OUBLIETTE

SVETLANA VLADIMIROVNA MOSKALEV

Светлана Владимировна Москалев

He lets out a scream as I struggle to remove the nail from his forefinger. "Let it out!" I say, with a malicious grin upon my face. "Come on!"

He turns his head away. I run my fingers through the instruments of torture on the table and then grab a small surgical scissors. "Do you think you can handle this, mon chéri?"

I lean closer to him and whispers into his ear, "There's only one way to find out!"

I thrust the scissors into his left shoulder. His eyes bulge, and then he glances down to see the small surgical scissors buried deep in his flesh, and flow of crimson wicks into the hem of his light grey tee shirt. He gazes at me in disbelief.

I take his gag off.

"W-why don't you just finish me?" he asks through clenched teeth as he tries to cope with the pain I inflicted.

"Do you really think I'd make it easy on you?"

I quickly grab a small folding knife from the table and then plunge it deep into his upper thigh.

He screams louder than before.

"That's it, sirrah, let me know you feel it!" I say enthusiastically. "Now beg for mercy!"

He tightens his jaw and then looks away, disobeying my order.

I put my hand upon his knee and whispers, "So this is how you wanna play it?" with that, I gently trace the tips of my fingers across his skinny thigh, slowly working my way up to the wounded area. As he looks into my eyes, I twist the knife in his thigh clockwise before yanking it out suddenly.

He cries out in agony as fresh blood gushes out of the open wound, flowing freely onto his poorly made ripped trousers.

"You need to learn that there are consequences of disobedience to my orders." I try my hardest not to show remorse.

As a woman in a male-dominated world, I am not used to having this much power over someone, especially when that someone is a member of the opposite sex. However, I am well aware that I cannot let my emotions get the best of me. And most importantly, I have got to show the owner of this multi-million dollar website that I am capable of putting on a show.

***

I use the bloodied knife to tilt his head gently up. "Beg for mercy."

"No."

I feel a sudden surge of anger. "Wrong answer!"

I throw the knife across the room and then grab a cordless drill.

He keeps his watery eyes on me as I wrap my dominant hand around the handle and put my forefinger on the trigger.

I use my free hand to take my silk handkerchief out of the inner pocket of my blazer and then shove it into his mouth and tell him to bite down on it.

He bites through the handkerchief and then closes his eyes shut.

I get a good grip of some of his messy hair to keep his head in place as I squeeze the trigger and bring the cordless drill closer to the side of his head.

The drill is now only a few centimetres away from his head as the first drop of clear salty liquid secreted from glands in my eyes suddenly breaks free and rolls down my cheek. I cannot do this. This is not who I am.

I turn my camera off, put the drill back on the table, and then quickly make my way over to the door.

I wipe my tears away as I stand in front of the iris recognition device. After my identity is verified, I walk outside and find one of my father's employees, Igor, standing right in front of me.

"For fucks sake!"

"My apologies, Miss. Is there something wrong?" he asks.

"I need some air. Have the doctor fix the subject. I want him to look as good as new by the time I get back."

"Certainly, Miss."