Some mysteries begin with a puddle of blood. Some end in them, too.
(Very mature for thematic tone, violent and immoral events, and strong language).
Generally only edited in a quick pass, so there may be things that seem out of place, or incorrect, or misaligned, etc. Such is the nature of a raw work.
“I’m going to rip you to pieces,” he growled, his fists clamped tight, hard enough that his knuckles had gone white, “and use your heart as kindling for the fire I’m going to dance around to celebrate your death.”
“Graeme, isn’t that a little extreme?” Her long fingers were busy pulling the grey lace up around her slender hips. His eyes traveled over her figure, fresh rage welling up anew. The questions were back, like battering rams against the inside of his skull. A thousand blinding headaches descending upon him at once.
“Don’t even speak to me until your clothes are on, Daisy. You’re both lucky I haven’t slit his fu*king throat already.” It took effort, but he tore his gaze away from Daisy’s svelte little frame and turned it on the slouch staring wide-eyed at him from the ill-perceived safety of the bedsheets. “Do you have a tongue, fu*ker, or did a pu**y cut it out?”
“Graeme! That’s enough!” She pulled her long black tresses loose from beneath her auric tank top. Her brown eyes were alight with anger but it was watered down with pity, he could hear it in the flutter of her voice.
He hated her for pitying him. He hated her again for giving herself reason to pity him.
“Fu*k you, Daisy. Where do you get off? I’ll decide when it’s bloody well enough. Pack your shit and get this scumbag out of my bed – out of my fu*king condo – before I burn it to the ground with you both inside.”
“Can you just control yourself for a second? You’re off the handle, Graeme, you need to calm down.” Her fingernails were painted red. They glittered in the light as she slipped her belt into the hoops on her shorts. What churned inside him was no longer simple rage. Molten fury blended with the acidic burn of his dejection, the two of them absorbed his caustic jealousy and became something else. An amalgamation that had no name, had no words.
It had only color, and force, and a wild need for bloodshed. She was right. He was off the handle, he was losing his mind. But if the idgit pissing himself in Graeme’s bed didn’t do something besides gawk at him in horror, he wasn’t sure he would be able to reign himself in.
All at once, everything went black.