Your blue eyes are filled with tears as you stare into me, cracking and breaking under my gaze. You’re still breathtaking, even with your wrists chafed and bound, even with crimson-brown blood coating that face. Even with the bright blonde hair now weighted with dirt, even with bandages covering the remnants of your middle fingers, stumps.

"Please." You choke out. "Please, let me go." You jerkily raise one of your tiny hands towards me, your breaths fluttering briefly, as if I have broken the wings of the bird of your breath.

A crack. Your hand retracts, red and bruised, blood singing to life underneath it, waiting to be released. Waiting for me to do the releasing, to press my chapped lips to the backside of that white hand and drink deep. Maybe your angel’s blood can save any demon. Want to try?

You’re so beautiful. Once, I wanted to feel the touch of those full-moon lips, hear that happily chirping bird-voice call my name from across the gardens. But no such luck. No one can love something twisted like me.
But if you won’t be mine, I’ll make you hard for anyone else to ever have. No one will ever be able to lay a finger’s touch on you when I’m done. You’ll scream and scream and scream, that beautiful high soprano note and somewhere in Hell I’ll know that it was worth it, hurting you even though I loved you, never wanted it to come to this. It was worth it to just have your body this one time.

I’m unzipping my pants in front of you, feeling your eyes follow my hand movements. You jerk from side to side, screaming and screaming in that beautiful way, the way you should have screamed when Jason touched you like I’m planning to. Jason was the monster, not me. Jason, blonde Ken doll, my playground bully and my tormentor even now. Thanks to him, I still have nightmares. Chasing in the dark, naked, running, feathers stuck to me.

And you? You laughed, your arm around the malicious Ken doll. You knew I loved you. You still laughed. They all laughed. Pictures went up online. They beat me down into the dirt, pressing my face into the soil so tightly I couldn’t breathe and called me faggot faggot faggot over and over again, spitting onto my body.
That’s why I’m here. To show you what they’ve done to me. To show you what you did to me, even though I loved you. I still love you.

That’s why I won’t go through with the rest of this.
In five minutes I will zip my pants back up. I will conveniently leave my phone on the table near you before leaving to the next room. You’ll be able to call for help.

And I’ll be gone.

Because, in the next room, my escape card rests, hanging on the wall underneath a chair.
One noose, tight and ready.