I
"It's a game." he said. "You'll love it."
"What kind of game?" she asked, eager to be accepted by this new boyfriend. She knew he didn't mean Monopoly. She knew that she should be wary. He was different, dangerously so.
His slightly pointed teeth glimmered in the light of a naked bulb. They were slightly pointed like a vampire's. He always wore colored contacts, she had never seen his real eyes. Tonight he was wearing a gory shade of red. They glinted in an evil, almost demonic, way as he produced a gun. His dangerous beauty and the silver etched pistol both frightened and aroused her.
"Have you ever played Russian Roulette?" he purred. Looking into his eyes it was easy to believe he was a demon, a modern Mephistopheles, come to seduce and murder her.
"Isn't that illegal?" she whispered, her voice quivering and her stomach turning to jelly.
"Of course. All the best things are." he said. "But for your first time we won't play with a real bullet."
He opened the chamber and slid the bullet into place. He spun it before snapping it closed. The snapping echoed in the heavy silence. She shivered, not sure if she should trust him. What if it was a real bullet? What if he had the chamber rigged? He smiled again, revealing his shiny white teeth, and she imagined him laughing over her still body.
He took a few steps back, his wicked grin never leaving his face. She smiled nervously as he put the muzzle to his temple. She braced for an impact that she wouldn't feel. His smile never wavered, turning manic as he positioned himself. He pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. Just a click. He laughed at the terror on her face, cajoling her with his eyes.
"Not afraid, are you, love?"
She straightened, stiffly, telling herself it was just a game and she wasn't a coward. But her stomach twisted and her bowels cramped as he handed her the gun.
"Cock it back like this," he said, showing her what to do. "when you are ready, pull the trigger. You can close your eyes if that'll help."
It was a little heavier than she had expected and she could feel her muscles bunch and strain to keep her hand from shaking.
"Don't be afraid." he said, nibbling on her earlobe. She tried to swallow, but her throat had closed. She felt her heart beat triple in speed. It pounded in her ears so that she could barely hear. He guided the muzzle to her temple, caressing her as he positioned her. He kissed her, a slow kiss that made her frantic. He pulled away before she could get a full grip on his leather jacket and positioned himself across from her.
Under the dimming bulb, she imagined that the bullet was real, that this would be the end of her. The end of everything. She gulped for air, feeling like her heart would burst through her chest. This was the moment. She would prove she was brave. She just had to make it through this test. That was all it was, a test.
"Pull the trigger, darling." he cooed, gently. She closed her eyes, bracing for an impact of some sort, and squeezed. The hammer clicked, but nothing happened. Her legs felt like water suddenly released from a dam and she collapsed with a rush of adrenaline and relief.
He was beside her in a moment, lifting her back up.
"It's quite the rush isn't it?" he asked, prying the gun from her stiff fingers.
"Yes. A real... rush." she murmured weakly.
"Let's play a variation," he said, his smile eerily painted across his face. "instead of holding the gun to your own head, aim it at me."
"Variation?" she gulped.
"Of course." he said. "All games have variations. Even this one. When I tell you to, pull the trigger. And this round we'll have a real bullet."
He opened the chamber, slipped out the false bullet and replaced it with a real one. He spun it, as before, and snapped it into the chamber. He smiled as he handed it to her.
He positioned himself about three feet away and winked at her.
"Pull the trigger."
II
The rush of a bullet wasn't enough. The rush of sex and death were no longer drug enough. She played Russian Roulette alone in the darkness of her apartment in front of a mirror. She sat in the darkness, every click like a shot of heroin into her blood. Sometimes she would masturbate, watching her reflection achieve orgasm to the click of the hammer.
It hadn't taken long for that boyfriend to end up dead from their little "game" and the police didn't need much convincing. All it took was a pretty young woman in a blood spattered white dress. She cried, genuinely, for that dangerously handsome idiot. Not because she loved him, but because she would have to find a new partner to play with.
She hadn't even waited for his body to cool before she seduced one of the officers at the scene. She begged him to point his loaded Centerfire Compact at her head during and she climaxed remembering her previous boyfriend's final words.
It hadn't taken long to become addicted to the rush. The heady mix of life and death, intertwined with lust and sex, was enough to pull her in and keep her. It hadn't taken long to discover that she could no longer enjoy life without a click inside her head.
It hadn't taken long for the clicks to no longer be enough. She couldn't sit in her room alone forever, waiting to lose to herself. She needed the rush with someone else. Another body to hit the floor. Another blood spattered dress.
She found him outside of a club.
"Want to play a game?" she asked, looking up through her lashes, luridly.
"What kind of game?" he asked, already succumbing to the 'come fuck me' look in her eyes.
And she showed him. She taught him how to play. She taught him how to die. He didn't like the variation she had been taught, too vanilla for that. They played the traditional way and she didn't even blink an eye when the bullet zipped through his temple and out the other side of his skull.
