Caution Tape (Mutual Monsters Duet Book 1)

by Molly Doyle

I might spiral into a cackling murder spree, be dragged off and thrown into a state dungeon for crimes too heinous to mention, but at the end of the day, I don’t think I’m any more of a sociopath than my parents.

“Hi,” I say. “Why are you here?” she asks blankly, scanning the lighter. I pause with a frown, then opt to tell the truth. “I wanted to see you.” The words hit her, and she looks down for a moment as if baffled. “What, you want to talk? Is that it?” “I guess.” She scowls. “Why?” I lean in, staring her straight in the eyes. “We share a secret, and this is much more interesting than anything else I have going on.” She scans the rest of my items, a carefully passive look on her face. Finally, as she’s handing me the receipt, she says, “I get off in ten minutes.”

“I’m not going to murder you,” I say. “Sure. No one has ever said that and then stabbed someone.”

“I can’t kill you even if I wanted to. Two people from the same party go missing? Every part-time detective, true crime podcast and Facebook group will be looking for a suspect. Plus, a pretty girl goes missing, well, people notice.”

“I think you’re just like me,” I say to her, carefully watching how she reacts. “Oh, yeah?” It’s a challenge. She hasn’t run off. She isn’t fumbling for her phone to call the police. She is meeting my eyes and daring me to keep talking. “Yes. I think there’s something a little off about you. You hide it well—” I circle behind her, my chest brushing against her shoulder, “and you drift through life, but nothing feels real. Like it has any stakes.”

“You killed my friend,” she states. “My only friend.” “I did. And I enjoyed it. And I’m going to do it again… and again… and again…” I lower my voice with each syllable, the jovial face of Nolan dropping and my true face appearing. Her eyes flick to my lips, and her façade begins to crack.

“You think you’re this dangerous, cold monster?” Her hand comes up and jabs me in the chest. “You’re just a murderer. That’s it. There’s nothing special about you.” I laugh, turn away and get in my car. She’s standing there, incredulous. I start it up and roll down the window, sticking my head out. “You talk tough,” I taunt, “but we both know you’re getting in my car.” There’s anger on her face—there’s always anger on her face, Jesus Christ—but her mouth twitches, teasing at a smile. She stomps over and gets in, and for the first time in my life, I have a passenger for one of my night drives.

“What does it feel like for you?” I play dumb, because letting him in would be a big mistake. I already know this doesn’t end well. “What do you mean?” I ask. He taps the center of his forehead. “For me, everything feels like paper. Thin. Like I can punch through it. It’s not that nothing matters, it’s that everything feels loose and inconsequential. Nothing attaches, really. I have to pretend, go through the motions and construct this image of a functioning person.”

There’s a sense of relief in knowing that someone else is caught in this chaotic in-between of knowing you’re disconnected and a borderline psychopath, but also being aware enough that you are not normal. That you are an aberration. That an entire society is built around these ideas of attachment and empathy that you simply do not possess.

It’s another animal entirely hearing it come out of the mouth of someone else, another human gliding through life like it’s a boring dream and they’re just waiting for it to be over. My therapist really fucking sucks at his job.

“What about your girlfriend?” I question, already knowing the answer. If Nolan is anything like me, I know the answer. “She’s like a plant,” Nolan replies, shrugging. “Or a pet. I think people like pets more, but—”

“I’ve never killed anyone,” I tell him. “I want to. It’s all I think about lately. Sometimes I think about hurting people and they’re the clearest, purest thoughts I have.” I become silent for a moment, unsure of how to continue. “Most of all, though… I’ve always wondered how it would feel to be in someone’s skin.”

“Cora,” he says, grinning slightly, “we might be mutual monsters.”

I shouldn’t trust her with the knife. I also shouldn’t walk in front of her, but I do anyway, enjoying the thrill and half-anticipating to feel the sting of the blade in my back.

“The deer we hit is hurt,” I tell her. “This is something I do when it gets to be too much, and I need to unleash it. Find an animal and kill it.”

“Quit stalling. Unless you’re all talk.” I shine the flashlight in her face, making her blink. “Or you could just go back to your boring little life. Go back to being a rude little bitch with a dead friend. Or—” I shine the light down at the deer, “we can play in blood together.”

