Into The Fray

Part- 4

"The death of a beautiful woman is, unquestionably the most poetic topic in the world."

- Edgar Allan Poe 

**P.O.V: Ashley**

I had lasted a day, that had to be a good sign.

It was hard to stay conscious the entire time considering I was slowly, losing blood from large gashes in my stomach and arms, but I was too horrified to go to sleep. I knew if I did I wouldn't wake up.

Besides I wanted to be awake for when he came back. I didn't even want to imagine the things he'd do to me if I was asleep.

The sick bastard.

I had stopped crying a long time ago, feeling more drained, hungry, numb, and hopeless than scared. I mean, I couldn't escape, I'd tried, it was impossible. So I'd either get lucky and someone would save me, or I'd die here, at the hands of a man that clearly belonged in an asylum.

A dark part of my mind was yelling at me, telling me this was payback for being a whore. I guess God doesn't take much pity on you when you steal your best friend's husband. They sure don't teach you that in Bible class.

Foot steps. I could hear them now.

Thud..Thud..Thud...

He was coming.

Thud..Thud..Thud..

I took a deep breath and braced myself as well as you can brace yourself for certain death.

He greeted me with a smile that made my skin crawl.

"Good morning Ashley. Sleep well?" He was clearly mocking me, it was like he knew I hadn't slept at all. It was like he could feel my fear.

My mouth became a painfully hard line. "Sure." My voice sounded raspy. I was really thirsty.

 "Great. Cause you have a big day ahead of you."

That's when he pulled a large silver tray from his behind his back.

I was expecting knives, scalpels, and maybe even surgical saws, but instead, sitting on the tray was a blueberry muffin, a glass of orange juice, a few napkins, and two boiled eggs.

I watched in total awe and confusion as he unhand-cuffed me.

What the fuck? Do all serial killers do this or was this guy just really bipolar?

The very minute I stood up and tried to walk away from the table, I started gushing blood from my open wounds in my stomach and collapsed on the hard floor in a pool of crimson.

 Kyle bent over me, shaking his head in disgust. "You'll never stop the bleeding if you keep moving." He said as he pushed the tray towards me. "Eat."

I eyed the tray, disgusted by the gesture. It was probably poisoned, or something. I didn't care how hungry I was or how good it looked, I was not eating anything he gave me.

"Eat!" He insisted again, "Didn't your parents teach you to not waste food?"

I just stared at the glistening tray of food with accusing eyes.

"Fine. Suit yourself."

I watched in horror as he slowly devoured the food, and drank every last drop of juice right in front of my eyes. My stomach cried with hunger.  He did it to mess with me. He knew I wouldn't eat it.

The longer I stayed with him the more I felt like he was manipulating me. He was constantly reaching inside my brain and finding more ways to toy with it by the second. It wasn't fair. I had never felt so helpless in my entire existence. I had always been in power, when it came to my relationships, my friendships, and despite the fact I was a secretary, I was still the reason why everything got done, and everyone knew it. So you can imagine how scary it was to one minute, feel like you had everything, and then the next, to be at the mercy of a man you just met.

That's when the tears came again. I had thought I had cried them all out, but apparently my body could still produce more.

"Stop crying! Shut up! Shut up!" he shrieked, his face now inches from mine.

This just made me cry even harder.

Suddenly a burning pain struck my left cheek. I stumbled back, receiving the blow from his hand with a large yelp.

"Stephanie! Why are you looking at me like that! Stop looking at me like that!" 

There he was again, talking, yelling, and spitting at me like I was sometype of devil, or maybe it was reversed. Maybe he was the devil, and I was Holy Water. It was hard to tell, all I knew was he was snapping at me as if I were a bat out of hell, meant to drag him down into the fiery abyss.

"It wasn't my fault! It wasn't my fault! It wasn't my fault! Leave! Stop looking at me like that! Stop!" He screamed, still staring at me as he thrust his hands in the air, trying to swat an imaginary fly.

Next thing I knew, he was stomping and beating the living shit out of me.

I gagged, choking on my own blood, the only thing that seemed to muffle my screams of horror.

"I love you! I'm sorry! It wasn't my fault!" He cried out as tears poured down his face.

My vision became blurred.

 As I began slipping in and out of consciousness everything became more and more disoriented. One second pain was there, the next it wasn't. I was trying to hold unto myself, I could feel myself fading away, faster, and faster.

I couldn't die, I didn't want to die.

Yet I wanted the pain to stop so badly, death seemed almost...comforting.

"I love you Stephie! I'm sorry...I-I'm sorry.."

That's when it happened, I watched while in a haze as he whipped out the the gold designer belt I had worn around my black, club dress the day before. I could feel him tightening it around my neck, as I gasped for air that couldn't seem to arrive.

I was choking, my breath cut-off, and my lungs crumbling from lack of oxygen.

I had never been in so much agony.

"Stephie...I'm sorry.."

Everything faded to black as I took my last breath.