Violet

“Please… STOP!”

“Why would we do that, bitch, when it’s obvious you’re enjoying this as much as we are?” the filthy two-legged animal on top of her growled while his partner kept her arms restrained. “Besides, we still need to switch.”

Violet spat at his crooked face, and her neck almost snapped when he hit her like a truck. Moonlight descended upon his face, revealing his gruesome bearded features and bloodshot eyes.

“Just gag her, Bill! I like my bitches silent,” said the other beast, anxious to have his test run. “Use this!” he completed, throwing him an expensive silk handkerchief that betrayed his true status.

Though muzzled, Violet never stopped fighting, never stopped struggling until the bitter end. She was found the next morning, too bruised to move, dress torn to shreds, blood covering just about every inch of her body. By all accounts, she shouldn’t have survived the assault, but she did. When asked if she could identify her attackers, the answer was no because her spirit was broken from inside out.

Violet checked herself out of the hospital ten days later and became a hermit. Nobody saw or heard from her for many months until one Summer morning she decided it was time to start living again, and everything would begin with revenge.

Countless sessions of hypnotherapy helped her uncover repressed memories and minimize their trauma. With the information she acquired from her subconscious mind, a handful of investigators were hired to track down the ravaging duo. Most of them came back shortly, but one proved more resourceful than the rest and was able to locate one of them, at least. She paid the P.I. double for a job well done and set out to confront the past.

Young Violet, rape victim, would never stand a chance against it. Thankfully, she was no longer that person, but rather someone with the most curious of aces upon her sleeve. Something had stirred within her during her willing isolation, something unnaturally strong and tempting beyond belief, something Bill Meyers, from Portland, would be the first to experience to its full extent.

Upon reaching his apartment, she saw fitting to break in, violating his space in a similar fashion to how he had violated her body, and sat in waiting, kitchen knife in hand. He arrived twenty minutes later, carrying two bags of groceries in each hand. Unsurprisingly, he let them fall to the floor the moment he saw the dark-skinned intruder.

“Who the hell are you?” he shouted.

“Just a bitch you once knew,” she responded, nonchalantly. “You still have the same pig face, by the way.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’m going to give you ten seconds to get out of my house. Ten, nine, eight…”

“And I’m going to give you ten seconds to close the door and come sit next to me,” her tone shifted, becoming much more forceful and commanding. Bill’s eyes widened, his muscles stiffened and he complied without question.

“That’s a good little piggy,” Violet sniggered, handing him the knife. “Keep on being one and hold this close to your throat with your left hand. Afterwards, look at me and ask again who am I?”

“Who are you?” he obeyed, feeling the silvery edge next to his jugular.

“Oh, I’ sure you know the answer by now. Perhaps you don’t remember my name but I’m going to give you a clue. It starts with a V and ends with a T… sound familiar?”

“V-Vi…”

“Go on. Don’t let the knife stop you from talking… What’s my name?”

“V-V-Violet,” he stammered, unsure if he had indeed remembered on his own or if the thought had been planted in his head at that precise moment.

“That’s right, Bill. I know you like silent bitches but, this time, I’m talking to my heart’s content and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“How are you doing this?” he asked with great difficulty, devoid of any real control over his body.

“Good question,” she replied with a shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know. I like to think it’s all your fault. You beat me so hard that night, turned my brain into a pulp that, when it finally healed, it evolved to prevent something like that from ever happening again. You must think I’m mad and you’re probably right, but don’t blame me. You made me this way. Now, use your free hand to unzip your pants and push them down. Boxers as well,” she commanded.

“No, I…” the words of denial poured like a cascade, but he found himself obeying her every wish anyway, exposing his shriveled cock and balls to her hateful gaze.

“If you want to keep that miserable thing between your legs, tell me where I can find your friend.”

“J-John?” he muttered again. “I don’t know where he is.”

“Don’t lie to me!” she made him lower the knife to his genitals. “Tell me. Now!”

“Okay, okay,” Bill murmured, the rush of adrenaline and fear finally loosening his tongue. He told her everything she wanted to know and nearly soiled himself in the process. It wasn’t pretty, though the efficiency of the method left no room for doubts.

“I told you all I know. Now, please, stop,” he implored, the blade so very close to drawing blood for the first time.

Violet looked at him, dismissively, right index finger pointing downwards.

“No. I asked you to stop too, remember?”

A severing thought pierced his mind, followed by another, and another, and another…

Two days later, while being seen through a pair of binoculars by a car across the street, John Lawson answered the doorbell to find a violet package on the porch, with his name on it. Despite the strangeness of the fact, he felt compelled to open it right away. On the inside, a handful of withered petals laid next to a serrated blade with specks of dried blood on it. A silly half-rhyme accompanied the disturbing ensemble. He read it and wept.

Run if you like

But I’ll always find you.

Bill lost his cock

And, soon, you will, too.

Horrified, he picked up the knife, unable to resist.