Alice

But on a rainy day like this, when the squirrels are all in their treeholes and everything is too slick to be set on fire properly, you find yourself getting bored. You lay atop a large rock, inertly staring up into the sky as raindrops prickle across your skin and wash away any chance of fun for the day. Patrick, the only man who truly understands your twisted idea of “fun”, climbs onto the rock to join you. His black hair sticks to his face and his clothes are drenched a shade darker than usual. 

“Hello dear,” He drawls. “You look so gorgeous with your eyes full of water. What’s wrong, my little corpse?” 

He picks up one of your hands and presses kisses against your scarred knuckles–a testimony of the time you two became obsessed with the “knife game”. When you only respond with an exasperated huff, the boy climbs on top of you, palms planting on either side of your head. His body shields you from the rain and traps you below him in one motion. When you blink away the water that had settled over your corneas, you’re met with the sight of your boyfriend smiling down at you. 

“The rain is ruining all our fun.” you pout.

“Oh, no. It’s not ruining my fun at all.” The glint in his eyes is downright malicious.

His slender fingers trail down your stomach to your shorts, then slip under the waist band and break the seal. He tilts his head down to get a better look at your panties, making a curtain of wet hair dangle in your face. When you hear the zip of his jeans, you immediately grab a fist full of his hair and yank his head up, wanting to get a perverse glimpse of your own. 

Patrick’s eyes meet yours for a moment, his hair pulled taught between his scalp and your brutal grasp. There’s a beat of silence as he looks at you utterly enamored. Then a thin smile stretches across his lips and he immediately resumes his earlier movements, watching you unblinkingly as he shoves the top of his jeans down, exposing his tented boxers. 

“We’re gonna have a lot of fun right here, don’t you think?” 

He hooks a few fingers underneath the hem of your shorts and underwear, then yanks down in one swift motion making the cold, sticky air hit your hot cunt. You gasp, which he quickly devours with a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. The heel of his palm is immediately against your clit, digging and pressing to feel you whine against his hungry lips, not nearly satisfied enough by the minor friction. 

After a moment, he drops his hand down to your entrance and abruptly sticks two fingers inside, releasing your mouth to hear your startled cry. As he pumps in and out, his head drops to your neck and he bites and sucks at your wet, tender skin like he’s starving for flesh. His thumb finds your swollen clit and presses down, slowly building pressure before moving in lazy, unpredictable circles. The friction makes your back arch, tension inside you starting to build as his fingers curl and jerk inside of you. He watches smugly as he works your body just the way you like–a skill he’s picked up over time for one specific reason. 

He’s hitting all the right places. Every circle of his thumb on your clit makes your legs shake. Your hands cling to the back of his drenched shirt, head tilting back and moans reaching a crescendo as you reach the brink of release. 

“Fuck. Patrick, I’m gonna-”

And right on cue, he stops his motions and all that building tension dissipates. No climax. No release. Nothing but the patter of rain and your laboured breathing fills the silence. 

You shoot him an angry look.

“Jerk-” You reach down to palm his dick–to tease him just as he’s teasing you–but before you can he’s grabbing your wrist with bruising force.

He shakes his head with a salacious smirk, adding in a tongue-clicking “tsk, tsk” to scold you. 

“You should know better than to interrupt me, darling.” He lets your wrist go and pulls out his pocket knife, flipping it open. 

With this impromptu knife drawing, your entire body heats up with morbid excitment. Your brain kicks into that sweet sweet fight or flight mode knowing he could hurt you badly, which consequently makes the rivaling sensations of pain and the pleasure feel vacuously euphoric .

“Ass up, face down.” 

As soon as you flip over, you hear the wet sound of soaked fabric being tugged across skin. You feel him line himself up with your entrance, rubbing the tip of his cock through your folds before he slides himself in with a slick noise. Pain radiates from your walls. His free hand shoves your chest down, forcing you to arch into him. He yanks your shirt up, unveiling your curved back to the cold rain and eliciting a shaky whimper from your lips. You don’t have time to think about the way your walls are being forced to adjust to his size, he’s already dragging the sharp edge of his pocket knife down your back with slow deliberation. 

