Queenie

23

Talk of Torture, Sexual Assault, and Rape*

Please be aware, if these topics are not for you, please skip to the next chapter.

V I K T O R

Grunting, I couldn't fucking believe that I tightened a bolt so tight. Shifting my arms, I held my breath as I tried moving the wrench, but the stupid bolt wouldn't move.

"Fuck!" I threw the wrench to the side, the clanging echoing through the garage. Holding my face in my hands, I exhaled as much fury from my breath, but it didn't help for shit.

Pushing my body from the under the car, I rolled my shoulders the moment I was on my feet. The anger coursing through me compelled me to dramatically show everything from my work bench to the floor. Grunting loudly as I did, heat pushing through my veins that were pure fury and itch.

An itch of want, of need.

I've had episodes of explosive anger for the last year, they only seem to worsen as more time goes by. There was always an anger brewing in me, but hearing her confirm the story had it reactive. The stupid too tight bolt was a product from the last one, screwing it on so tight, that I wanted to break something.

My chest rose and fell heavily in labored breaths. I wanted to take the damned hammer and break everything I could get my hands on. Instead, as I faced the wall, my fist threw out to the drywall. It cracked in an instant, a hole, the size of my fist, now imprinted on the wall. I wanted to shove my head through it, just so I could knock out, and forget about everything for a while. But that'd be a pussy move.

I deserved to live with the feeling. The underlying emotion in my skin that pricked at my skin with mocking whispers. It drove me mental. Everything drove me to insanity. And all I wanted, was her.

I never bought that love at first sight shit and it wasn't love at first sight. It was a building emotion that started with her eyes, then her sweet touch, even if it was fighting, and her scent. God, I'd drown in her scent if I could. Then there was her words, those pain-stricken words that pushed my heart to ache. Her tears that would make me question if she was as confident as she put out she was.

'Of course she is."

It wasn't just looks, it was so much more in depth than just the way she was molded. It was her character, the way she held herself with her head held high, and that sexy fucking smirk on her plump lips. It's like she knew every person who dared to look would fall in love with her. It would be a lie to say it was hard. It seems like the easiest thing to do.

I've fallen victim to her charms, something I once thought was actually impossible. Having such an emotional connection to her was unaccounted for. I didn't know why my dormant emotions somehow became active, not until the story came to light. The past.

The mere thought of coming near the man who touched her made me radioactive. Every trigger instinct pointed to pull at him. It was funny because I had zero clue who it was. Well, I hadn't until a homicide happened in Germany.

Christoph Darhk was executed last year in an inexplicable way. We read the autopsy, he was alive while being torn limb from limb. There were traces left of epinephrine, commonly known as Adrenaline, in his body. It had kept his heart beating as his chest was opened, his ribs cut open to reveal his chest cavity. The corners of his mouth were cut in a downwards frown to his jaw, eyes gouged out, but left uncut to hang from his sockets. He was found in his bedroom, limbs placed on the places they were before, only no longer attached to his body. I was sure it was him who hurt her, and her who killed him, when his genitals were cut from his body with a butter knife left as the weapon and put in his mouth.