Extinguishing Rage
One Shot
Disclaimer: I don't own Hostel; I'm just prostituting it for my amusement.
Summary: Stab, Stab, Slash, Slash; if you can't leave until you kill someone, make it worth it.
Warning: Violence and other oddities.
Circling the bound man, she told him all of her secrets knowing that he would never be able to tell. She spoke of her time in school, where she was nothing but a shadow, someone the others ignored, or how the students did nothing but harass her. She told him how meek she was, never finding the strength to fight against them and their words, sometimes actions towards her. She spoke of the anger that she held inside for so long, the rage that he would assist in extinguishing, whilst she brushed slender fingers over various tools of death.
She nearly smirked at his muffled words, begging to be released. His pleas fell to deaf ears, his statements of never telling a soul. She already knew he wouldn't because no one walks out without having killed someone. She even told him that as she picked up a straight razor, besides, he was going to be her saviour. Hovering over him, she smiled all too sweet and brushed the rusted edge against flesh, with a giggle she told him that she planned on leaving.
His muffled screams were ignored as she drove the blade into a vein. She tilted her head and laughed, straddling his lap and ripping open his shirt with the bloodied blade. She leaned over him and took in his scent, dragging the razor along his chest, leaving small red marks behind. The sound of his panic, she could almost taste it and nothing pleased her more. Her mind began to plot different ways, abandoning her ideas she had during the set up, to slaughter and torment this man.
He said something, something that sounded too familiar to her. Her eyes trailed down to him and her head cocked to the side, had he just insulted her? Yes, she was sure he did, and the rage came back full force. She leaned back, lifting the blade over her head. She gave a sinister little grin whilst steadying herself; stab, stab, slash, slash. Two thrusts to the man's bare torso, she watched as he choked behind his gag and his eyes rolling. She had flipped the razor, using it to carve words into his chest.
Blood poured, she nearly laughed as she sunk the blade slowly into the right side of his chest. Passing the ribcage gracefully, it pierced into his lung and he gasped. She almost moaned, of all things, and then took the blade out swiftly. She backed off of him and placed the blade back with the other arrangement of tools, then settled on the floor. Her gaze never left the man, her hands covered in his blood rested on her lap.
She enjoyed the show, because she paid good money for this one and his suffering brought her joy, extinguished the anger that she kept inside.
Author's Note: Thoughts? Considers? Constructive Criticism?