James Turnbow

He took several long inhales.

My stomach turned, knowing he had taken those socks off me.

I wasn't sure where he was in the room, so I waited.

I had to be precise.

The rain continued outside but the wind had quieted.

The storm had passed, at least the worst of it.

But a different thunder rumbled in my chest and it consumed me.

The dark clouds of past sins were settling on this man and he had no idea.

His boots were heavy against the floor as they thudded back towards where I was.

I could feel the excitement in his steps, and it sickened me.

He crouched, and his knees popped loudly.

I felt his warm breath against my right foot.

In the next moment, his warm, wet worm of a tongue drug its way across my soul and in between my toes.

Lifting my other foot, I kicked it where I thought his nose might be.

My heel met flesh with a satisfying crunch.

I swear I could have driven him straight through the heavy walls in that moment.

He reeled back and cried out in pain.

I moved like an animal, now armed with a knife and pouncing on him before he hit the ground, lashing out with the blade over and over.

SICK FUCKING FREAK, was my battle cry for each new hole I gouged into his body.

I must have caught him in the throat, because the only response I got was a bubbly gurgle.