The knife glints dangerously in the dim pulse of the flashlight before being driven into the stomach of the deer with a frenzy that shocks me. Cora’s face is twisted almost beyond recognition as the deer bucks and shrieks, twisting underneath my foot. One of its hooves kick out and grazes her lip, drawing blood, but it doesn’t faze her. She grabs the leg, pinning it down and digging the knife back into the abdomen of the animal. She’s not trying to kill it. She’s trying to make it suffer. She hits something major with the blade and a gout of blood spurts out, coating her arms, neck, and chest. It turns her from a forgettable suburban woman in the woods into a demonic shadow, flickering in the low beam of the flashlight, coated in crimson. The blood doesn’t stop her. I don’t think I could stop her either.

A twig breaks as she shifts her weight and swings the knife in a driving arc, trying to bury it in the center of my chest. Silly little bitch. Her arms are tired so she’s slow. Too slow. She has to know that. I turn sideways and she lunges past me, easily allowing me to catch her wrist and bend it, making her cry out. As a result, she drops the knife.

“Still trying to kill me?” I rasp. “I told you I would,” she replies softly. I yank her damp shirt over her head, my hands tacky and sticky with blood. Her skin feels soft and hot as I peel her flimsy bra off and take one of her nipples in my mouth, biting down on it gently but firmly enough that I feel her nails dig into the back of my head.

Unbuckling my belt, she tugs it out of the loops with a wry smile, and that’s when it clicks; she’s always been in control. “Did I say you could do that?” I taunt, swatting her hands away. It’s dark, the flashlight is on the ground barely giving us enough light to see each other, but her eyes are wide and incredulous. “What?” she asks.

“Open your fucking mouth,” I say again, but all she does is raise her eyebrows. Cora, Cora, Cora.

“If you want to come… you’re going to open your mouth.” Still, she’s defiant. I like that. I hook my fingers around the belt loop of her pants and tug them down until they fall around her knees. I stretch the waistband of her panties and let it snap back against her hip. “Take these off,” I order. It’s something I could easily do, but I want to make her do it. It’s turning me on to have her defiant yet playing along, this push-and-pull making everything that much more delicious.

“It hurts,” she spits out, eyes wide, mouth agape. “It hurts so good. Holy fuck—” “There’s nothing holy about the way I plan on fucking you,”

“I’m—” she chokes out, convulsing against me. “Oh, God, I’m going to—” “Damn right you are.” Monsters, indeed.

“This changes nothing,” Cora says. “Okay.” “Nothing,” she reiterates. She gets out, slamming the door without looking back. Smiling to myself, I drive away. Why would I want things to change?

Killing the deer. The sight of blood, and the enticing glow of the red liquid was almost just enough to send me to an orgasm. The intoxicating scent of copper overwhelmed my senses and left me falling into a bottomless well of euphoria. Adrenaline. That surely must have been what sent me over the brink. Right?

No man has ever been able to get me off. Not until tonight. Not until Nolan. It had to have been a fluke. I was concentrating on what I had done to the deer just moments before. The thrill of my first kill is what truly did it. Right? Shit. There’s only one way to find out for sure.

There it is. The mask has fallen away, and I can see him for what he truly is. At the end of the day, he just wants something from me. If he really cared about my wellbeing, even the slightest bit, then he wouldn’t be yanking up my skirt the way he is now. He wouldn’t be groping my ass, and he most certainly wouldn’t be slipping his hand between my thighs. Little does he know… I want something from him, too.

Michael removes his hand from between my legs. “Hold on to the desk, Cora,” he instructs as he yanks down his pants. He slams his cock all the way inside of me without wasting another second. God, he is massive. Almost as big as Nolan.

The sporadic thrusting of his hips doesn’t fit into a rhythm and it’s clear that he’s only looking for his own end here. I suck my bottom lip into my mouth once more, holding back hisses and moans. Fuck, it actually hurts. The desk rocks violently as he pounds into me, his fingernails digging into my hips. The taste of copper overwhelms my senses. I’ve bitten my lip too hard, drawing blood. Blood… blood… blood. Gutting the deer crosses my mind. He has drawn blood, too. I can feel the harsh stinging of the small slits in my skin. I hate long fingernails on men. He should really get them trimmed. Michael quickens his pace, smacking his hips against my ass as he takes exactly what he wants.

“Tell me how this feels,” he orders in a smooth tone. “How does my big, meaty cock feel when it’s buried inside of you?”

“It’s fine.” A dull ache settles between my thighs from the sheer force he’s using. He fucks like a wild animal who has gone rabid. “Fine?” he growls. “Just fine?” “Well, is that all you’ve got?” I breathe out, craning my neck to look back at him. “Fuck me harder.”

