that propels me.

Mama is the true source of this anguish that lives in my soul. Tying her up was easier than Elias, but being so close to her only ever makes me feel worse. Worse in the sense that my sadness and grief morph into deeper anger, my fingers twitch to wrap around her neck and squeeze the life out of her so she can never speak to me the way she does again, my heart wants to jump outof my chest, and the loudest voice in my head claims the only solution is to make her suffer. Make her feel the lifetime worth of pain she has handed to me.

Mama used to always say I must have a screw loose in my head. Turns out that she was right. A rush of power cascades over me at their vulnerable forms, both at my mercy to toy with as I please. This will be just what I need. Suddenly, I’m not so upset about there not being a rage room in this godforsaken town.

Relieving their pockets of any loose items—keys, a condom, phones—I set up a small camera that streams directly to my laptop and lock them in the basement to prepare myself for the real fun. I’ll monitor both of their phones to make sure no one interrupts us.

First and foremost, I need tools if I want to do some damage. Knives are the obvious choice. The sharpest knife I find draws blood with hardly any pressure at all. Alongside it I lay down a long thick knife, metal tongs, and a pair of scissors. Rummaging through the fridge for some water, I move the nearly expired milk aside when a sick idea grabs hold of me.

Tonight is the night for experiments and pushing limits, isn’t it? Let’s see how well they can take what they dish out.

My face contorts as the ghost of rotten milk tickles my taste buds. Memories circle through my mind like a carousel of cruel moments, hidden touches, and harsh truths. Bianca needs a taste of her own medicine. Neither of them will get out of this, and I won’t regret one moment of it. I’ve spent far too many years bottling up far too many emotions.

They must’ve known one day I would overflow and burn down the very people who threw fuel on the fire, right?

Set to expire in two days, the remaining milk has a faint foul odor, but it’s not enough for me. Pouring it all into a shallowbowl, I drop a dash of lemon juice to speed up the process and let it sit while I hunt for some more tools to play with.

Popping into my room, I grab my new torch, feeling my body alight with anticipation as I slip out of my clothes into something more comfortable. The torch is for when I smoke outside and it’s too windy for a regular lighter, but tonight it’ll serve a new purpose. With a hop in my step, I grab a hammer and screwdriver and head down into the basement with plenty of time to spare.

Setting up with only my thoughts to keep me company is kind of killing the vibe. Within minutes I have my favorite playlist singing through the speaker.Mad Hatterby Melanie Martinez instantly lifts my spirits right where I need them to be. While doing a little dance to the music, I spot my old metal softball bat discarded as I send a small thank you to Melanie for pointing me in the right direction.

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