All the muscles in my body rippled as I caught a glimpse of something shiny and smooth. The parchment paper crackled beneath my shaking body like dried seaweed, and the palms of my hands started to sweat against my will. I wiped the sticky substance on my newly ironed jeans and watched as he stepped forward. A pit formed in my stomach as I recognized the object in his hand.
"This can be quick, Kathryn," he informed me, his eyes flashing a silent warning. I gripped the edge of the table and willed myself not to look.
I could hear him walk to the end of the table, crunching old newspapers under his feet, and I squeezed my eyes shut. The blood in my veins pulsed faster when he laid his hand on my wrist and gripped it tightly as if I were a dangerous criminal instead of his wife. He raised it to his nose and sniffed the perfume before lowering it to his mouth. My fingers twitched involuntarily, and I fought the urge to fight back.
He kissed the hollow of my wrist as if we were merely having a romantic night in our kitchen, and then he placed it gently back on the table. The deafening snap of plastic against skin sounded near my ear, and I cringed.
He was confusing my frazzled emotions.
YOU ARE READING
Peter, Peter
HorrorWarning: If you have nightmares after reading about cannibals, this is probably not the best book for you. Having said that, I hope you enjoy the story!
