Page 79 of Depravity

When it stops this time, I’m physically wheezing. I have no idea how my heart doesn’t give out, how I can take that much pain without passing out.

Conrad gets right into my face. “Are you going to behave now, wife?” He asks.

I’m a fool to do it. A complete fool.

But I spit back, I spit right in his face.

More electricity shocks me, and I swear I can smell the stench of my own flesh burning. That I’m cooking in my skin.

“I can do this all day,” Conrad remarks, “But we both know you can’t. Give in, Brynn, give in before you really hurt yourself.”

I shake my head. I refuse again.

It hurts. It hurts too much.

I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I try to crawl, and another wave hits my body, making me spasm uncontrollably.

There’s an awful whimpering, and I realise it’s me making that sound.

“It’s very fucking simple, Brynn.” Conrad growls. “It’s you or them. Either you hurt, or they do.”

I hate him. I hate him.

And I hate myself for what I’m about to do.

My hand wavers, it shakes so violently as I pick up the blade he’s laid right in front of me.

Clara makes a noise. She’s clearly screaming behind that gag but I block out her words, block out her pleas.

We’re all dead anyway, aren’t we? We’re all in hell already, so what difference does it make?

My tears stream as I realise this action condemns us both. But I shift forward, shift closer.

Behind me, I can feel the anticipation. I can feel how Conrad is already reacting, getting excited. He knows he’s won, he knows he’s beaten me in this.

Her screams hit my ears, making my skin erupt into goosebumps. I drive that knife into her throat, hoping that it’s quick, that it’s merciful. It’s all we can wish for in this life, so in a way it feels like a blessing.

Her blood sprays out. It hits my face, hits my mouth. It’s hot. It’s like a rainfall, a shower, pouring over me. I clearly hit her main artery so I’m at least happy that I made it as fast of an ending as I could.

Clara sags, slumping onto the floor.

Beside me Conrad grasps my shoulders, planting a kiss on my cheek.

“There’s my girl.” He says, as if I should be proud of what I’ve done.

I can’t look at Clara, I can’t bear to see it. To see her blood. To see that wound. To see that vacant look in her eyes as she slowly dies.

I stare at my hands, I stare at my fingers, wondering if I hacked them off, would that be a fit atonement for my crimes?

Finally, finally we are making progress.

I drag her up, drag her back through Oblivion, anxious to drive my point home.

By the time we get to the main hall, she’s in an absolute state. She’s sobbing, shaking, clearly distressed.

But this is a moment of triumph, not disappointment. Why is she crying? Why is she not thanking me for providing her with such a necessary lesson?

All around us it’s like an orgy. I can see the bodies writhing, I can hear those beautiful sounds of flesh slapping against flesh.

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