Page 116 of Peak Cruelty

I shove open the drawer of the nightstand.Inside: two sets of keys.A gold money clip.A copy of1984,bookmarked halfway.

I toss the book onto his chest.

“You made her read it,” I say.“Told her she was the experiment.That this was about order.Control.That pain makes people civilized.”

I grab the lamp cord, rip it loose.

“You told her she wasdifferent, right?Not like the others.Smart.Grateful.Lucky to be chosen.”

I wrap the cord around his neck.Not tight.Not yet.

“Then you let her clean the sheets after.”

He shakes his head.I tighten the cord.

“You built a cage and called it shelter.Broke her down, then asked why she was so fragile.”

Tighter now.His eyes bulge.

“You didn’t just imprison her.You taught her tothankyou for it.”

His heels kick the floor.

“You want me to stop?”I say.

He chokes, nods frantically.

I lean in close.

“She said the same thing.”

“And youdidn’t.”

Then I pull.

The cord goes taut.He spasms once, then goes limp.Not dead—just out.A break in the nerves, not the neck.He’ll wake.I make sure of it.

I drop the cord, reach for the drawer.Not for a weapon—for the scarf.Silk.Monogrammed.Men like him never run out of ways to tie something up.

I use it to gag him.

Then I take his hand.

Hold it like I’m about to ask for a favor.

“Let’s pretend this was a choice,” I say.

I press his palm flat to the edge of the nightstand.Grip two fingers in mine.

The knife isn’t clean anymore.It doesn’t matter.

One slice.Quick.

The scream hits the gag like a crash test.

“That one’s for telling her she was safe.”

Second finger.

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