Tied Up
This isn't how I imagined dying would go.
"Here. Let me help."
Hanging upside down, shackles of the truck holding my ankles and telekinesis holding my arms to the wall. I don't struggle. I don't know why, but as his thumb traces along my chin and foreign lips embrace my own, I find that the fight's gone out of me. When rough hands snake their way into my jeans, I dimly wonder if he does this with all his victims. Or maybe I'm special.
I grow hotter, scorching his pale flesh, but instead of backing away his grip tighten on me, singing himself even more in the process. I'd always secretly prayed to go out in the throes of passion. I should've been more specific.
For dying, it's not so bad. He may be stealing my brain, but at least he's getting me off first. And really, what did life hold for me that was so appealing? A life of solitude in a concrete cell. Maybe death's not so bad after all.
His finger raises into the air and splits my scalp apart without touching it. I kiss him back.