Splintered Heart (Love and Other Lies)

11 | Dani

I tap my hand against his cheek, the rough, uneven patchy stubble scratching against my skin and I repress a shudder, wishing I'd put my gloves on before I'd started.

You live and you learn.

With a huff, I slap him again and he rouses, a long pained groan emitting from his lips.

That may have something to do with the gash at his temple, curtesy of the door I'd slammed his head into.

He eyes blink awake, a grunt coming from him at the bright light in his eyes. He can't blame me for that, he's the one who chose the damn bulb.

I take a seat on the edge of the mattress, ignoring the warning bells in my head screaming about how unsanitary it must be, looking over Leroy with a critical eye.

Leroy had become too complacent in his line of work, thinning he was untouchable.

He was very touchable when I slammed his head into his own front door and then walked through dragging his dead weight behind me like I owned the place.

Hefting him onto his bed was a struggle but I still did it, then I'd used the ropes I'd brought over and tied him up, star-fished on his own bed.

Poetic justice if you ask me, knowing what he spent most of his free time doing. What he had planned on doing to me and what he had done to my sister.

He may not have done to her what he'd done to his other victims but he was there that night, his voice behind the camera they'd used to document her murder.

To document how they'd ruined her. 

I'd watched it too many times, imprinting each face, every tattoo, every voice I recognised until it played like a carousel in my mind.

I hum under my breath when Leroy finally notices me, his eyes widening in fright.

"Who the fuck are you!?"

My fingers slowly trail up his tie, untucking it from his suit jacket. I don't know why he bothers with the image of a business man when really he should be wearing the face of the monster he is. No worries, that's something I'll fix.

I wind the tie around my fist, pulling him off the bed.

"You don't remember me, Petty," the nickname only a few had called him has his eyes widening. "I would say I'm upset but that was the whole point of this." I wave a hand to encompass my face, thinking of all the surgeries I'd had done to bury the girl I was.

"Who the fuck are you?" He repeats but the fear is there when he sees the compromising position he's in.

With a tilt of my lips I stand from the mattress and move to my bag in the corner, retrieving the things I need and finally retrieving my gloves.

"Who I am doesn't matter." I say over my shoulder, flipping the butterfly knife in my hand. It's a beautiful weapon, the blade almost rainbow, the light glinting off the knife.

Even I had to admit it was a beauty, despite who had gifted it to me all those years ago.

When I stand back infront of him, his eyes narrow on the blade and recognition light his eyes before he looks to me.

"But you're dead."

I raise a brow, "surprise?"

I angle the blade against his jawline, my eyes instantly moving towards his patchy excuse of a beard.

Then I start to move the sharped blade against his scruff, shaving it off while he looks at me in horror.

"Don't move,  I might cut-" the blade nicks his cheek, red blooming against his skin like the petal of a rose.

"Oops." I say monotone and continue, but for some reason the blade keeps moving to the cut in his skin, probing at the wound.

Pesky thing.

He makes a sound of pain and I flash him a glare. "Do you want to keep your tongue, shut up." I hiss.

"Bitch." He growls, "He'll find you."

With a slow blink, my fingers tighten of his cheeks, forcing his mouth open.

"I'm counting on it." I grip the curious muscle in his mouth, pinching it before angling my blade into his mouth.

His eyes bulge, but he can't say anything with his tongue captures in my grip, even as his eyes scream all the profanities he wants to hurl at me.

Let's see how well he goes without a tongue.

Bloods pools in his mouth, making my nose wrinkle up at the stench of iron mixed with bad breath.

A smell that would surely kill a lesser man with how rancid it was.

Luckily I was not a man, and I was definitely not lesser.

I place his tongue on his chest, right above his heart, his eyes drawn to it in dismay.

I'm sure if he could talk right now he'd be calling me a bitch.

The most creative thing he could come up with I'm sure.

I go back to my ministration of his face, quacking my steps until a cross cross pattern starts to scar his cheeks and forehead, each knick of the blade sinking deeper and deeper.

I sigh, "naughts or crosses?"

He doesn't answer, not that I expected him to so I choose for him.

"Crosses it is." I start with game with a flourish choosing where he places his cross before I place the circle in another spot until he wins.

"Damn," I mutter, looking into his hazy eyes. "I'm a sore loser." I say, before abruptly sliding the blade across his neck, listening as he gurgles ridiculously.

I sigh and stand up from the bed, retrieving the paint brush I'd picked out for him, the end covered in paint.

Red paint, a generic type you can find at any store. I wasn't about to be caught cause I used the special paint I purchase for myself.

I move back to the still jerking body and direct the brush at Leroy's heart, piercing his tongue before sliding home.

His body convulses once before stilling, eyes looking up at the roof blankly.

I gather my supplies before picking up Leroy's phone and calling a welfare check in, wanting the body to be found quick.

I want them to know I'm still here, I'm still coming for them all.