What would YOU do if you had to choose between the life of your untrue lover and the life of a complete stranger, and your choice was watched by millions of your fans LIVE?
NUPTIALS OF DEATH
I laid there with my lips stiffened – she wrote to her blog around dawn. – I didn't have the willpower to reject him, to fight, to argue, I was just watching him push himself. He was grabbing me harshly with his shovel-like hands. He must have noticed that I'm not feeling a thing because he started to pet me where I like it. I tried to let myself go, but I remained totally insensitive. His touch almost hurt. I told him to skip it today because it won't work for me, so he yelled at me angrily:
"For your loverboy you would absolutely let yourself, no, and that's why you don't want me anymore!"
I didn't feel a bit like the same old record played thousands of times that – no, I don't have a loverboy – don't lie to me! – I'm not lying – which little dipshit are you messing with at the office? – get off of me, don't you understand I don't have anyone!! – your boss, he would try you on, I've seen how he was drooling over you – you're talking of me, not some clothes, and he's anyways married – etc etc etc so I again just got used to the fact that today there will be another strike on the list of joyless sex encounters. I started to caress him so at least I can get the maximum out of him.
When he crawled over me, I could hardly keep gagging back. His skin was breathing a stale smell of beer, a gust of body odor came out from under his arms. I was suffocating under his fat body. Naturally he didn't notice a thing of it, he just kept thrustin' around. The worst part is that when he drinks too much, he doesn't get hard enough, or he goes limp almost immediately after penetration. I don't feel anything, and he is not able to come either. So then he always wants me to go on with my mouth. And then when he finally manages to come, he goes a grace of moving down between my legs.
Oh how much I hate it when in a minute or two his head resurfaces and he asks me with an urgent expression: „Now, is that enough, baby? I don't want your PH-balance to go nuts!”
On other nights I just nod in submission and I squeeze the blanket between my legs and try to fall asleep as soon as possible, but now I remembered how he made me tiptoe around the shore whilst he was showing off his fat, and it just slipped my mouth:
„No, it was not enough! I didn't feel anything! At least once in this lifetime you could satisfy me!”
He looked at me startled:
„By this you mean I'm not good enough in bed?” – he rose his tone like a hurt beast.
„Yup, exactly. All you care about is for you to get off as fast as you can and you don't give fucking shit about me feeling good. If you drink, you don't even stand up right, and you drink every single night.”
I was surprised myself too that these sentences would rip out of me.
He jumped off the bed as he started spattering:
„What, me not being good enough? Why don't you even say I'm impotent? Well, you should know then that it's you that makes me lose my interest, because you are like an icicle. I'm sure you're thinking of your loverboy again instead of paying attention to me.”
I couldn't help laughing as he was standing there, gesticulating wide that made his fat and his dick shake around vigorously.
„You laugh at me, you cunt?– he lunged at me. – Now I will beat you until you tell me whom you fuck yourself with, since you got such a big mouth.”
„Don't hurt Mommy!” – the kid quietly said from the doorway.
We grabbed the blankets in shame to cover ourselves.
„It's okay, darling! You know, sometimes adults play a little before bed too, just like children do” – I tried to calm him.
My husband wrapped the blanket around himself and walked out with a grave expression.
Now he sleeps in the guest bedroom.
I put my son next to me in bed and I whispered in his ears until he finally fell asleep, then I sneaked out here to write this.
I'm terribly scared. What will happen to us after this?
Finally she found the shirt and the home-worn shorts. Anita sat down to the computer and typed in the blog portal's address. Even though she has written a bunch of things since then, still she got the most responses to that night's story. Again she read through those ones first. Some people offered their sympathy, but there were also always the badmouth statements of what they would do with the blog owner if they could have a little time in two. She carefully deleted those latter ones. A commenter named Sangel alerted her. He wrote nothing ugly, but his entry was still scary:
In deathly nuptials, ore meets ore, and life acquits in mourning galore…
Anita tried to find some sense in the words, then she shrugged and deleted this comment too. She quickly read over the comments to all the other entries, then she started to write about the day's happenings.
*
He was waiting patiently at the edge of the woods. Sometimes he got out of the car and walked around to check there's no one else around. He was avoiding the area of the factory grounds so the security guard won't see him and start asking questions. When it gets dark he'll anyways move into the small office container and watch TV until midnight, until the next shift arrives. He will have plenty of time to do his thing.
He sat back into the van and turned the radio on. He knew exactly that the man's missing won't be in the news yet – most likely not even his woman is guessing that her husband won't come home anymore –, but still he was switching around the channels curiously. After he listened to the weather news too, he looked for some music, but then he decided against it and switched the radio off.
It would've been so much better to toss the body out in some park. There the dogs would've found it in just a few hours and he could already watch it in the evening news, listening to it with a pleased excitement, what crap they talk about him, whilst they have not a single idea of the great game. Now for this he will have to wait for days, because every single little detail has a greater meaning. He's hiding the corpse into the currently unused warehouse because of the message. It will take a day or two until the start to seriously look for the victim, until then he can comfortably get rid of any and every evidence so then he can manipulate the flow of things throughout the internet just as he wishes.
He took another walk around. When he was sure there's nobody around, he sneaked to the factory fence. It wasn't completely dark yet, but it was getting harder and harder to outline things.
The office container's window was blinking in a blue-ish color. He took the pliers from his pocket and started on the fence. The rusty cable netting gave up immediately. After two or three cuts he kicked into it, and that made it collapse on a good five feet.
He put the corpse bag on his shoulder and with heavy steps he stumbled to the hole. Should his victim had paid more attention to his figure, now he wouldn't have to spit his lungs out. He went around the warehouse next to the security office and headed towards the other building hiding in the dark. That's where they kept the dangerous waste materials, locked into rusty barrels.
He was surprised how the factory skipped the eye of the environmentalists. Maybe at some point he will write an anonymous letter to some green group, then the press will be all over them for weeks, and he can just make a wager with himself when they find his little hidden gift.
He found the rusty iron gates open, just as when he came to survey the place.
He recalled where he can find that barrel that got a hole in its side so the corrosive matter slowly leaked out from it. He had to stop a few steps away from the door because he couldn't see anything. He clicked on his flashlight. He shaded the light with his hand so it would only shine to right under his feet.
The barrel was at the very same spot as last time. He dropped his baggage to the floor and put on some acid-safe gloves. With the pliers he forced off the lid of the container. He grabbed the corpse and shoved it in, then leaned against the next container and marveled over his work.
Death Matrix – that's how he called the rhombus stood on its corner, where he split two neighboring sides in four. Four by four is sixteen. That's how many little rhomboids he got. He marked both sides with the Four Elements in a way that the bottom corner would become Earth-Earth and the top corner would be Fire-Fire. Whatever makes up life is the matter of death too. One box can be checked now. Slowly, slowly each little box will get filled. Right now, the order doesn't matter, the only thing sure is the end: the last box will be the Fire-Fire: step sixteen, the finish of the great labor, the Great Meeting.
As always when thinking of the TV woman, his crotch started tingling.
to be continued next Thursday
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