Unhinged

15

Maurya

I wait patiently in his house. He's just gone to work he assures me, tells me he'll be back for dinner, and we'll eat together. Kisses my head before he heads out the door, like we're...something.  And we're not right?

Something?

I wait, faithfully, feeling foolish and quite not like myself. I should be wreaking havoc shouldn't I? I should be tearing the wallpaper off these walls, screaming into a bottle of wine like the unhinged psycho I am. But I wait, legs crossed primly, almost frozen, the clock ticking in my ear.

One minute lapses into an hour.

I damn sure will not clean this house like some forgotten housewife, no matter how border I am.

2 hours elapse into three. How long are shifts again? I close my eyes, and they open again to the creak of the door opening. I sit up.

"I have a present for you," he whispers, shaking me gently. I look up at him, in a tired daze. He takes my hand pulling me into the garage, his hand strong, warm and firm, unwavering. So I follow after him, as he shuts the door behind us. The room is cold, dark, and silent except for the rustling of rats in the corner. He flips the light and illuminates the dank space, revealing that the rustling wasn't rats.

It is a singular man in the middle of the room, his body and mouth duck-taped up.

"You can't help yourself right?" Oliver says behind me. "He's a bad man. I figure...if you have to...better pieces of shit than just regular guys with a soft spot for pretty girls."

I slink away from him, and toward my prey, sitting on his lap.

"I enjoy the hunt."
"I have a plan for that."

I look back at him. What did he do? I keep circling back to that. He brushes his hand through his hair, a tortured look on his face. I smile. I don't really care how much it hurts him. If he'll provide me with what I need. And since he's acquiring these men, he'll take the blame if we ever get caught. It...works.

I toss him a soft smile over my shoulder.

"Why? You don't even really know me. Why would you do this?" I ask.

He looks away. "You...I dunno why. I like you. Maybe I want to finally do something. I can...make this situation a little better. For you, and your victims. I'm tired of not doing what's...right."

He's hesitant, his voice inflecting on the word right. He's not sure if this is just, but it seems it's close enough for him to let it slide.

I stare at the man whose eyes shine with fresh, cool tears. I smile and cup his face. He must've done something heinous to make Oliver so keen to let me tear him apart.

Maybe he stole Oliver's pudding or made fun of his group share.

"I'll leave you to it," he murmured, leaving the two of us alone.

I tear the duck tape off the man's mouth. He instantly begins spewing platitudes and pleas, desperately tripping over his words. They blur together in a jumbled mess. I drink my nails into his cheek, squeezing his jaw to a stop.

"Actually," Oliver crossed his arms, watching me carefully. "I suppose I should stay."

That's fine with me. In fact, something changes in the air now that I know he's watching.

"What did you do?" I ask, letting my question float through the air aimlessly.

"Something bad enough," Oliver grunts in dismay, looking away. "Bad enough for me to bring him here."

"I'll need something," I smile looking back at him gently. "I couldn't tear into my present with my bare hands. That's not ladylike."

Oliver grumbles and leaves the room for a moment, returning with a knife. "Don't make a mess."

He's so reluctant, but he's the one who did this. It's almost cute. I giggle behind my hand, wielding the knife as my victim begins to squirm. Oliver turns around. Hm...I don't want to waste my present.