The Heart // l.h. + a.i. au

02

Still Luke

Once reality had hit me, the stable state I was in collapsed and within moments I was overcome with an overwhelming sense of grief. The wave of grief was so excruciating it made me physically ache. But within seconds after the grief hit, it was surpassed by anger that was quickly ebbing into rage.

In a dark pit of my mind I could feel a part of me-the old part of me- fighting back the rage, trying not to give in to the anger. And it wasn't like I didn't sense it. Its not like I didn't know it was there. Of course I knew it was there. And yeah, I heard it. Loud and clear. I just consciously chose not to listen to it. I consciously chose to give into the rage.

Rage twisted through my gut and soon boiled over. I could sense my mind giving over to it. And I didn't hesitate to argue. I liked being blinded by rage.

It was painful every time- a raw trembling pain that did not fade like the last few years seemed to have. And I hated it so much. But it made me feel alive. Which I loved.

I clenched my teeth together and pursed my lips tightly. I threw the covers off of me fiercely and they flew across the room. I did not pause to stretch or wipe the drowsiness from my eyes as I sat up and swept onto my feet and out of the room.

I stormed out of the room, walking quickly with wide strides. I was refreshed now, not just in energy though. But also in anger and my need to torment. I strode down the hall and towards the room where my latest craze was currently situated. Her name was Natasha.

As I approached I saw that the door was wide open, just as I had left it. I was once very paranoid about the idea of all my lovely women and the occasional man being able to walk right on out. But, after years of practice and technique I mastered the skill of keeping a trapped animal trapped and now found it foolish to worry over such a petty thing as whether or not I close and lock every door.

When I had first bought the property I never knew what I planned to do with such a large laundry room. But once Laur-my girlfriend disappeared, I bought a few large cages and brought them down here. But that was just during the test run stage. Once I started to really get committed to my new hobby, I refurbished the place.

Bigger cages. Solid steel and bolted into the ground, so no chance of escape. 6 feet long, 6 feet wide, and 5.5 feet long. And don't bug me with that '666 the devils number, spawn of satan' crap. Six is a good fit. Just big enough for them to move around and stretch and sleep comfortably, but then just short enough so that I am always taller then them and therefore more intimidating and frightful.

Then wood floors-real wood floors, not that fake crap. Bois de Rose it is called. It is an exotic type of rosewood from Madagascar that is absolutely beautiful and quite expensive, I might add. But it was worth it, nevertheless.

Other refurbishments were made as well, all nice, but not nearly as interesting. But, you know, nice stuff, nice stuff. I mean, I want to be a good host to my visitors, right? What kind of host would I be if I failed to provide basic comforts?

And normally, when I entered I stopped and took a moment to appreciate all the hard work I put into it. But not today. No, today I'm bitter. Today I lust for blood.

So instead of stopping as I normally would have done, I strode right on in. I snatched the keys right off the hook without a glance and strode directly to the cage in which my latest craze was currently situated.

"Hello Natasha," I called loud and clear. When there was no response I realized she was not awake. I turned on my heel and headed towards the side of the room where I did my laundry. Because as well as a washer and drier, there were various . . . tools . . . that I used to . . . maintain control, so to speak.