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Oh, how it all pisses me off! Honestly. Day after day, like a skipping record, the same thing: water, sun, and perpetually scared, bland faces. Keeping order on this damned beach—a pastime for bored idiots.
Everyone is afraid of me. And in this predictability, in this servility—there's a real, nauseating boredom. Each new day is an exact copy of the previous one. It's straight-up "Groundhog Day," I swear to god. I, Suguru Niragi, was simply starting to degrade, was ready to die from this monotonous existence.
Until he showed up. Some musty nerd, Arisu, I think. Yes, exactly, Arisu. And he looked the part: eyes like saucers, perpetually frightened, and hair—as if a flock of sparrows nested in it.
And with him that... U... something with a "U". A name starting with "U". Ah, whatever, it doesn't matter. Follows him around like a loyal little dog, at least somewhat brightening up this dreary sight with her stupid face.
---
"Break his leg. So he croaks in the next game," my boss tossed out. To be honest, the thought of snapping a bone on this sucker didn't just not bother me, it even slightly excited me. Though, of course, it pissed me off that I, Suguru Niragi, was being ordered around like a last-rank lackey.
"Of course, boss," I snapped, and my hand closed in a death grip on his wrist.
And instantly my palm felt familiar, barely perceptible bumps. I shifted my gaze to his thin arm.
How lovely.
So, likes to play with a knife? Cute. I'd be happy to keep him company.
"Let go!" Arisu growled, but in his voice, like a traitor, fear trembled.
I just smirked in response and slowly, almost tenderly, ran my thumb over an old scar. Arisu jerked, trying to wrench his hand free.
No way, no.
Not today.
I dug my fingers deeper into his wrist and dragged him after me. Away from prying, curious eyes. Today I'm having a private, personal performance.
---
"You'll like it," I drawled, and in my hand, obedient and fast, my "butterfly" fluttered.
Arisu immediately lunged for the door, which I had locked beforehand. Well, I'm not that stupid.
"Are you going to kill me?" came the ridiculously naive question.
Oh no, my dear. Kill? I'd do it completely differently, much more beautifully. After all, the object should match—just as exquisite!
I must admit, his face really is cute. Makes you just want to squeeze it, pinch those pale cheeks until they're red, press on his lips to make him scream in pain, pinch his nose.
And when that innocent little face contorts in real agony, it will become truly beautiful.
A painful hard-on pressed against my pants fabric—it was time to start.
I stepped towards him and grabbed his uncombed hair. He resists. Well, so he's got balls.
I'm tired of this tussle. I sharply, with all my might, punched him in the nose, feeling the cartilage crunch under my knuckles.
"Stop, or I'll finish you off right now!" I hissed, shoving him against the wall.
Arisu clutched his head, burying his face in his thin knees, refusing to look at me.
What a pity. And yet, his eyes are beautiful. Someday I'll gouge them out and put them in a jar on a shelf, like the most valuable trophy.
I crouched down next to him, strands of my black waves falling onto my forehead. I grabbed his wrists again and began to carefully study this map of suffering. Little white scars, rough ridges in places. Exquisite.
I leaned in, buried my nose in his wrist, and then ran my tongue over the most delicate scar, feeling his skin shudder under the cold touch of my piercing.
This elegant little arm would look divine with my name on it: "Niragi Suguru"!
His hand trembled, just like his whole puny little body. Yes, tremble, little victim. Maybe you'll even piss yourself from fear? Ha-ha.
Remembering the "butterfly" in my hand, I pressed the blade to his wrist and with surgical precision began to trace the first letters. With each movement, the blade went deeper, and scarlet blood flowed more abundantly from the wounds, and I couldn't tear my eyes away from the sight.
I ran my tongue over his skin again, tasting the exquisite, metallic flavor of life and fear.
Yes.
Exactly.
This is what I've been missing so much.
Arisu only whimpered quietly, sometimes letting out thin, squeak-like sounds, but didn't scream. Well, I guess he has some experience.
Finishing with one hand, I set to work on the second with the same diligence, and then leaned back to admire my creation.
"You still won't look at me?" I asked in a deceptively sweet, syrupy tone.
And he lifted his gaze to me. Tears trembled on his eyelashes, leaving wet trails on his dirty cheeks.
God, I'm about to come!
Smiling widely, almost wolfishly, I asked him a question:
"So why were you cutting yourself?"
The answer, however, wasn't long in coming. It was as stupid as he is. What a question—such an answer.
"That's none of your business."
What a pity. I was hoping to hear a heart-wrenching story I could laugh heartily at.
Oh well.
My hand reached for the table where I recalled a saltshaker remained. Finding the cool, faceted surface, I clenched it in my palm, and with my other hand, dug into his bloody wrists again, making the guy cry out.
I squeezed his flesh so the blood gushed with renewed force, and then generously, not sparing, covered the fresh wounds with salt.
I bit my lip to stifle a groan, reveling in how his body arched in a silent scream, and tears streamed from his eyes with new, frantic force.
Strangely, he almost didn't resist.
Well, maybe that's for the best.
And you know, we're just getting started. This—is only the prelude.