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World of Darkness: Attrition - When Hate is not Enough[FIN]

Adrian Moss

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She sat above him, nearly spent. Her elbows were locked so that her arms could keep her elevated above him, bodies joined only at the hips. He lay beneath her, breathing slow and regularly. His eyes fluttered, his lashes thick and long. She had once mistaken this for sleeping. He wasn't. Randy was lost in his thoughts. He was always this way after sex. He went off to this other place he would never talk about. Shadow looked down at him and wondered.

Balancing her weight on one arm, she slid the other one under the pillow. He stirred slightly so she stopped. When he returned to his musing, her hand crept forward again. She could feel the cold steel and rubber of the handle as she eased her fingers and palm around it. She had the knife. It was now or never.

The pillow tipped, covering half of his face as she brought it up. Her balancing arm rose up from the mattress, her weight falling fully onto her back muscles. First the move rocked her back. She now held the knife in both hands. The blade rocketed forward and down. Randy moved now, his arms, laying outside her legs swung up, but too late. She drove the knife into his chest. Blood sprayed everywhere. Some shot into her mouth as she realized she was screaming. She yanked the knife up. It caught on a rib. Randy's hands closed in on her wrists, but already the strength was rushing from them. Shadow brought the knife down again. Again she found the heart. There was less of a spray now. She left the blade in. There was another spasm of the fatally wounded organ. The next barely pushed blood up from the wound. There was no third.

There was a lot of blood already out though. She was covered in it, from the top of her head to her crotch. It felt warm initially, but as the room cooled it, the blood became sticky. Shadow got off of him. His eyes had not opened during the attack. Now they never would. That was too bad, she wanted him to see his death coming. She staggered into the bathroom. Her whole body shook from exhaustion. The combination of love-making and murder had been a high all its own, but now she was crashing. She knew she had to get out. Shadow turned on the shower and got in. She cleaned up quickly, because she wasn't sure who had heard her screaming as she had done the deed. In some nebulous way though, it didn't matter. He was finally dead.

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'No, no, no!' she thought. That wouldn't work. First, he got off to easy. He barely suffered at all. Besides, she'd seen enough CSI to know they would search the sink drain, finding blood-covered hair. Her prints were all over the knife. The would be at her dorm room in under twelve hours with the damning evidence. She had nowhere to run. Her trial would be one-sided. There was no way to prove her rape and tons of boys would who had seen them going into his rooms for over a month now. The jury would see a dark-eyed Goth girl. She knew she would get life without the possibility of parole, and Randy would have the last laugh. He would have ruined her life forever. No, she had to do it another way.

She looked down at Randy. He remained in his meditative state, ignorant of Shadow's dark designs. The knife was a good idea, she decided, but she would have to do it differently this time. She had hefted the knife on multiple occasions. He let her play with it as he worked on his computer. She could almost feel it now.

This time the knife came down under his left collarbone. There was less blood spray, but a deeper intake of breath on Randy's part. His pain more than made up for the risk she was taking. His left hand came up for the knife, but it was weak. His right on the other hand clamped down on her wrists like a vice. He was strong, maybe too strong. The knife popped up and Randy felt more pain. She could read it on his face. They struggled with the knife. It hovered over his chest. She was pushing down while he was pushing her to the side. With a triumphant twist, she pushed past his defenses and plunged the knife into his right breast. Shadow was sure she had hit his lung.

As they struggled, the knife twisted and Randy cried out. That sent a thrill through her soul. Now she was making him feel a tiny portion of what he had made her feel. Her only regret was she couldn't have this drag on for months. Still, she could make it last a bit longer. The knife popped up with a hiss of air. The wound bubbled and frothed. His hand weakened. The third blow stabbed just beneath the ribcage, causing him to grunt. She sawed the wound sideways.

"Cry out, damn you!" she hissed, "Cry out!"

Instead of crying out, he pushed with all his might. Shadow rocked back and he slithered away beneath her. He landed with his face and shoulders on the floor. His legs were still tangled up with hers and the sheets. Shadow stumbled on top of him. The knife came up and down, making shallow bleeding cuts along his upper torso, scalp, and shoulders. Slowly the two slid onto the floor. He turned over and tried to ward her off. She hacked and stabbed until his feeble efforts ceased.

"Why?" he gasped at the end.

As a reply, she stabbed him in the heart.

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'And I go to prison,' she sighed.

She ran a hand over his chest. He didn't stir. It would be so easy, but in the end he would win. He would still have ruined her life - ruined her.

She thought about their lovemaking. It was one part animal furry, and one part ecstasy. He would pound her like raw meat, pouring all his hate and anger into her. Whether she resisted or not, he didn't seem to care. He made her feel like a Thing, as if she was less than human. In those moments she was sure he hated her as much as he had during that first time. She was raped all over again.