She had been very lucky so far. Every night she would kiss the bullet, placing it in the gun that had originally belonged to that dead boyfriend.
For her luck she praised Bes. She would plead with Shai that this next day she would continue to breathe. She called out to the Norns that they continue to weave her fate with that of luck. She praised Gefion for continuing to shine on her. She laughed when she blessed the name of Fortuna and cried when she asked the Moirai not to cut her threads. Luck and fate became her religion, the click of the hammer representing favors from the gods and every sexual encounter an addictive gift.
The latest pawn in this game kissed her breathless before he taught her another variation. He filled the chamber with four bullets. She kissed each one before he placed them. She agreed to sleep with him if they both survived the game.
That first time, with that first game, they had practically torn each other's clothes off; the need to feel alive overwhelming any other sense. She had cried then, as he slid into her and kissed her into a frenzy. It was the best she had ever had and she had wondered, as he followed her lead, at what cost? Now she didn't even think.
The need to feel that chemical rush was an animal waiting to tear out of her body. There was no thought, no feeling except the adrenaline and the climax.
She survived that variation. Her teacher was kind enough to die quietly in the basement of an abandoned warehouse. She kissed his lips before taking the gun and disappearing into the darkness of the night. She always played with the same gun.
The next pawn was a young woman, about her age, so naive and innocent. She taught her everything and let her walk away. The game didn't always have to end immediately after beginning. Sometimes it continued through the loose connections made. That other woman was not as lucky, they found her dead a week or so later, another unlucky victim of the game.
It really all came down to that moment, she would tell herself. The moment when she stood before the mirror and watched her face; imagining it imploding on itself.
"Pull the trigger."
III
"It's a game." she said. "You'll love it."
"What kind of game?" he asked, intrigued by the strangeness of her.
Her lips were dark red in the dim light of the alley. They reminded him of a mouthful of blood and they turned him on. It was cold outside, snow hanging on the edges of the clouds. Just glistening gray, waiting to fall. Her look was full of lust, when she produced a silver etched pistol. Her eyes glittered in the light of the street lamps. Her eerie smile and the pistol, both, frightened and aroused him.
Her smile widened, revealing shiny white teeth, slightly pointed like a vampire's. Just one bullet was no longer enough. There were so many variations to explore, so many rushes to be had. This would be the last variation. There would be no coming back from this one. No greater rush than this, knowing that her life stood precariously on a hidden ledge. This would be the last round, all the chambers filled but one. The very last rush with someone's life about to end in the darkness.
"Have you ever played Russian Roulette?"
"It's a game." he said. "You'll love it."
"What kind of game?" she asked, eager to be accepted by this new boyfriend. She knew he didn't mean Monopoly. She knew that she should be wary. He was different, dangerously so.
His slightly pointed teeth glimmered in the light of a naked bulb. They were slightly pointed like a vampire's. He always wore colored contacts, she had never seen his real eyes. Tonight he was wearing a gory shade of red. They glinted in an evil, almost demonic, way as he produced a gun. His dangerous beauty and the silver etched pistol both frightened and aroused her.
"Have you ever played Russian Roulette?" he purred. Looking into his eyes it was easy to believe he was a demon, a modern Mephistopheles, come to seduce and murder her.
"Isn't that illegal?" she whispered, her voice quivering and her stomach turning to jelly.
"Of course. All the best things are." he said. "But for your first time we won't play with a real bullet."
He opened the chamber and slid the bullet into place. He spun it before snapping it closed. The snapping echoed in the heavy silence. She shivered, not sure if she should trust him. What if it was a real bullet? What if he had the chamber rigged? He smiled again, revealing his shiny white teeth, and she imagined him laughing over her still body.
He took a few steps back, his wicked grin never leaving his face. She smiled nervously as he put the muzzle to his temple. She braced for an impact that she wouldn't feel. His smile never wavered, turning manic as he positioned himself. He pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. Just a click. He laughed at the terror on her face, cajoling her with his eyes.
"Not afraid, are you, love?"
She straightened, stiffly, telling herself it was just a game and she wasn't a coward. But her stomach twisted and her bowels cramped as he handed her the gun.
"Cock it back like this," he said, showing her what to do. "when you are ready, pull the trigger. You can close your eyes if that'll help."
It was a little heavier than she had expected and she could feel her muscles bunch and strain to keep her hand from shaking.
"Don't be afraid." he said, nibbling on her earlobe. She tried to swallow, but her throat had closed. She felt her heart beat triple in speed. It pounded in her ears so that she could barely hear. He guided the muzzle to her temple, caressing her as he positioned her. He kissed her, a slow kiss that made her frantic. He pulled away before she could get a full grip on his leather jacket and positioned himself across from her.
Under the dimming bulb, she imagined that the bullet was real, that this would be the end of her. The end of everything. She gulped for air, feeling like her heart would burst through her chest. This was the moment. She would prove she was brave. She just had to make it through this test. That was all it was, a test.
