You barely register the fact that you are alive until you can feel the dampness of your breath warm against your face. Each heavy, painful inhale only brings you to more awareness.
Admittedly, it's not enough to make you attempt anything risky other than to turn your head to where there was a small hole in the bag you were in.
The cool air is a godsend for how much your lungs burn.
A few minutes, or more realistically, a few seconds into your shaky deep breaths of fresh air, you finally registered the voice of someone else, not too far from where your body probably was. And if it weren't for how sore your throat was, you probably would have screamed for help. In hindsight, maybe it was a good thing that your throat was so coarse that it felt like blood would've bubbled up if you even attempted to speak above a whisper. Because your silence was able to let you register whose voice it was: Edgar.
Somehow that little realization made you lose the tiniest hope of getting out of this alive even with the events that had just transpired not too long ago still fresh in your mind.
When he goes quiet, your mind panics, with what little survival instinct in your body screaming at you to get up. But you just... didn't move, stuck in place from the disgusting mix of fear and pain.
You ball up your fist shut once he starts fumbling with the bag you were in—maybe praying that he'll somehow make some convenient mistake thatll let you make it out alive. The tension in the air is palpable, and for a moment, time stretches until it feels like an eternity has passed. The rustling of the bag grows louder, your heart beating in tandem with the anxiety that grips your chest.
Then, abruptly, the bag is pulled away from your face, and you gasp at the sudden influx of moonlight. Your eyes squint against the brightness, forcing them to adjust to the world illuminated by the full moon. Edgar's figure looms over you, a confused expression on his face. "Oh shit—" Your only good eye struggles to see him in the light; he awkwardly glances away from you. "Hi… I really thought you were dead." You find how awkward he is a little annoying; he was the one who had literally tortured you last time you were awake.
"You look awful," he finally says, his eyes fixated on where your face had blistered and bled. "Well boiling water was poured onto your face and you were stabbed and beaten with a bat… and then electrocuted to death."
He corrected under his breath, "At least I thought it was to death."
You frown a little, glancing past him and instead towards the forest— If it weren't for his existence it would've been almost peaceful.
"Hate to be so blunt but, do you want me to just… kill you? There's no point in theatrics anymore, there's no camera recording now."
You work up the strength to speak, cringing at how pathetic you sounded "W—why can't you just bring me to a hospital?" you stammered, struggling to get basic words out without the feeling of tearing your throat to shreds.
He frowns at your comment, "You were just the main character of a snuff film." He bluntly retorted, "If I get you actual help I'm getting the death penalty."
Even though you knew he would've said no it didn't help lessen the blow, tears slowly building up in your eye. "I won't- I won't tell anyone, please-"
"Oh 'you won't tell anyone', yeah right. How can I believe that?"
Your voice slightly cracks, "I— I don't know, just please, I don't- I don't wanna die!"
"Oh come on! We're not near any civilization and you're going to die soon." He places extra emphasis on his words, "Can you even see anything? Like at all? After all that, there's no way you're not completely blind."
You nod your head desperately, telling him what you assumed would've let you live a little longer.
"Seriously I'm surprised you're not in at least shock."
He cringes a little at your sobbing, maybe a little annoyed. "Here, feel this?" He's 'kind' enough to bring the shovel up to your hands letting you feel around the rusted metal.
"Yeah, I was gonna use this to bury you. But now things are a bit different and you're alive." He leans In a little more, eyes narrowing as he repeats that dreaded question "Do you want me to just kill you now? You won't feel a thing."
You somehow doubt the validity of that statement.
"I'm showing you one rare display of mercy here that I've never shown anybody else."
A tremor of panic coursed through you, igniting the remnants of your fight-or-flight instinct. "No! Please, I—" You inhaled sharply, desperation clawing at your throat. "I— I don't want to die,"
He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as if this entire thing was a mild annoyance. It probably was to him.
"Then what do you want?" he snapped, frustration spilling over. "Do you want me to call someone? Realistically, I can't just take you home, can I? This whole thing is a mess!"
"Just… just leave me here. I won't tell anyone." Your voice was raw and thin, but an ember of defiance ignited within you. "You think I'd go to the cops after this? You're wrong! Just let me go!"
He tilted his head, studying you with an expression that danced between curiosity and disbelief. "And what's stopping me from just… burying you right now." The way he said it made it sound less like a question and more of an objective statement as if there was no room to argue.
You swallowed hard, fear curling in your stomach like a coiling serpent. "If I'm going to die, why can't it be on my terms…" The words slipped out, raw and unfiltered. "You're gonna be the last face I see regardless. Can't I at least choose how see you in those final moments?"
