DON'T CHEAT ON ME!

CHAPTER 3: Rage Boiling

Jordan's POV:

The rage boiling in my chest was something I hadn't felt in years-something dark, consuming, and impossible to ignore. The thought of Patricia and Dave, even just laughing together, made my fists clench. It wasn't just jealousy; it was the raw, primal need to protect what was mine. Patricia was mine, only mine, and I'd do anything to keep it that way.

I found myself pacing in my father's old barn here in Manila, trying to control the fury tearing through me. The pigs were restless, squealing and shuffling in their pens, unaware of the storm I was bringing. My gaze fell on the largest one, a heavy, solid thing that reminded me of Dave. Stupid, unassuming.

But I knew better. I knew that behind his "friendly" smile and those casual glances, he was just waiting for the right moment to take her from me.

Grabbing the pig by the ears, I dragged it over to the butcher table. My hands shook, not from fear, but from the intensity of my own anger.

"You think you can just steal what's mine, don't you?"

I muttered under my breath, my eyes narrowing as if it was Dave himself staring back at me.

I could feel my blood pounding, my pulse beating louder and louder in my ears as I raised the heavy cleaver.

"I trusted you, bro" I hissed.

"We had a rule. You don't take what's mine. You don't touch her!"

The cleaver came down, hard and fast, slicing through skin and bone, severing the pig's head from its body in a single, brutal stroke.

Blood splattered everywhere, warm and thick, coating my face, my hands, even the floor. I didn't flinch, didn't step back.

Instead, I stared down at the severed head, picturing Dave's stupid grin.

The pig's eyes had gone blank, but the body kept twitching, jerking as if it hadn't realized it was dead.

I grinned, a twisted, dark smile, feeling a thrill as I watched the blood drip from the pig's neck. It was like a preview, a rehearsal of sorts. My heart was racing, exhilarated, and I could feel the rage start to settle, replaced by a sick satisfaction.

"You hear that, Dave?"

I muttered to myself, almost laughing as I ran a finger through the blood on my face and tasted it. It was thick, metallic, a reminder of what I was capable of.

"If you betray me, I'll do the same to you. Patricia is mine. And if I have to, I'll carve it into you so you'll never forget."

I looked down at my hands, slick with blood, and wiped them on my shirt, not caring about the mess. The pig's head sat on the table, eyes glassy, mouth slack, and I felt a strange sense of power.

This wasn't just an animal; it was a stand-in for every threat to what I held dear, a warning to anyone who dared cross me.

Slowly, I brought my hand back to my face, smearing the blood across my cheeks, feeling its warmth, its stickiness. I let it settle on my tongue, savoring the taste as I closed my eyes, letting my mind wander back to Dave. I imagined him staring at me, that flash of panic in his eyes as he realized I wasn't playing games anymore.

"See this?"

I said to the empty barn, looking down at the lifeless pig head like it was listening.

"This is what happens when you get too close to what's mine."

A twisted satisfaction settled in me as I looked at the body still twitching, even with the head gone. It was like it hadn't accepted its fate yet. Kind of poetic, really-just like Dave wouldn't accept his if he kept pushing me. I'd warned him before. We had a code, an agreement. But that didn't seem to mean much to him anymore, did it?

I bent down to the pig's head, looking straight into its blank eyes, and whispered,

"You'll never have her. She's mine, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep it that way. You and everyone else... don't stand a chance."

The blood on my hands had started to dry, sticky and dark, and I felt a strange calm wash over me. The anger was still there, but it had transformed, honed itself into something more focused. It wasn't just anger; it was a promise. A promise that if Dave crossed me again, I wouldn't hold back.

"Ohhh blood.. it's so nice and satisfying."

I stood up, breathing heavily, feeling the remnants of adrenaline still pulsing through me. This wasn't the end. Not by a long shot. It was just a warning to myself, a reminder of what I was capable of. And if Dave made one wrong move... he'd find out exactly how far I'd go.

Patricia was my world. She didn't see it yet, maybe, didn't understand just how far I'd go for her. But she would.

As I stood in that barn, blood dripping from my hands, the metallic tang filling the air, I realized something strange. It didn't feel like murder-not exactly. It felt... liberating. The act of severing, of taking control, gave me power. And maybe, just maybe, that power would extend beyond this moment, would be something I could carry with me when I saw Dave again.

I imagined his face when he realized what I'd done, when he saw me smeared with blood, the remnants of the pig's head at my feet. Would he understand then? Would he finally get that Patricia was mine, that she belonged to me in ways he could never comprehend?

"Patricia is all mine."

I whispered to the stillness of the barn, the words echoing in the space around me, as if the walls themselves could feel the truth in my words.

"She'll always be mine. And I'll make sure you know it, Dave. One way or another."

In the dim light, I caught my reflection in the cracked mirror mounted on the wall-a flash of blood-streaked cheeks, wide eyes that held nothing but cold determination. I looked... unrecognizable, almost like a stranger staring back at me, daring me to go further. A chill crept down my spine, mingling with the heat of the blood still fresh on my skin. I couldn't look away.

I whispered to the phantom of Dave in my mind, my voice low, venomous.

"I trusted you. I shared my life with you, and this is how you repay me?"

The pig's body twitched again, one last spasm that sent a fresh trickle of blood down the table, pooling near my feet. The sight was oddly mesmerizing, like the pig was still clinging to life, like it knew I wasn't done. It was a reminder-nothing truly dies until I decide it does.

I leaned closer to the severed head, breathing in the sharp scent of blood and flesh, letting it fill my lungs. It was intoxicating, this feeling of control, of holding life and death in my hands.

"This is what happens to anyone who crosses me.."

I murmured to the head, to the empty, blank eyes that stared up at me as if they could understand.

I took a final look at the pig's head on the table, its lifeless eyes staring up at me, a grotesque mockery of Dave's face in my mind. I clenched my fists, feeling the stickiness of the blood drying on my skin, and smirked.

Maybe next time, it would be real.