Page 235 of Ominous: Part 1
My heart flutters, and thankfully, the stain I left on his bedsheets fades away into the dark corners of my mind, probably for some future year when I’ll stay up late overthinking every horrible and awkward thing I ever did in my life, and that will be front and center.
I leave it for future me.
Tonight, I give in to this little game.
Me: Pin me against the wall? You’ve almost drowned me twice. You’ll have to escalate your fantasies accordingly.
I smile, pretty proud of myself for that one, but a minute passes. Another. Five more. Nothing comes through.
I toss and turn, phone clutched in my hand, but I get nothing, and I fling off my covers, leave my phone, and head to the bathroom to get ready for bed. With freshly brushed teeth and my pores still tight from washing my face, I dive into bed after I close and lock my door behind me.
I grab my phone, nervous there will still be nothing.
But he’s texted me again. Twice.
With greedy fingers, I unlock my screen and open his messages.
The words are first.
Eli: Is this far enough?
The photo is next.
His chin is tilted up, he’s lying in bed again. I can only see from his swollen lips, down, but it’s enough. Because his shorts are pulled low and I see the V of his hips, his defined abs, the broad muscles in his chest and shoulders.
And the knife he has in his hand, the same one he used to cut Dominic.
The sharp edge is against his throat, slid underneath his choker. There’s an indentation in his skin, and I can’t breathe for a moment. I have no idea how he could do that without cutting himself.
Another photo comes through before I can respond, tingling aches flooding my core.
This time, the blade is against his mouth, like it was when I walked Dom upstairs.
But there’s the slightest trace of blood against it, his tongue lapping at the flat side of the blade, and crimson streaked over top of his choker.
Him: Do you want to hold the knife this time?
This time.
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, rubbing my thighs together. I reach for the apex of them, letting my knees fall to the side. I have to work over the pad, the crinkly noise loud, but not loud enough to drown out the sound of my pulse in my ears.
I type with one shaky hand.
Me: Don’t hurt yourself.
Him: Hurt me yourself.
Me: You want me to?
Him: Yes.
Me: I thought you liked to be in control.
I circle myself faster, over my underwear, under my shorts. I’m panting, and I scroll back up to look at his photos before he sends me another text, shifting the messages down.
Him: I do, of you. But sometimes, I want you to feel what it’s like.
I’m breathing in through my nose, out through my mouth, shallow gasps.
