Title: First
Disclaimer: I enjoy playing with the characters, but beyond that, I own absolutely nothing.
Rating: T
Summary: She might be his first, but they all know, she definitely won't be his last. Episode tag to 1x04.
The knife is a weight; it's sliver blade, glinting in the yellow beam from the lone hanging light bulb above his head, as he continues to feel the stare of three, tethering him to his spot.
The girl before him—Megan—pleads to him with her shadowed eyes, begging him to let her go again. He knows she'll let him take his knife to her arms, to her legs, if it'll free her from her ultimate fate.
Death.
But he can't.
He won't.
They've left her here, all tied up and caked in mud, for him to truly enjoy. Not sexually, of course; but the thought of her life spilled across the basement floor and cascading through his hands causes pleasure to flood his body, to infiltrate his five senses and reinvigorate every single one.
He can smell her overwhelming fear; it clings to her, much as her bindings do. He can hear her thrashing heartbeat in the stillness. He can feel the knife against his skin, heavy and tepid. A metallic taste lingers within his mouth. He can imagine her pleas, her prayers, her hopes, her wishes, her promises, and he ignores them all as nobody (aside from Joe, Emma and Paul, that is) ever heeded his.
His hand buckles under the knife's weight and he wonders if it's supposed to feel so heavy, so overpowering, so overwhelming. He stares at the knife, before he chances a quick glance toward Emma and then to Paul, who stand beside him; their encouraging nods tell him yes, that the knife is supposed to feel like all of those things and more.
Hesitantly, he takes one-step forward; and then, he takes another.
Loud, his footsteps echo within the basement room, as he slowly approaches her.
"Go on." He hears Emma's voice in his ears and he nods, his eyes focused on the girl. "You can do this. We know you can."
"It's not hard," agrees Paul.
He bends down, until his eyes become level with hers and he examines every inch of her visible skin.
Trying to build up his courage to make them proud, he traces the flat blade against her tawny skin.
Her eyes close and he watches her swallow, her face contorting as if it's painful and he hears her breathing hitch, as the blade presses against the underside of her neck.
It'll all be over soon, he thinks, remembering Emma's words from earlier. He'll end her life, they'll carry her lifeless body from the home, they'll dump her in the woods, clean the basement and themselves from her blood splatter and gore, all before dawn's first light.
She might be his first, but they all know, she definitely won't be his last.
I won't disappoint them again, he thinks, as the knife suddenly weighs nothing and his hands turn red.