Unhinged

6

Oliver

As a young boy, when you're taught stranger danger, you're told to be on a lookout for a strange, overly nice man with puppies and candy, who wears sweater vests.

I suppose the message is correct.

Watch out for people who have what you what, and claim they'll give it to you for free.

I guess I missed the point. One thing they never tell you is to be wary of women. And I guess that's why I find myself handcuffed to a bed, with this lunatic who sits atop my chest, kitchen knife against her pink little tongue, the same tongue I sucked on last night.

She smiles softly. "Good morning, Oliver. Did you sleep well?"

My sister's got talks about going home from bars with strange men, but I never was told not to accept a glass of wine, or not go to house's scribbled on your hand by the girl you rode on a bus with for two hours. In hindsight, maybe I should've known better.

"Is this some kind of kink? Because while I enjoyed making love—"

"Aw," she cocks her head, her brows furrowed, a mock sad expression on her face. "You call it making love. That is so sweet. Sweetheart, I let you fuck me so you would go to sleep, and I could kill you. We all caught up?"

I nod, pursing my lips. Yep. A good summary. I lick my lips. I can probably break these handcuffs. They're not police grade. I could flip us over, take the knife, throw it away.

She edges the knife closer to my face, holding the blade right above my eyes.

Such pretty eyes you have.
I want to eat them.

You know, now that I think about it, those weren't normal jokes were they? It was ironic foreshadowing. An inside joke.

And yet, my body reacts to her. She is gorgeous, even now with that crazed look in her eyes.

"Don't think about it," she whispers. "Even if you can break free, this knife will go straight into your eye. I don't want to ruin them...yet." She kisses my neck.

Fuck. Fuck! Well...I did come to see a storm, didn't I? She leans back on my torso, resting on her hands. They're on either side of me. Just a few short hours ago, her body was under my hands. She made the cutest little noises—for a fucking monster. Don't judge a book by its cover or a girl by her moans, I guess.

Who is she? Who even does something like this? What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

"What do you plan to do with me?" I ask carefully. She sits up, and smiles, laying on my chest for a moment. I glare at the top of her head.

She sighs. I feel her take in a breath against my chest and I relish in it. I should hate her. I know I should but I just can't. Not yet. I shudder.

"I don't know yet," she says somewhat sadly. I think the Stockholms syndrome has kicked in, because all I want is to hold her.

"Let me go," I instruct her sternly, "Maurya."

She sits up, hovering over me with a desperate look. "I can't. I just can't Oliver. I need this. You'll give it to me, won't you?"