[ARTEMY]
Bernadette affectionately ruffled his hair, offering him a tender smile. In that fleeting instant, I recognized that her smile was reserved exclusively for him.
“He’s under my protection, my tutelage,” Bernadette clarified. “Once he’s ready, I’ll send him to you. He’ll be flawless, I assure you.”
Brayden, Leon, and Avim exchanged surprised glances, yet none dared to voice their thoughts.
Shifting her focus to Raffaele, advanced purposefully. “Remember him? Three years ago, you annihilated his family. You left him scarred. His survival was not part of your plan.”
Raffaele’s eyes widened as he scrutinized the young man before him.
“But he defied your cruelty,” she hissed, her fist connecting with the very hand I had previously punctured.
Raffaele’s cry of pain reverberated in the air.
Bernadette turned gracefully, her focus returning to the young boy. With an inviting gesture, she extended her hand, her palm open in patient anticipation. Responding almost instantly, the boy reached out and clasped her hand, forming an unspoken bond.
Her touch shifted from hand to cheek as she gently cupped his face. “You have my permission to proceed, to revel in a touch of amusement,” she advised, her tone a careful balance between leniency and caution. “But remember, while I grant you this liberty, the line to fatality must remain uncrossed, alright?”
His fervent nod conveyed both eagerness and understanding as his gaze remained fixated on the figure before him-Raffaele, the object of their attention. With a calculated distance, Bernadette withdrew, allowing her protege to immerse himself in his chosen pursuit. By her side, I found my place, a silent observer to the unfolding spectacle.
Our eyes remained trained on the scene before us, appreciating the boy’s proficiency-an unsurprising feat given his tutelage under Bernadette’s skilled guidance. I couldn’t help but acknowledge his prowess, a product of her intricate training.
Curiosity led me to break the silence. “What name does he bear?” I inquired, my gaze unwavering as he toyed with a cigarette, foreshadowing the next phase of this performance.
“Xavier,” her voice held a tinge of detachment, her focus steadfast on the unfolding tableau. The cigarette’s ember ignited, and Avim moved to secure Raffaele in his place, rendering his agonized screams futile against their indifference.
Cruelty metamorphosed into a searing brand as the boy pressed the cigarette against Raffaele’s skin, leaving behind marks that seared into his chest. The act transmuted into a visceral display as he drove the burning tip into Raffaele’s flesh, creating a tormented aperture within his abdomen. A pungent scent, almost imagined, filled the air as the tendrils of burnt skin pervaded the senses.
The cycle repeated-the ritualistic sizzle and scorch-Raffaele’s consciousness teetering on the brink. Bernadette’s presence intervened at this juncture, her authority resonating in the singular command, “Halt.”
The boy ceased his torments, retreating to Bernadette’s side, a soft pat on his cheek validating his efforts. “You’ve accomplished admirably,” her praise resonated, infused with maternal pride. A query lingered in the air, a demand for unfiltered truth, “Satiated, are you? Or does a thirst for more linger?”
A contemplative shake of his head punctuated his response, an admission of her keen insight. He divulged his dissatisfaction, but a firm reminder followed-Raffaele was not his to terminate. A lesson unfurled, teaching restraint, the balance between cessation and continuation. The need for control and patience materialized, transforming the hunt into an intricate game.
A fervent nod from the boy acknowledged his understanding, eager to please Bernadette with newfound comprehension. I watched them, a mixture of disdain and resignation playing on my features. Raffaele’s posture sagged, a symbol of his shattered defiance. Avim and I exchanged a knowing glance; tacit agreement passed between us.
In tandem, we orchestrated a frigid cascade, water’s chill reviving Raffaele from the precipice of unconsciousness. Guttural sounds escaped his lips, punctuating his suffering as he grappled with the abruptness of his return to reality.
Donning latex gloves, I stepped towards a table, retrieving an item that had long beckoned me. The cow whip’s coils rested in my grasp, a symbol of authority and mastery over the present circumstance. Raffaele’s hair entwined around my fingers, serving as a crude handle as I hauled him from his seat.
The harsh impact of my knees against his side resonated-a satisfying crack of ribs breaking, the culmination of retribution long overdue. His form crumpled to the floor, a mere puppet in my hands.
Brayden and Avim approached, their purpose clear as they positioned themselves to restrain him. With a firm grip, Leon took control of his legs, ensuring he was immobilized. Meanwhile, I lowered myself next to him, observing the scene unfolding.
In my hand, I held a whip, a tool that seemed inconsequential for my intentions. What I truly sought was the handle the worn, splintered wooden handle that held a significance of its own. Crafted from wood, it was precisely suited for the task at hand.
Gently, I pulled down his pants, a sinister chuckle escaping my lips as he struggled, realizing his futile attempts at escape. He was confined, devoid of options, mirroring how he had entrapped my beloved Angel.
A low, whispered voice reached his ears, my words laden with anticipation, “You’re about to derive pleasure from this. Be a compliant fellow, won’t you?”
Amidst his contortions beneath me, a dark chuckle emanated from my depths. With deliberate slowness, I inched the wooden handle towards his exposed vulnerability, an outcry of agony echoing, yet it only fueled my gratification. His anguish, his torment I reveled in the sensations he experienced.
The handle ventured a mere few inches into the depths of his rectum. A pause ensued, the weight of his suffering weaving a tapestry of madness. I allowed his agony to marinate, pushing him further into the abyss of darkness.
A sob wracked his form against the floor. My patience waning, a fierce growl accompanied my forceful thrust, lodging the handle deep within him. Raffaele’s roar reverberated, but I persisted, a cruel rhythm of withdrawal and reentry, a dance of torment.
