No, You Hang Up

by A.J. Merlin

“There was someone else talking first, right? Someone a lot less irritating than you?” God, I should hang up. I really need to hang up. “Where’d you go, other friend?” Fuck. He’s talking to me.

I could get something scary. Like a Rottweiler, or a German Shepherd. Or a chihuahua.

“But I can promise you, darling girl, that you’re nobody’s final girl. There’s no cheering for you. And I won’t be the one lying on the floor with a knife in my chest when morning comes.”

“You hang up.” “No, you hang up.

He presses his palm to my inner thigh, then lifts it to trace letters against my leg. “You’ll know I marked you here, and that you’re mine. No matter who else fucks you, you’ll always be mine.”

“You always taste so good, little bunny,” he groans. “So good for me, you know that? Fuck, maybe God finally loves me for something, or I’ve pleased the devil enough for him to have sent you to me. You were made for me, weren’t you? Made to be fucked like I own you.”

I don’t need a serial killer after all, I remind myself. I have my friends, whatever is left of my sanity, and queso.

“Because—” “Because I’m going to fucking ruin every inch of you, inside and out, for anyone other than me.”