Emily Malone snuck into my life, slipped under my skin, and right into my heart. Little did I know that danger and death tagged along with her, following in her innocent wake.
I’m always in control – but not with her. Emily makes me doubt myself, because she’s so important to me. Emily knows nothing of the lifestyle. I know she’s submissive, but I must take it slow.
Gradually, step-by-step, I’ll teach her to enjoy my particular brand of kink, my unique darker needs. She’ll learn to love what I love. What I need.
That is if both of us live long enough to complete her training.
I can’t move. I’m dying.
For an instant, I imagine someone finding my body. Will birds gather to peck at me? Is that how I’ll be discovered? By someone attracted by unusual animal activity?
For a moment I consider who might find me. Will it be someone I know? I can almost hear them yell, “Holy shit, that’s Paul Jarman!”
An excruciating spasm assaults me. My lungs seize. My body convulses. Internally, every part of me screams. My mouth falls open – but instead of shrieking, only a soft hiss issues from my throat, heralding my agony and despair.
The sound is pathetic. Is that tiny utterance the last noise I’m capable of making before I die?
There’s no one nearby to hear me, even if I’d been able to scream.
I’ve never been so alone.
I’ve also never felt such unbearable pain. Time stops. There’s only this one eternal moment, the agony of now.
I’m twenty-six years old. I’m too young to die. I’ve been an idiot most of my life. I’ve been an asshole… but just recently, I’ve learned so much. Everything has been coming together. If I live, I really think that I can make something of myself.
But I’m not going to live.
Inexorable pressure, like the invisible hand of some cruel giant, pushes down hard on my chest. No air! Each breath I take becomes more and more difficult. Wow. Is this what it feels like to be starved for oxygen? As a Dom I like breath play. It’s kind of karmic to be on the other side.
But I sure as fuck don’t get an erotic thrill from this.
I’m dizzy. My vision tunnels. The physical pain fades, but sadness stabs at me. This agony of heart and soul is intense. It’s worse than any bodily torment.
I have so many regrets.
My biggest sorrow comes from the thought of losing Emily. Not only losing her, but leaving her. Not being there for her. My one pure and perfect joy has come from Emily. I’m so grateful that I’ve had her in my life. She’s taught me so much.
If only we had more time together.
My sweet girl will be distraught. I can’t imagine how she will deal with my death. With all that I’m enduring, the thought of her pain is more than I can take. I forcefully shove the reflection away. I wish I could protect her from this.
Blood continues to pump from me. I feel its warmth flowing onto my chest. I’m floating in a mental haze. As I near death, I enter a strangely comfortable state of philosophical delirium.
Is it better to kill…or to be killed?
What if you took another person’s life by accident… say perhaps, through a moment of incompetent or distracted driving? That would create a burden of guilt that you’d have to live with for the rest of your life. It might even drive a person to suicide.
Premeditated murder assumes that one’s conscience is reconciled to committing such a sin. Once reaching that point, guilt and regret wouldn’t be an issue.
What about an impulsive murder of passion? Can one honestly justify killing another by pleading temporary insanity? Would a temporary loss of control lessen the burden of guilt afterwards? Even if someone still died by your hands?
But I’m not crazy. My actions didn’t result from temporary insanity. For me, it was pure animal instinct.
I killed on purpose.
As my life drains away, I smile because I know that if I had the chance, I’d do it again. Committing murder is one thing that I don’t regret.
Nikki Sex writes sexy contemporary romance, often involving a bit of kink. She's a sucker for Happy Ever After endings, so no matter how dark my stories get, fear not! It always all works out in the end.