Edgar's brow furrowed as he considered your statement, his grip on the shovel tightening. For a fleeting moment, you think he's gonna ignore your plea- maybe toss you into some random river nearby.
But surprisingly his frustrated expression lets up, a sickening smile that bordered on a disgusted grimace forming on his face, "You're willing to spend your last few minutes of life fucking the same guy who almost killed you earlier."
"I— I don't know, I guess…" You quietly admit, "If this is it, I'd just rather not spend it in silence."
"I guess?" He repeated, chuckling at your hesitancy even with the smile on his face you can tell his distaste only increased. "Even after all this time you make my life a living hell." He sighed, staying silent for a moment as if weighing his options. "If this is what you want, fine."
He lifts you out of the trunk of his car abruptly, not caring to be particularly gentle about pushing you down onto the forest floor
The cold earth bites against your back, a pained groan leaving you from the sudden repositioning. You blink up at Edgar, a mix of confusion and dread swirling in your chest as he hovers above you, looming yet oddly contemplative.
"Just so we're clear," he starts, his voice low and serious, "I'm killing you right after this, there's no stupid 'Stockholm' or whatever gross tropes you read. You're just some quick fun for me." There's an edge to his words that sends another wave of terror coursing through your veins.
You swallow against the bile rising in your throat. "I know… I just—"
"Just what? Wanted to share a last moment with me?" He raises an eyebrow, smirking as if the absurdity of it all is somehow amusing to him. He pushes your shirt up just enough to expose the area he stabbed, blood still dribbling out of the gashes- but compared to when he first shanked you it was a huge difference.
The sharp pain radiating from the wound felt distant now, and so was every other movement you struggled with— Letting him tug your pants and underwear down your legs enough to expose you,
You stare up at the moon, the cool night air offering no respite from the humiliation washing over you in waves. A part of you desperately wants to fight back, to claw at Edgar's eyes and make him pay for everything he's done. But your battered body won't cooperate, and the prospect of living through tonight—even if it's just for a few more minutes—seems too alluring to pass up.
Edgar, sensing your resignation, traces a finger along your thigh, and up your torso- Stopping to trace along the periphery of your wounds. "Don't cry too much…" he mumbled aloud, the statement confusing for only a moment before Edgar's fingers pushed into your wound, the pain like a fiery branding iron against your skin.
You can feel the sharp edges of his nails digging into your flesh, making the wound even more agonizing. With each painful movement of his fingers blood spills out, the pain almost paralyzing despite how you could feel the warmth of your own blood coating your skin. Finally, with a good amount of blood gushing from the stab wound in your body, he pulls his fingers out.
"Does it hurt?" he asks, an infuriating grin spreading across his face, his voice dripping with mock concern. Your attention was fixated on the painful throbbing that seemed to match the rhythm of your heart.
You wouldn't have answered even if you could, " Awh, poor baby." He cooed, giving away his false sympathy from the light chuckle he broke into. Leaning back from you, his clean hand worked to pull his pants down just enough so that he could free himself.
Using his now bloodied hand to stroke himself to a full erection, Edgar's twisted grin only grows wider as he sees the look of revulsion on your face. "Don't tell me you've gone shy on me now," he teases, his words dripping with sarcasm. He positions himself between your legs, the head of his erection already slick with pre-cum and your blood, teasingly brushing against your entrance.
"To be honest," He started, breathing a little shaky as he slowly pushed into you. The lubrication your blood provided was a godsend as he slid into you much easier had it been dry, it's hard to get turned on when you know you're gonna die soon after all.
"The only good asset about you is- is your body," He huffed, his smile slightly widening once he finally bottomed out. "But even that is damaged goods."
Staying still long enough that you wonder if it's for your own well-being, a small whimper leaving you as he finally pulls out- the sudden emptiness almost depressing until his hips slammed back up into you. Forcing a strangled whine to spill from your lips
You gasp, the sensation while not entirely unwanted being a little startling— "A-ahm Edgar—" You started, even though you had nothing to say. His name spilling from your lips was more of a prayer than the curse it was.
"Look at you," he sneers, his voice not entirely free from tremor sultry, "This is—fuck— what you wanted, right? A moment before the end? Getting fucked by your soon-to-be murderer?"
"No… no," you manage to choke out through clenched teeth, shaking your head violently as if trying to dislodge reality.
Edgar laughed, mocking your denial. "Save the act," he retorted, thrusting into you harder this time around. Each heavy thrust jolts your body upwards before dragging you back down to meet his crashing hips.
