Page 42 of The Tenth Circle
His voice appears again without warning, like the possession of an evil spirit.
Paint them red.
“Shut the fuck up!” I curse, shaking my head.
The vessels before me wiggle in the chairs, muffled cries undoing my attempt to dehumanize.
Justify my actions.
I said…paint them red.
With a roar loud enough to sear my throat, I slap a palm repeatedly against the side of my head, not stopping until the entire room is as blurry as the vessels’ faces.
Then, when the slapping proves useless to rid myself of him, I up the ante and resort to punching. So hard my face swells against my fist and I think I may pass out.
Paint.
Punch.
Them.
Punch.
Red.
A noise comes from one of the chairs, not sure what is said but it’s enough to garner my monster’s attention—and more than enough for him to continue using my body as a weapon.
His very own vessel.
“What was that?” I seethe, saliva shooting past my lips like a rabid dog as I stomp over to where they’re tied up next to each other. I squeeze a neck, not even sure it’s the right one. “You dare to fucking speak? To breathe after putting hands on Theory Lavell?”
Distorted apologies add fuel to the inferno, melting away my justification, along with the need for any more vessels.
I take in the sight of bloody, bruised, and swollen faces, even more unrecognizable now than when they were blurry. Then my eyes trail to the fingers I broke for touching my sister.
It’s not enough.
It’s never fucking enough.
With two hands plastered against the side of their heads, I bash them together, then dig my thumbs into a left and right eye, pressing down until their tears run red.
My veins pulse wildly beneath my skin as I listen to the screams and cries filtered behind gags. Another dose of nostalgia hits, then sinks into my system, and it’s like coming up for air after suffocating for months.
I enjoy the torture, yeah, but I have limits.
My monster doesn’t.
And right now his desire for death is burning my insides.
I’m slowly satisfying this craving, which is why I know he won’t return unless I ease up.
So he can provoke me again.
Blind me again.
Force me to keep doing his bidding.
My arms and legs are rocks as I back away from the JV’s, gathering my strength for the next round of psychological warfare.