You try to turn around but he grabs the back of your head and shoves your face into the rock.

“Shush. No peeking. Just feel.” There’s an excitement bubbling in his throat that is nowhere near sane.

He pulls his dick out half way just to slam back into you with a violent snap of his hips. Pleasure seeps in immediately, flushing your skin red. You squeeze your eyes shut, doing as he said and surrendering your body to his sadistic whims. 

“Yeah, that’s right,” He grunts, giving your pussy a few thrusts. “Take my dick you eager little slut.”

He slams into you hard, then slows to a stop to leave himself some composure to steady the knife. 

He often carves things into your back when he fucks you from behind, leaving the expanse of skin crudely etched with random lines and a few words here and there–all of which are demeaning. He reads off your back as he drags the tip of his knife to a spot on your lower back.

“Slut.” He coos, carving his first line into your flesh and making your body squirm away.

He holds you still with an iron grip, then jerks the head of his dick into your G-spot just to confuse your nervous system.

 “Cock tease.” He slices another curved line into your flesh, this one mirroring the other. Another thrust follows it.

“Whore…” He rattles off the last of the demoralizing inscriptions on your back, carving more lines into your flesh and thrusting between each one.

He feels your walls flutter around his dick each time he degrades you. Something about the greedy way your pussy begs for more when he’s treating you so terribly makes him twitch inside of you. He quickens his work, now moving his knife haphazardly through your skin. When he makes the last laceration, he moves back to admire his work and allows the cool rain to patter against you. 

He drops his knife beside you and places a hand on your desecrated skin, making you wince as he wets his hand with your blood. Then, like an animal finally striking its prey, he starts thrusting into you with merciless fervor, causing you to moan in sync with each pump of his cock. 

“Your back looks so fucking sexy covered in blood. I should cut you up more often-” He grunts. “Or maybe I should just gut you entirely, yeah? What do you think about that? You are my little slut after all- say it. Say it.”

His words come out in frantic huffs, biting and cruel and sickly engrossed with the mess he’s making of you.

“I-” Words fail you. 

“Say. It.” He enunciates each word with an extra brutal thrust.

“I’m yours-s,” You slur, cheek pressed against the rock and mind a complete mess. “I’m your s-sl-slut.”

“Good-” He thrusts faster, making you scream. “Good fucking girl.”

His cock pounds in and out of you as he threatens and worships and degrades you all in one. He feels your body pulse around him in response to his nasty words and it only makes him more rabid. 

You begin to tremble as the onslaught of your release hits you hard. Your body feels light, your head is empty, your eyes roll back. You clasp a hand over your mouth to silence yourself but Patrick quickly yanks your hair to keep your mouth uncovered. The wave of pleasure breaks inside of you, washing away your thoughts and making you go dumb and euphoric. 

“So fucking pathetic,” He grits out, now thrusting in quick, sloppy succession. “Moaning for me. Taking my dick in the f-fucking woods like a whore. S-so f-f-ucking worthless, s-so gorgeous- fuck.”

His words become senseless mutters before he quickly pulls out, releasing his cum onto your back and moaning desperate nothings. When he's done, he sits up straight and just stares down at the sight before him–you're half naked, soaking wet, and your back and his shirt are now covered in your blood.

He throws himself down next to you as you roll onto your back, the rain now ebbing to a stop as you both pant and scramble to redress yourselves. As the post-coital haze starts to dissipate and the two of you come back to your senses, you realize how soggy and gross you are.

“Sooo, shower at my place?” Your boyfriend grins, pointing a thumb over his shoulder in a charmingly dorky manner and offering to help you down off the rock.

“I guess. As long as you didn’t write something weird on my back this time.” You oblige, taking the hand he offers you and bracing your legs under you as your feet hit the ground.

You look down over your shoulder and peel your wet shirt off your lower back, taking a glimpse at the spot below your blood and rain soaked shirt. 

He carved both of your initials inside of a heart. Aw, how sweet.