"I can tell how wet you are for me, even with all this blood your practically dripping." He whispered, his movements becoming even more savage as if trying to punish both of you for your conflicting emotions. His breathing grew ragged, and beads of sweat formed on his brow.
The angle he was fucking you in didn't help either, legs propped up on his shoulders-
The pressure pushes deeper within you, each thrust reverberating through the trees. It felt wrong—so brutally wrong—but when he was fucking you so damn good those base morals get thrown right out the window.
"Shit-" you're gasping, a sick part of you wishing that this moment never ended, whether it be for your own survival or if you were that desperate was unknown even to you "That's not it- I-I-"
"I-I-I-" Edgar mocks, in a voice octaves higher than usual. Fucking the rest of that sentence with a harsh roll of his hips, knocking bruisingly at your cervix. "C'mon now- tell me- might as well spill all those secrets now." Kissing uncharacteristically softly at your ear lobe, your nails digging into the dirt beneath you "M'your class partner, remember?" he teased, a bitter reminder of what got you into this mess.
You'd laugh if you weren't trying so desperately to take a deep breath in without having him knock it straight out of you.
"Fuck!" you're keening when another one of his slams leaves you gasping for air, feeling like he was driving into your very womb. The curve of his cock grinding against that spongy spot inside of you that had you seeing stars, quite literally and figuratively.
"Shit—" He grunted out, his movements becoming increasingly erratic, his hand rubbing sticky circles all over your puffy clit.
The humiliation and pain of your situation meld with the building pleasure, swirling together in a sickening mixture. You can feel your orgasm building, coiling deep in your core threatening to snap with each heavy, wet squelch that comes about with your bodies connecting.
"Tell me," he pants in your ear, his hot breath against your neck sending shivers down your spine, "tell me you want it."
Hating yourself for even considering it, you swallow your pride and whisper, "I... I want it." The words catch in your throat, but the admission is enough to spur Edgar on. In a move you don't know if you consider hilariously in or out of character for him he kisses you,
his lips crashing against yours with a fierceness that caught you off guard. You can taste the metallic tang of blood on his lips, mingling with something primal, something that ignited a spark of reckless abandon within you.
With every thrust, the tension coiling in your core grew tighter. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the otherwise tranquil forest, each thrust punctuated by grunts and gasps that you couldn't even discern what came from who.
You feel yourself climbing higher and higher, teetering on the precipice of release. Edgar's fingers dig into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer as he drives into you. The pain from your wounds mingles with the pleasure, creating a dizzying cocktail of sensations that threatens to overwhelm you. Coil of tension in your core winding tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.
A final thrust sent shockwaves through your body, your back arching involuntarily as the tension finally broke. You cried out, the sound mingling with Edgar's own grunts of pleasure as you unraveled beneath him. Your entire being lit up with euphoria, a high that was so intense it almost made you forget where you were—almost.
Edgar's breathing hitched as his own hips stilled, heavy pants and moans warm against each other's face as you both chased the remnants of your climaxes. For a brief moment, you were lost in the afterglow, in the bliss that was entirely wrong, yet so right in this twisted reality. Thighs quaking as your gummy walls milked him for all its worth. Whatever that couldn't fit inside you spilled onto the forest floor with a reddish hue to its milky color.
You didn't even notice the coolness of a blade pressed against your neck until you felt the searing hot pain of your throat being painfully slit, blood spurting out onto his clothes and bubbling up out of your mouth. The warmth of your own blood trickled down your neck, pooling in the hollow of your collarbone. You gasped, choking on the metallic taste that filled your mouth, each breath coming in sharp, desperate pulls.
But he doesn't stop kissing you, and you— broken, desperate you— didn't stop either. Clinging onto the warmth of his lips, not stopping until your breathing stopped and you're finally limp in his arms.
He watches with a morbid fascination as your body slackens beneath him. Blood continues to flow from your neck, painting the forest floor a deep crimson that twinkled under the moonlight like spilled stars.
Edgar's breath came in heavy, labored gasps as he slowly relented, pulling out from you with a slick sound that seemed to mock the intimacy you just shared. The thought of at least dressing you before he goes on to bury your corpse briefly passes his mind, but he quickly dismisses it.
Edgar leans down, his breath ghosting over your cooling skin. "This… was a nice stress relief, I didn't expect it would feel that good." His eyes trail further down to his bloodied clothes "Maybe next time…" he trails off, lost in contemplation as if considering how he might do this differently another time—another victim.