He returned from the corner with something that was almost more an old metal washing basin than a bucket and dropped it on the ground, but then seemed to realise the problem of her being tied up. With a sigh he started cutting the tape off her wrists. โYou try anything dumb,โ he warned, looking in her eyes, โand Iโm going to start cutting off places that donโt need it.โ
That warning felt dire, and Luna was still counting on getting out of this alive. It made no sense that he would let her go โ sheโd seen his face, where he lived, knew enough about him โ but heโd said no one was going to look at her twice once he was done. Surely that meant getting out of here alive.
Thoughโฆ maybe he just meant the body he dumped somewhere in the East River.
He cut the tape off her legs and Luna was able to move them again, able to remember they werenโt part of the chair. God, everything ached and when Luna stood up it was unsteady enough that she fell back down onto the seat again.
He just watched her, passive, unreadable when she looked up at him. She didnโt say something sarcastic about how she was fine and she could do it herself. She forced herself to stand again and grabbed the bucket.
Squatting over a bucket while he watched her was yet further more indignity, but it was better than the thought of being unable to stop herself while tied to the chair. So she just closed her eyes and tried not to think of the pain in her arms, the way every movement screamed across the skin (or lack of skin now).
When she was done and tried to stand up, the dizziness caught her off guard once again and she returned to her squat, fingers steepled on the cement for support.
โGet up,โ he told her.
โIโm trying,โ she told him petulantly. โJust- just give me a second.โ
He flicked the knife open and closed in his hand, an unspoken threat to do as he said. Slowly Luna started to rise again, but as she did, she grabbed the edge of the bucket with one hand. Her next movements were quicker, relying on the fear of failure to get her through the pain. Straightening most of the way up, Luna hurled the metal bucket at him with a grunting angry sound and followed it, the surprise of it, with her own body and a scream of rage.
The bucket hit him first, and it meant he didnโt have the time to process that she was coming at him as well, that she was grabbing for his wrists. The force of her knocked them both to the ground, with Luna on top, straddling him. She headbutted him in the face, knowing that the top of her head was more sturdy than his nose, and in that startling moment of surprise, he loosened his grip on the knife. Just for a moment. Just for enough time. Just for Luna to be able to yank it from his grasp and flip it open the same way sheโd watched him flip it open a hundred times.
She thought she was swearing and yelling, and she thought maybe he was doing the same, but all she could hear in her ears was her own heartbeat. He grabbed for her arm and dug his fingers into the fresh cut, and Luna howled and fought that desire to just black out again.
No!
NO!
She would not!
Instead, after rearing back away from the pain, Luna raised her arm holding the knife and brought it down, sinking it into his neck. She gritted her teeth and ignored his own wail of pain, ignored the horrible feeling of the way the knife passed through his flesh. Instead she brought it up again and stabbed him once more, this time a little more in the chest than the neck. It wasnโt an intentional movement. Luna had no aim, only the knowledge that if she didnโt do this right now, didnโt keep doing this, she wasnโt coming out of this room or this day alive.
So, sobbing and screaming, Luna just kept stabbing him, the knife sinking to the hilt each time.
It seemed to take years and years before he stopped fighting her, but it was surely only five or six stabs, surely only a minute or so.
Luna dropped the knife and it clattered to the cement.
Breathing hard, crying through it, Luna looked up.