The Room - Short Story

It was a cold dark room.  Outside the rain lashed down in all its ferocity. I squinted my eyes to get a better perspective of my surroundings. The walls were painted a dull grey. There was a rocking chair set aside near the bed. It all looked and seemed very familiar. The air was thick with the smell of iron. I sat up straight and rubbed my eyes. I surveyed the room and it felt familiar.  I was here last night with a girl I'd picked up from the bar, but where was she? I looked at the other side of the bed and found that the sheets were red, blood red. Just when I was about to make some sense of the situation an image crept in front of my eyes, one I couldn't pull away from. The reflection in the mirror was horrendous.  It revealed a decapitated body caked with blood lying below the other side of the bed.  I crept closer to get a better look. The only thing recognizable about her was her smile. It was as if, in her last breath she was happy. Her body was gutted from breast to hip. Her intestines were coiled up on the floor around her, jubilant on escaping the punishing confines of her body. Yet strangely I didn't recoil, I didn't feel the vomit at the back of my throat.  I silently cursed myself for behaving so level headed right now. I could use some panicking.  I went to the bathroom to clear my head.  The mirror revealed a horrible creature staring back at me.  His face was wrinkled and dehydrated, his cheek was covered in dry blood. His ear had been slashed.  Surely I must remember something of what happened here last night . Sooner or later the cops would find their way here and I would have to spend a lifetime in prison behind a woman I hardly knew and because of something I never did or at least I thought I never did .

The thought was frightening. I had to think of how to dispose of the body.  I had seen enough crime dramas to know that I would need a large plastic bag and a chainsaw to cut the body into little pieces. But first I needed to remember what happened last night.  I was in the bar performing my usual routine to pick up girls when I ran into her.  She was beautiful, available and easy so we got pretty close. To my pleasant surprise she seemed to be the one taking the lead.  We got into a cab and drove here, a rental apartment in which she was staying. We didn't waste much time getting each other's clothes off and then I remember carrying her to the bed and sucking her off until she held my member and stuck it up her snatch.  We fucked, that much was certain but how the fuck did she end up gutted, in a bed lying at the side of me.  Too many questions, too little time, I thought.  I left the bedroom and took a seat near the bed.  Something strange caught my eye. It was a belt, my belt. But it was lined with blood. Now why was that.  Something struck me then.  After we fucked she wanted more.  She asked me to spank her while fingering her clit. I obliged starting with light slapping but her erotic shrieks got me real hot.  She wanted it harder.  I fished out my belt and began spanking her as hard as I could.  I remember seeing red welts forming on her ass.  But it wasn't enough for her.  She wanted me to fuck her while choking her.  I fastened the clasp of my belt to the bed post and placed it around her neck.  She choked herself while I fucked her. Pulled out of my reverie, I took a closer look at the corpse. Her neck still bore the marks of my belt. The marks dug deep into her skin and were red hot.

Why much of the night was unclear to me I wasn't certain. I was pretty drunk when we got here but I've never suffered from memory loss the morning after. It seemed very fishy. I stood up and paced around the apartment. My feet stepped on something sharp and I squeaked. Shards of glass. We didn't drink in here as well did we? I bent low to get a better look. This looked like a broken syringe. Heroin! That's what we had after fucking again. I remember I collapsed to the bed while she tried to revive my dying cock, to no avail. She had the frustrated look of a dog in heat. She opened her cupboard and began frantically searching for something. When she finally found it, she had a huge smile on her face. Two syringes loaded with heroin. She did herself first and then helped me. Soon after what happened was still hazy to me. But what was this? A broken picture frame. The glass pieces were hanging out, a few of them caked with blood. This was the murder weapon, I thought to myself. Someone gutted her with these. Was it me?

I could feel the strain on my brain, as the memories slowly came back to me.  Once the heroin kicked in, we were at it again like dogs, only this time there was manic madness in both our eyes. I had a renewed sense of urgency to fuck this woman to within an inch of her life. I carried her off the bed and fucked her while resting her body against the wall. That's when the frame had cracked. A few glass pieces had wedged into her back and she had screamed a scream more sexy than anything I had heard before. She was loving this. She held a huge piece of broken glass in her hand, threw me on the bed and cut her wrist. Then she straddled me from above and let her blood flow on my face, in my mouth. It was intense. It only got me harder for her. It only made the fucking better. I lifted her up once more and pounded her hard against the wall. I heard something rip and saw as the light went out of her eyes, but I was this close to ejaculating and I went at it harder. As I came inside her, I looked down and saw blood trickling down the sides of her legs. Lots of blood.

Oh fuck, she had gutted herself. Stunned I stood motionless as tears rolled down my face. I didn't even catch her name. My sperm was inside her. I could see her dying and yet I continued to fuck her. I continued to chase after my lust, my selfish nature of pleasing myself. I heard the sound of sirens.  They were getting louder by the second. I picked up a cigarette and lit it. After all this was the last day of the rest of my life.