"Pull the trigger, darling." he cooed, gently. She closed her eyes, bracing for an impact of some sort, and squeezed. The hammer clicked, but nothing happened. Her legs felt like water suddenly released from a dam and she collapsed with a rush of adrenaline and relief.
He was beside her in a moment, lifting her back up.
"It's quite the rush isn't it?" he asked, prying the gun from her stiff fingers.
"Yes. A real... rush." she murmured weakly.
"Let's play a variation," he said, his smile eerily painted across his face. "instead of holding the gun to your own head, aim it at me."
"Variation?" she gulped.
"Of course." he said. "All games have variations. Even this one. When I tell you to, pull the trigger. And this round we'll have a real bullet."
He opened the chamber, slipped out the false bullet and replaced it with a real one. He spun it, as before, and snapped it into the chamber. He smiled as he handed it to her.
He positioned himself about three feet away and winked at her.
"Pull the trigger."
II
The rush of a bullet wasn't enough. The rush of sex and death were no longer drug enough. She played Russian Roulette alone in the darkness of her apartment in front of a mirror. She sat in the darkness, every click like a shot of heroin into her blood. Sometimes she would masturbate, watching her reflection achieve orgasm to the click of the hammer.
It hadn't taken long for that boyfriend to end up dead from their little "game" and the police didn't need much convincing. All it took was a pretty young woman in a blood spattered white dress. She cried, genuinely, for that dangerously handsome idiot. Not because she loved him, but because she would have to find a new partner to play with.
She hadn't even waited for his body to cool before she seduced one of the officers at the scene. She begged him to point his loaded Centerfire Compact at her head during and she climaxed remembering her previous boyfriend's final words.
It hadn't taken long to become addicted to the rush. The heady mix of life and death, intertwined with lust and sex, was enough to pull her in and keep her. It hadn't taken long to discover that she could no longer enjoy life without a click inside her head.
It hadn't taken long for the clicks to no longer be enough. She couldn't sit in her room alone forever, waiting to lose to herself. She needed the rush with someone else. Another body to hit the floor. Another blood spattered dress.
She found him outside of a club.
"Want to play a game?" she asked, looking up through her lashes, luridly.
"What kind of game?" he asked, already succumbing to the 'come fuck me' look in her eyes.
And she showed him. She taught him how to play. She taught him how to die. He didn't like the variation she had been taught, too vanilla for that. They played the traditional way and she didn't even blink an eye when the bullet zipped through his temple and out the other side of his skull.
She had been very lucky so far. Every night she would kiss the bullet, placing it in the gun that had originally belonged to that dead boyfriend.
For her luck she praised Bes. She would plead with Shai that this next day she would continue to breathe. She called out to the Norns that they continue to weave her fate with that of luck. She praised Gefion for continuing to shine on her. She laughed when she blessed the name of Fortuna and cried when she asked the Moirai not to cut her threads. Luck and fate became her religion, the click of the hammer representing favors from the gods and every sexual encounter an addictive gift.
The latest pawn in this game kissed her breathless before he taught her another variation. He filled the chamber with four bullets. She kissed each one before he placed them. She agreed to sleep with him if they both survived the game.
That first time, with that first game, they had practically torn each other's clothes off; the need to feel alive overwhelming any other sense. She had cried then, as he slid into her and kissed her into a frenzy. It was the best she had ever had and she had wondered, as he followed her lead, at what cost? Now she didn't even think.
The need to feel that chemical rush was an animal waiting to tear out of her body. There was no thought, no feeling except the adrenaline and the climax.
She survived that variation. Her teacher was kind enough to die quietly in the basement of an abandoned warehouse. She kissed his lips before taking the gun and disappearing into the darkness of the night. She always played with the same gun.
The next pawn was a young woman, about her age, so naive and innocent. She taught her everything and let her walk away. The game didn't always have to end immediately after beginning. Sometimes it continued through the loose connections made. That other woman was not as lucky, they found her dead a week or so later, another unlucky victim of the game.
It really all came down to that moment, she would tell herself. The moment when she stood before the mirror and watched her face; imagining it imploding on itself.
"Pull the trigger."
III
"It's a game." she said. "You'll love it."
"What kind of game?" he asked, intrigued by the strangeness of her.
Her lips were dark red in the dim light of the alley. They reminded him of a mouthful of blood and they turned him on. It was cold outside, snow hanging on the edges of the clouds. Just glistening gray, waiting to fall. Her look was full of lust, when she produced a silver etched pistol. Her eyes glittered in the light of the street lamps. Her eerie smile and the pistol, both, frightened and aroused him.
Her smile widened, revealing shiny white teeth, slightly pointed like a vampire's. Just one bullet was no longer enough. There were so many variations to explore, so many rushes to be had. This would be the last variation. There would be no coming back from this one. No greater rush than this, knowing that her life stood precariously on a hidden ledge. This would be the last round, all the chambers filled but one. The very last rush with someone's life about to end in the darkness.
"Have you ever played Russian Roulette?"
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