When that changed, it always took her by surprise. Were he had been vicious and angry, he became caring and pure. All that mattered to him was her. As he tore her down, he then raised her back up. His lips, teeth, and tongue he teased her nipples until she was about to explode. His hands had grown to know her body so well that he could play her like a well-tuned instrument. His Sex had merely been a bonus. Only after she climaxed did he allow himself to come.

She looked down at him. He had ruined her, then ruined her for other men. She had tried, but no one came close. They were clumsy, with primitive passions and no empathy. No one was ... Him. She couldn't live with him and she would never escape him.

It was the same, at the start. A quick thrust with its pain and weakness in the left side. She could have stabbed to the right, but this time she hesitated. The blade turned and hit him just below the ribcage, where she imagined the liver to be. The blood splatter made the knife slippery in her hand and when he twisted with his right hand, the knife fell from her grasp. They grappled then, falling off the bed. The knife clattered to the floor with them. He hit her hard. She was stunned. He hit her hard again then grabbed the knife. She grabbed his strong right arm to deflect it. He was surprisingly strong, fueled by his desperation.

The knife came between them. She pressed it into his chest, blood spurted between them. The blood was her downfall. Her grip slipped ever so slightly. He pushed the knife up hard and with a savage slash cut across her throat. She could barely comprehend the pain. Her hands refused to respond as her thoughts clouded. Shadow slid off him, rolling onto her back. Her head was tilted slightly so that she could see both Randy and the door.

Randy was trying to move. His breath was coming in ragged gasps, the blood making sickening, sticky noises as he went over to his stomach. With his one good arm, he began pulling himself to the door.

'He's going to get away,' she wailed from within.

One desperate lunge toward the door followed an attempt to stand up. Randy was losing too much blood, too fast. He staggered, collapsed, then groaned feebly. With her vision dimming, Shadow knew triumph. Her Tormentor wouldn't make it. They would both be found here, the exact events uncertain. She would have destroyed him and won her freedom. Death was a small price to pay.

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"What's on your mind?" Randy said through heavy eyes.

She looked down at him, thinking for a moment of telling him the truth. What would he do? Why would he care? It was that aura of indifference that had first drawn her to him.

"Hating you. Counting the ways to make you suffer."

Randy's eyes took her in. "Hate is not enough, Shadow. It is like fire in an enclosed room. It burns up the air, killing itself. Turn it to anger, and feed it. Anger drives you on. Anger makes you do things."

"I don't want to be you," she whispered.

"I wouldn't wish that on you Shadow," he replied. "My anger was bought and paid for a longtime ago. Keeping it has cost me. Now I have little left inside to feed it with."

"I don't care."

That got her a ghost of a smile. "Music to my ears."

"I'd hurt you if I could."

"No, you wouldn't, Shadow."

In a resigned voice, he added, "You've decided to stick it out with me. I don't know why."

"You've never asked," she whispered.

"Never wanted to know."

She shifted her wait and settled her body down to his side, wedged between him and the wall. There was a silence she was afraid to break.

He had no problems though. "I gave some of your poems to the school paper."

That gave her a jolt. Her poems were an outpouring of her private anguish to him. She had wondered how he could wound her again, and now she knew.

"It was Monica's idea. She read my notebook while we were studying Calc, and she thought they were good - good enough to share."

She tried to bury herself into the corner. Those were pieces of her soul he had tossed away like so much garbage.

"The people on the paper thought they were good enough to highlight their Halloween edition."

Tears started falling down her face.

"I wasn't going to do it. You gave them to me, after all, but they were so moving, so painful, it didn't feel right letting them fester on the page. I didn't use your name - didn't use mine either."

That startled her somewhat. "I thought you hated them, Randy."

"I didn't hate them, Shadow. I said it hurt to read them. It still does. Sometimes people need to put their loss into words, but don't know how. You put pain to paper. I've never read anything like it this side of the Veil."

She wasn't sure what the Veil was, but this wasn't the first time he referenced it. That didn't matter as much as the realization that her poems had caused him pain. Wounding him was all that mattered. Suddenly hearing about her poems being put out for other to read didn't feel so bad.

"I forgive you," she muttered into his side.

"For what? The poems were mine. If you like, you can claim credit for them and gain some rep with your Goth friends."

"I don't care about that."

"I don't blame you," he said, suddenly finding himself running his hands through her hair. "You are better than any I've ever met."

She knew he didn't mean that as a compliment. Randy dealt in what he considered facts. He rubbed a hand across his chest. She had transformed her hate into something else when she wrote those poems. They had hurt him in a way she hadn't looked for. That was enough for now.

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