By Succubus

Lies. What did anything matter anyhow? Everything was nothing but lies.

A childlike laugh, high and feminine, floated to his ears on the night. His rage burned deeper. She had laughed like that once, too.

He stormed on through the night, barely seeing where his feet were taking him. Stumbling, running, then walking when the stares from passersby became too intrusive, he moved on. Around another corner, down a couple more blocks, his feet carried him, his speed fueled by his rage--by too much hate, too much hurt.

"I love you, Brian," her voice mocked him from the shadows. His foot lashed out at a trashcan, knocking it over, filling the street with the stench of rotten food and used tampax. He stopped for a moment, absently watching a rat root among the morsels, pushing the maggots aside to steal his prize. A rat. How fitting. That would make him a maggot, cuckold to a rat. He laughed brokenly, a bitter and scary sound, with nothing of mirth in it.

The image filled his mind of her, rolling around, her body caressed by another man.

He screamed out, "Fucking whore, fucking TRASH!!" His rage filled him once more and he kicked out at the rat, missing it, but spraying more garbage across his path.

A man in a dress coat turned his head and looked back at him from down the street. Gotta keep cool, gotta stay calm. He walked on, head down, not looking ahead, but down at the cracks in the sidewalk. Thinking of her crack, that juicy little slit he loved to bury himself in. Thinking of cracks made into her skull, picturing in his mind the rivulets of blood that would run from such cracks. Maybe he would fuck those cracks, too, he thought. That thought made him smile.

He thought he was just walking, but really, he'd been headed here the whole time. He stopped, and looked up. The building rose seven floors above him. Counting, he looked up, then in, until he found her window. Yes. The light was on, she was home.

'Probably fucking him,' his tormented mind mocked him. 'She's in there getting her sweet little pussy licked, you know she is.'

"No!" he yelled out, then pictured her again, her lover the rat crawling over her body, it's little nails scratching at her, it's little teeth nibbling and biting as it burrowed into her snatch. Burrowing and burrowing, climbing right fucking inside of her. "Trash slut," he mumbled to himself, then giggled that empty brittle laugh again.

Should have brought the rat along to join in the fun.

He knew his mind was frayed, but in a sad, detached sort of way. 'Wasn't it nice when I was sane,' became a little chant in his head. As he climbed into the elevator and pushed the button for the fourth floor, he found himself humming along.

'Quite catchy,' he thought, jauntily tapping the stainless steel wall in time to the words: "wasn't it nice," tap, "when I was sane," tap, repeat.

With a ding, the elevator announced he'd reached his destination. He unslung his backpack, pulled a long kitchen knife from it, (have to get this back before mom finds out I took it), then slid his backpack into the elevator door before it could slide shut. It bounced off the backpack, the electronic sensors telling the door some person must be in the way. He smiled again, this time with real pleasure.

He held the knife out of view behind him, and then rang her buzzer. Footsteps, then a pause, and the locks started turning, one, two, three, and there she was, his angel.

Her face was red and tear streaked; it was obvious she'd been crying for some time. "Brian, what are you doing here? I told you..." but he cut her words off with a look.

The man she was gazing at looked liked Brian, was dressed in Brian's clothes, but the person behind his eyes was most certainly not the Brian she knew. Something was cold in there, dead. She shivered.

"Never mind, Annette. So tell me, love," he twisted the word viciously, making his face a mask of sarcasm, "my darling love, what were you doing? Were you fucking a rat, Annette? Is that what nastiness you're about, you little trash whore?" With this he slid the knife from behind his back and slashed it back and forth before her eyes, advancing slowly on her.

Confused, the girl backed away from him, her eyes wide, spilling with fresh tears. "Brian, please, what are you talking about?" she pleaded, her panic rising as he backed her down the hall.


"Tell me about it, Annette, tell me about how many cocks you fucked, about how many men's cum you guzzled down while pretending to love me. Tell me about the rat, Annette.... Did you like how he burrowed his furry little head into you? Am I a maggot, am I a fucking maggot, to have my meat stolen by a rat??" His voice rose, shaking as it hit higher and higher notes, the rage building in him, consuming him.

"Answer me, trash whore!!!!" he screamed in her face. Her back hit the wall and she tried to turn her head away.

She begged, "Please, Brian, I don't know what you're talking about, please, you're scaring me!" She turned her head left and right, looking for a way to escape, but there was none. He held her pinned in place, his breath spraying into her face.

"Am I a fucking maggot???" he screamed in her face.

She flinched hard and yelped, then closed her eyes, saying "no" over and over again, until she realized he'd gone silent. She opened her eyes.

Now. Now was the time. A surge of euphoria washed over Brian as his blade sunk into Annette. Here she'll see what becomes of the maggot. The maggot always gets his meat. A look more of surprise than pain filled her face. Yes, now that was attractive.

Just a small wound, nothing that would kill her too soon. He slid down his zipper, a faraway smile on his face. Just big enough for a maggot to worm around in.