Mr and Mrs Sim ⋆ s.jake

Chapter 12

The first cut was hard to inflict. When the sharpened tip of the mirror pierced his skin and the first drop of blood trickled down, there was no turning back.

"You don't need to—"

His arms contracted with the incipient pain, giving me access to his most prominent veins — every nurse's dream. The look we exchanged afterward revealed two things: his physical reaction that condemned him to suffer even more from my cuts, and my intense desire to make him feel my own pain.

"You don't know what I need."

"Torturing me isn't one."

I continued to stare at him, uninterested in his attempt at manipulation. His words blurred together, trying to make up for the fact that more bloody lines were about to join the first.

I slipped the broken piece between my teeth as I removed my pantyhose. My head rested on his toned stomach while my hands worked on my raised legs. Once the nylon was off, I wrapped the length around my hand. Then I returned to my previous position, sitting on his lower body.

"Watch your mouth."

I gave the order before silencing him by stuffing my pantyhose into his mouth. His eyes closed and he shook his head, trying to spit out the thing that was about to choke him. I shrugged even though he couldn't see me.

I grabbed his arm to make a second cut, deeper, as if I were trying to fuse his skin with the sharp piece. I felt my own blood surge through my veins in pure discomfort. His breath hitched, and I saw the way he bit his lip, trying to keep the pain at bay. The last thing I needed to hear was his cries of pain.

"Does it turn you on?"

He groaned as he shook his head in disagreement, unable to speak. His arm oozed reddish droplets and both wrists were chafed from the belt.

"Feel my pain. Do you feel it?"

I asked desperately, pressing down on the sensitive area I had mutilated. His body was seized by a single powerful convulsion. He didn't feel a fraction of what I was going through. It drove me crazy to endure more in one evening than he would in his entire life.

I was destined, even with a dignified vengeance, to live with the fact that my husband believed, if only for one night, that I was a cheater. A fucking sinner.

"NO YOU DON'T. YOU NEVER DID!"

I burst into tears as I visualized every moment of pain I'd endured since the moment I came into this world. I mentally counted, but physically traced every bad memory that passed through my mind onto his skin.

The veil of anger that blinded each of my senses was midnight blue. No anger without sadness.

I didn't stop until he started yelping in pain, loud enough for me to notice, despite the trance I had fallen into. I blinked as my eyes met his arm. It was like one of those contemporary works of art : a mess that is called a masterpiece by artists.

"I didn't mean to..."

From top to bottom, there were deep lacerations, thick streams of blood caused by my madness, and an overpowering odor of iron. My hands started shaking after seeing this massacre. I removed the pantyhose obstructing his vocal cords.

I whispered sweet things to make him react, but he just stared at his hands, raising them at my face. I gave up and untied his hands. His gaze was blank. That's when I realized I'd crossed the line and distanced myself from this vulnerable little being.