You’re shoved back into the rock with a jarring lurch. 

“Never mind, die in the woods alone. Loser!” Your boyfriend yells, his voice getting further and further away as he attempts to ditch you.

You regain your footing and your eyes lock onto the pocket knife he’d forgetfully left on the rock. You snag it before chasing after him screaming “not if I kill you first!” with every intention of stabbing your boyfriend. 

Ever since you were a child, you’ve had an insatiable itch for violence. Nothing besides the sting of splitting flesh or blunt force can excite you—and boy does it excite you. The feeling of warm blood coating your skin and gushing from your nose feeds your head with intoxicating amounts of adrenaline. Seeing it pour into your hands when you cup them below your nose makes your head spin with an inexplicable kind of enthrallment that renders you stupid.

Viscous, metallic liquid seeped into the rivets between your teeth and coated your lips. It slid over your tongue and down your throat, mixing with mucus as it slickly traveled along your intestinal tract and rested heavily in your stomach. Bliss. It felt like a breath of fresh air and a cathartic end to the anxiety that has pent up inside of you for far too long. Too long without being hurt.

Just a simple bloody nose had you wild-eye’d and thrumming with a craving that tore at you from the inside. A craving for violence.

Your eyes snapped to the boy who’d punched you, his half hearted attempt to continue his bullying now ceasing as his eyes met yours. One of his brows cocked and the other furrowed in a deeply confused expression. 

In a split second your knuckles were colliding with his face. You felt the bone forming his eye socket brand your skin and had to choke down the giddy laugh bubbling in your throat.

You hardly had time to register, or even care, that the boy you’d just hit was the Henry Bowers. He'd found you on your route back home from school, all alone and just begging to cure his boredom. Now you both stood alone on the sidewalk before the tattered overpass of the kissing bridge, bloody noses now gushing and a charged silence ringing between you.

His rugged features contorted into a blood splattered sneer, hands balling into fists below his bandana bracelets. That right there was the last sight many saw before being maimed and beaten beyond recognition. Even so, you couldn’t help but find him attractive. You could see every curve of his muscular arms as he stalked closer. He crowded your space before planting a tight grasp around your neck and squeezing his thumb and fingers into either side of your throat. 

He yanked your head up, forcing your bloody face to meet his furious glare. His eyes roamed your face, taking in the lack of fear, the way your blood-marred teeth still bore a crooked smile, and the wild excitement in your eyes. The lack of oxygen to your brain only made you a loopy, content mess and that made him dangerously curious. 

“You’re a fucked up little thing, aren’t y’a?” He scoffed amusedly.

His eyes skimmed across your reddening face, wandering down to your blood soaked lips. He licked his own lips slowly, tasting the metallic tang. The ruby glaze over your plump skin was sickeningly gorgeous, he couldn’t help but wish the blood on his lips was yours. 

He gave your neck one last squeeze, shaking your disoriented head, then loosened his grip and let his hand drift down to the collar of your shirt. His gaze darted down to the hand-shaped bruise forming on your neck, then flickered up to your twinkly eyes as you took a deep breath.

His lips crashed against yours as he yanked you closer by your collar. The kiss deepened the second you reciprocated, his lips moving fervently against yours. Your blood mixed with his against your clashing lips. It made the kiss wet and sloppy, exchanging saliva and blood until both of your mouths were full of the other’s DNA. You both lapped up the blood like the taste, both watery and metallic, was what you’d been starving for.

Henry only pulled away when the blood had run out and neither of you could taste the others on your tongue anymore. He stared down at you as you both panted and shared a stunned yet understanding moment. You both craved violence. You craved blood. And maybe now each other?

“Fuck. You taste good.” He said, as if bewildered by his own actions.

“I do?” You asked, looking satiated and dizzy.

“Yeah…” he trailed off, reading the gleeful look on your face. “You’re enjoying this. You like the blood? The pain?”

He questioned you as he backed you up against the railing of the kissing bridge.

“What if I said I just like you?” You chimed as your back hit the railing and your hands instinctively braced against the wood.