His orifice bled profusely, the splintered handle smeared with his life essence, yet I persisted. Amidst his anguish, I thundered accusations, reminding him of his violations, of his unwarranted conquests. “You took her repeatedly, even against her will. How does it feel to endure intrusion you never sought?”
Raffaele’s whimpers intertwined with his cries, a pitiable symphony. A perverse reassurance escaped my lips, “Hush now, remember our pact. Embrace this, relish it.”
As the handle retained its place within him, I turned to face him. His countenance wore the evidence of his suffering a canvas adorned with both his blood and tears.
“Much like she wept, while you ravaged her relentlessly,” I sneered, seizing his head and thrusting it against the unyielding floor.
Extracting the handle, pain was etched into every twist of my movement. Upright, I withdrew from Raffaele’s vicinity, leaving him behind. My path led to Bernadette, to whom I bequeathed the whip, a silent challenge within my raised eyebrow. Accepting the tool, she advanced toward Raffaele.
A sadistic grin graced her lips, her response dripping with malice, “Indeed, I shall relish this opportunity.”
Watching as her heel invaded the realm of Raffaele’s flesh, a scream pierced the air, a testament to the torment he endured. Her voice dripped with disdain, recounting her revulsion at his touch, his very existence. Straddling him, she executed her plan, plunging the handle anew into his depths.
Brayden’s presence aligned with mine, his eyes mirroring my madness. We stood united, two manifestations of the monsters that society perceived us to be.
“Handle them as you see fit. I care not. Come morning, Raffaele’s fate shall be sealed,” I declared, pausing as another anguished cry erupted.
“This night, I intend to be with Rebecca.”
Brayden’s nod conveyed understanding. “She yearns for you.”
A sigh escaped me, a testament to my acknowledgment of the truth. The absence of every passing minute gnawed at me, a relentless ache within my chest.
“Ensure their survival,” I commanded, indicating Raffaele, Dalton, and Milandro.
“Tomorrow shall mark their reckoning. I will complete what the Italians dared to initiate,” I snarled, my fists clenched in determination.
Brayden’s nod reaffirmed his loyalty. “I stand by you, Artemy.”
His devotion was unwavering, a truth I held without question. Expressing my gratitude, I clasped his shoulder before departing the dim confines of the basement, my course set toward the one who held my heart my Angel.
***
I cautiously turned the doorknob, easing the door open without a sound, and stepped into the room. My steps led me to a halt beside the bed, where I gazed down at the figure lying there, my Angel. Her features were serene in slumber, a delicate smile gracing her lips, perhaps a reflection of the pleasant dreams that held her in their grasp.
Mindful not to disturb her peaceful rest, I took a few steps back, my eyes lingering on her form. It was important to me that she didn’t witness my current state, as it was far from what she deserved. This was the last thing she needed to see the darkness that I wrestled with.
In my heart, I knew she didn’t fear me, not the true essence of who I was. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to believe that she was ready to confront the deeds I had committed and those that I would likely continue to commit. The truth was, I was a creature of shadows, a being defined by my monstrous actions.
It was a facet of myself that I didn’t anticipate changing, nor did I desire such a transformation. This was my identity, for better or worse, and I accepted it, even though it kept me distant from the man I wished I could be.
As I kept my gaze fixed on Rebecca, a fleeting thought brushed against my consciousness a question of what might have been if I were a different kind of man. The kind of man who could stand before Rebecca with pride, who she could unabashedly call hers. Not the deranged figure named Artemy Loskutov that I saw in the mirror.
Exhaling heavily, my heart laden with a leaden weight, I turned away, allowing the bathroom door to swing shut behind me. My shirt slipped from my shoulders, discarded as I prepared to cleanse myself of the evidence of my recent actions.
Stepping into the shower’s embrace, I let the frigid water pour over me, a metaphorical baptism that washed away the physical traces of my deeds. With my hands braced against the tiled walls, I struggled to alleviate the constriction that gripped my chest, a sensation born of guilt and remorse.
In the midst of this internal battle, the door creaked open, the sound distinct in its familiarity. I squeezed my eyes shut, acknowledging the presence of the one who had entered without needing to turn around.
Subdued movements filled the space, and then the shower enclosure door glided open. A gentle hand made contact with my shoulder, a soft voice, tinged with concern and care, broke the silence.
The water’s temperature shifted from cold to warm, testament to her intervention. “Artemy?” Her voice sought me, urging me to face her.
Still, I remained anchored, my back against the wall, struggling to confront what lay within me.
“Please, Artemy.” The word ‘please’ hung in the air, a plea that resonated deeply within me. In response, I pivoted, my gaze meeting hers my Angel, Rebecca.
Her touch, tender and reassuring, cradled my cheeks as she rose onto her tiptoes. Her lips met mine in a kiss, a tender connection that held a world of understanding.
In that suspended moment, I found myself rooted, unable to move. Her kisses danced across my skin, from cheeks to nose, playful nips mingling with affectionate pecks. Each gesture conveyed a message of acceptance and affection.
Her lips alighted on my forehead, a pause that communicated more than words ever could. Then, a soft smile graced her lips as she whispered against my damp skin.
Drawing me close, her pregnant belly pressed against my abdomen, her head nestled over my racing heart. In that intimate embrace, she laid a gentle kiss upon my chest, the warmth of her breath mingling with the droplets cascading over us.
Her arms enveloped me, and in return, mine encircled her. We held one another, bodies aligned amidst the falling water, the sound of its patter forming a comforting backdrop to our connection.
With her embrace, she cradled me, and in her arms, I found solace. The words tumbled from my lips, a confession borne from the depth of my emotions. “I love you, Angel. I love you so incredibly much.”
In that moment, surrounded by the cascading water and the warmth of her presence, I felt a semblance of redemption a glimmer of hope that, perhaps, love could bridge the gap between the darkness within me and the man I longed to be for her.