It had been three years since Devon had been abducted by the cutting couple and he had never left the chair or the white, opening-less room. His body had atrophied, he was more skin and fat than muscle and blood any more. He was fed every day, three meals, aside from the cutting, the couple took pretty good care of him.
His body was covered in scars. There really wasn’t a spot that wasn’t a pink, red, or purple line. It itched, and Devon wished he could scratch… at the same time it wasn’t necessary. He had given up on leaving. He was stuck there. Every day he was molested and cut. He had been raped by several individuals, who came and went like fresh air. His favorite moments, were the moments he was alone, but there were also the rare moments where his captors let him participate.
Though the couple did not want visible scars, there were moments where they gave him a choice: to cut them or let them cut him. He chose to cut them every time. It was always on the upper thigh, nowhere else, but it was better than nothing.
There were moments where he thought he could kill them and get out. But in these moments he was put on a leash and pulley system. Always one of them was holding a switch that could yank him up in the air if he did anything.
He thought about it a lot… Maybe I should just do it and die… But he was afraid of death, and at least a part of him could take pleasure in cutting them, even if they gasped in delight and impassioned lust when the edge slit their skin and the blood started dripping, it was better than nothing.
He did learn that there were more rooms than the one he was in. He imagined that they were just like this one, white and hiding some poor person with as many or more scars as him. When he thought about this, it made him sad, but it also filled him with so much rage… rage at his stupidity, rage at his friends for abandoning him, rage at this couple and all their friends… and it was these moments that impassioned him for a miraculous escape… An impossible escape…
Devon hung his head, frustrated tears flowing down onto his bloodied shirt. Just shut up! I’m stuck here forever! Just get over it!
Then he heard sirens. He looked over to the wall, where the invisible door was located, and with a whoosh, it opened, the cutting couple rushed in, fear frosted their faces as they ran to Devon’s side.
The woman pulled out the scissors and was about the plunge it deep into Devon’s chest. So what, he thought, I guess it’s time to die… Or I could stall for a while…
Devon jumped, chair and all, away from the scissors. “Come and get me bitch!” he shouted as loud as he could. The couple turned to the door, seeing no one, they continued.
“We have to kill you, Devon,” said the man, “It’s nothing personal, we don’t need the police finding you.”
“Well, you’re going to have to pin me down or something.”
Devon continued to move as much as he could, his body aching with every little jump. It was a feeble attempt, however. The couple had not gone through the same ordeal he had and the man pinned his chair down with relative ease.
Devon struggled as the woman brought her broken half to his neck, and just before she could rub the edge against it, the chair arm broke, and Devon knocked her arm out-of-the-way, the half scissor flying across the room. The man tried to detain him, but Devon grabbed his throat and crushed it. The chair legs broke as he kicked his feet outward.
The woman, distracted by her flying blade, chased after it as is lodged into the wall, neglecting her choking partner.
Devon undid the rest of his straps and stumbling out of his chair, stretched out his arms and felt the freedom that he’d been longing for the past three years. He moved forward. His knees were having a lot of trouble operating effectively. Right leg, left leg, right leg, left leg, Devon thought to himself as he teetered over to the woman, now pulling the blade out of the wall.
She turned to see Devon walking towards her, she smiled as she raised the blade towards him. “You can’t hurt me, Devon,” she said, “You’re weak. I’m going to kill you and get away with it.”
Devon kept coming. “No you won’t,” he said.
She ran towards him and buried the blade into his stomach… oddly enough Devon didn’t flinch. Instead, he grabbed her wrists, a monstrous strength took over, and he crushed her hands.
She screamed as Devon let go and fell to the ground, holding her limp hands high so not to touch them to the ground. Devon pulled the blade out, blood gushing. He laughed as he saw the gore of his skin and what little muscle tissue ripped out with it.
“Listen, lady,” said Devon, raising the blade high in the air, “You can’t hurt me! Pain is nothing to me! I can hurt you, but I’m going to kill you instead.” She screamed as Devon plunged the blade over and over into her skull, blood, bone, and brain spat on his face as he stabbed her. His mouth curling into a nasty grin, as he licked the spraying gore on his face.
He didn’t hear them come in. He didn’t hear them tell him to stop. All he heard was the crack of bone and the squishy suction of the brain on his blade. He didn’t even feel the bullets as they pierced his back, but he did eventually notice the floor when he finally fell down.
1 thought on “The Cutter’s Club Part 2”
Cool death. 🙂 I notice a lot of people in prisoner situations tend to adopt a “I’m not going to give them what they want” attitude.