“Cora,” he cries out, slamming into me aggressively. “Oh, Cora.” With one long stroke, he empties himself inside of me, leaving me completely unsatisfied. Worthless as ever. Just another worthless, useless man.

I don’t say a single word. I have none to offer. I yawn instead. He strolls around his desk and into my view, tucking his dick back into his pants and fastening his belt. “How was that Cora?” he asks. I hold back an unimpressed laugh. He’s big. I’ll give him that. In the end, I was left bored, the easy realization that he wasn’t Nolan now staring me in the face.

I feel unleashed on the world for the first time in my existence. I was a drowning victim, choking on normalcy and the facsimile of a grinning face. No longer.

Then the strobe flashes, and my mind seizes on the image of Cora, drawing the form of her to me. It’s the feeling of her against me; the warmth of her skin and the way that heart of hers went thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud, growing louder and faster the harder I fucked her in the dirt. My mind teemed with how her pulse seemed to throw itself against my hand when I gripped her neck and those vibrant eyes blazed with malice and lust.

How would it feel to have her down on her knees for you, her hands tied behind her back, looking up at you… I need plastic wrap. I need to find a location that is secluded and soundproof. I might need a different vehicle, too. I can’t keep using my car for this. That’s too obvious… That scar that splits her bottom lip… I want to watch her trail it up the length of my cock, keeping her eyes on mine the entire time. I want to see that wicked smile as she says “Fuck you, Nolan” in that pouty voice, right before I grab the back of her head and make her gag on it.

I’m only interested because she’s a challenge. Once she’s dealt with, it’ll be over, and my sense of balance will return. This is nothing more than a fun new game for my gnashing mind to grapple with. Nothing more.

“Cora, who’s the substitute teacher you’re talking to?” I nod my head at him, and he sighs again. “Michael. My therapist,” she mutters. Michael reaches over the table and squeezes her arm in a reassuring manner. Behind my eyes there is something wicked, dark, and drooling. It’s desperate to claw its way out and sever every limb Michael has.

The conversation needs to end before I am “seen with the victim before his disappearance”.

“Well,” Michael says, “Cora and I are approaching her treatment in an unorthodox way.” The knowing smile he gives Cora makes me want to cut off his ears and stuff them in his eye sockets.

“I think you have some work to do on yourself and your relationship with Cora is just not healthy.” I am Nolan. I am in control. I have always been in control. I will not lose it here in this fucking Target. Ignoring him, I address Cora. “If you ever want to be not healthy… text me.” Her phone is sitting on the table in front of her, unlocked and inviting.

“I don’t see anything wrong with you.” “That’s enough.” Michael is standing now, glaring at me. Cora quickly takes her phone back, and I saunter away, offering a few stray glances back at Michael as I go.

And that’s all it is, right? Just pure, normal jealousy. All the musings on how horrific and distant I am from normal emotional responses and here I am—the jilted lover—stalking a girl and her boyfriend like any other modern loser. I laugh loudly in my empty car and press down on the gas, bringing Michael’s car further into view.

The thrill of stalking my prey combines with the joy of potential self-destruction. All of it for the sake of that dark-haired, gorgeous nightmare.

“You told me you didn’t feel anything for him,” he scolds. I glare at him through narrowed eyes. “I don’t,” I shoot back. “I saw the way you looked at him.” “What’s it to you, anyway?” “I am your therapist—” “Exactly,” I cut him off. “You’re my therapist, not my fucking boyfriend. Learn your goddamn place.”

“We need to talk about this, Cora,” he retorts, flashing me a brief, condescending stare. “We’ve talked about how you sleeping with random men is reckless behavior. You’re simply trying to fill the void inside you.” “Oh, so sleeping with you is an exception, right?” “I’m helping you,” he mutters, taking a sharp turn out onto the main road. “I didn’t realize getting railed by my therapist who is at least fifteen years older than me is a form of therapy.” “Age doesn’t matter.” “You’re fucking married,” I laugh,

That you spend your therapy sessions shoving your meaty cock inside of your patients?” “Only you,” he tries to clarify. “It’s only you.” “That’s what they all say,” I murmur. “As if that somehow makes it acceptable.” “This is all a part of your treatment, Cora. This is different.”

Sleeping with him was only supposed to be a test. A one-time thing. Clearly, he’s taking it to a whole new level.

Cora: I think I might want to be unhealthy. Cora: Scratch that. I want to be a lunatic. “No,” Michael lets out unexpectedly. “Do not text him. Give me your phone.”