He inched closer until he was toe to toe with you, shaking his head with a knowing smirk slowly tugging across his face. He could read you. And what he was picking up was exciting him. You felt that excitement straining against your thigh as he lifted your chin up to look at him.

“Nah,” he shook his head and chuckled. “You don’t like me, you like the pain I give y’a. And the pain you get to give in return.” 

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face, one you both shared like a pair of deranged hyenas.

“Yeah, and you let me do it. I like you for it.” You flash him your best seductive look as your hands snake down his chest and you imagine him holding your head underwater. 

“I’m-“

“I know who you are.” He interrupted, grabbing your hand from behind and interlocking your fingers with his.

He teasingly dragged your hand down until he’s pressing your palm against the firm tent in his jeans. He smiled bitter sweetly, eyeing you like prey and imagining your fingernails tearing lines down back.

“I’d like to get to know you more, though.” He muttered as he leaned in closer, starting yet another heated kiss between the two of you.

As your lips moved in harmony yet again, you smile into the kiss when his hand guides yours against his erection. You start to press and grope him on your own, learning from his movements and eventually he lets you palm him by yourself. He glides his hands along your hips and waist before grabbing on and pulling you closer. 

He groans against your lips when you find the perfect rhythm. His kiss becomes frantic, his hips buck into your hand animalistically. He pulls your hand away from his dick and immediately begins to thrust his hips into yours. Your hands wrap around his neck as he pushes you against the railing, one gripping a hand full of his hair.

“Harder.” He grunted into the kiss.

 You instinctively give his hair a harsh tug, snapping the last thread of his composure. He hikes your leg up so it's braced against his side and thrusts his clothed dick into your aching groin. 

“Fuck, that’s right,” He grunts agaisnt your lips. “Feel how fucking hard you make me.”

You moan into the kiss as your mind goes blank. Feeling that mouth watering friction makes things like restraint or public decency feel trivial. One hand squeezes your ass. You tug hard at his hair. His hand plants firmly on your back to get more leverage. Your arms squeeze tighter around his neck. He bites at your lip to hear what noise you'll make. 

You keep at this dance of pulling each other closer and closer while your mouths and hips move hungrily. His thrusts become more desperate and he pulls away from your lips just long enough to mutter a curse. Your eyes widen when you notice him undoing his belt, a rush of excitement and uncertainty sobering you up slightly. Despite your new found hunger for stimulation, you debate stopping him when-

BEEP BEEP.

Just when things were hitting their boiling point, the honk of Belch Huggin’s Trans Am makes you both freeze–for better or for worse. The two of you turn to the car like deers in headlights as Victor Cris pokes his upper body out of the sunroof. Belch stares from the drivers window.

“Bowers? The fuck are you doin’? What happened to your face?”

“None of your god damn business." Henry retorted, pulling back and averting his eyes from you as he adjusted his pants.

“Uh-huh,” Victor nodded with a disbelieving expression. “Well, we saw the losers heading down to the barrens again and thought-”

Henry perked up almost instantly, seemingly forgetting all about the shameful things he was about to do to you before his gang showed up.

“Shit, really? Why didn’t you get me sooner? Lets fucking go.” Henry scolded as he worked his way around the car to the passenger’s seat.

When he got to the door, the handle wouldn't budge. He shot a glance up at Vic that told him not to speak of what he’d just witnessed. 

“Aren’t you gonna invite your girlfriend?” The boy in the sunroof asked, smirking a little as he eyed you standing awkwardly on the sidewalk.

Henry shot you a glance, looked you up and down, then rolled his eyes as he wiped at the blood crusted to his nostrils. 

“Nah. Bad blood you could say.” He scoffed.

You glanced away and pretended to think for a second, swishing your tongue around your mouth like you were tasting food. 

“AB?” You ask, pretending to guess his blood type off of the lingering taste of it in your mouth.

“Yeah. Positive." He mused, then slinked into the car.

Vic made kissing motions with his hands and puckered his lips at you as the car began to drive away. He quickly crumpled down into the back seat when Henry punched him in the dick.