Damien’s penis wasn’t a magical wand.

 

1. His penis didn’t fix whatever the fuck was going on between him and Luke:

Initially, things between them were improving. Finding hobbies seemed to be the solution to their problems. For Luke, it was playing rugby. For Damien, it was murdering people. But of course, those hobbies were only a temporary solution, and his penis wasn’t a solution at all.

The best sex they had in weeks did not erase their memories of what happened months ago. How stupid of Damien to think that everything was okay, that everything had improved, that Luke forgot what Damien was.

 

2. He couldn’t to use his penis to get rid of Helen:

If anything, his penis was what was keeping her around him. It also might’ve been her strange fetish of watching him murder people, but there must’ve something else, and it was probably his penis.

He didn’t know exactly when she became attracted to him in that way. More importantly, he didn’t know exactly when she stopped fearing him and started desiring him. That was his main concern: how did she get comfortable enough around him to actually want to fuck him?

 

He couldn’t believe that he no longer lived in a world where sex was always the solution. He couldn’t even fuck Luke anymore. He couldn’t touch him without thinking about their weird night featuring his fucked up confession. Without fantasizing about all of the ways he could murder him.

***

It only took a few days for Luke to start acting weird again. Damien couldn't blame him though, he felt weird around him too. So they were back to uncomfortable glances and awkward conversations, but with the unfortunate twist of no half-hearted sex.

Damien wondered if Luke was acting weird because of their spur-of-the-moment shower sex, but then he looked through his internet search history and realized that Luke was acting weird because he found out what happened back home. Or rather, what didn't happen back home.

Luke was an idiot, but his idiocy was a blessing. If Luke hadn't reverted back to his weird self, if he had been waiting around for more spur-of-the-moment sex, Damien would've been fucked. He could already feel his tight grip on his impulses slip whenever he felt too strongly about him.

***

It only took a few weeks for Helen to notice that Damien was acting weird. He expected that she wouldn't notice at all, but she unfortunately knew him a lot better than he realized. She confronted him while he was stepping out of the shower, so he couldn't really avoid her, at least, not without causing a scene and catching Luke's attention. She really knew him better than he realized.

"Have you been murdering without me?"

"That's none of your business."

"None of my business?" she scoffed, obnoxiously, forcefully. "Says the guy who lets a girl plan his murders like she was his fucking manager."

Damien rolled his eyes. "Don't think too highly of yourself."

She frowned. "You could at least tell me if you've been murdering without me."

"I don't see why you would care."

"Because you didn't invite me."

"Why the fuck would I invite you?"

"Because I'm your manager!"

"You are not my fucking manager. You are a tool that I've been using. You realize that, right? I've been using you."

"So? Why didn't you use me this time?"

"Because I didn't need you. I don't need you."

Her frowned shifted into a pout, which only irritated him even more. "So that's it? You don't need me? Our relationship is over?"

He scoffed this time. "What relationship?"

She sighed, relaxing her face and closing her eyes. "Alright, whatever, I get it. You don't need me now. But if you do—" she opened her eyes "—I'll be here."

"Obviously you'll be here," Damien said as she headed out of the bathroom. "You fucking live here."

***

He hadn't killed in such a long time. He needed to take a break after his last killing spree, but he could no longer make a fucking sandwich without his hand twitching with the impulse to stab someone with a knife. He managed to make his sandwich without stabbing anyone, but then again, no one was around.

Then Helen suddenly came bursting into the apartment.

"Damien!" she called out before slamming the door. "I need you to kill someone!"

When she saw him sitting at the kitchen table, she stormed towards him and fell into the chair across from him.

"I don't care if I'm there or not," she continued, "I just need you to kill them."

Fuck off. He would've said that out loud but he was still eating.

She huffed out again and yanked the sandwich out of his hands. "This is fucking serious! I need you to kill this person!"

Damien grabbed her arm and snatched his sandwich back. "Is it really that serious that I can't even finish my fucking sandwich?"

"Yes!" she snapped.

His frowned deepened, mostly because he wasn't sure what to expect. He might've been worried, but knowing how Helen was, there was probably nothing to worry about.

"Are they threatening you?" he asked. "Did they find out about you?"

Her face relaxed. He was right. Nothing to be worried about.

"No," she muttered.

"Then it's not worth my fucking time."

She slammed her hands against the table. "It is worth it! You told me that you enjoy getting rid of people that aren't worthy of living! And this asshole does not deserve to live!"

He would've laughed if he weren't so annoyed. "You know that was bullshit, right?"

She lowered her gaze, disappointed, betrayed almost. "Then why do you kill?"

He grinned tightly and leaned closer to her. "Because I'm a fucking psychopath."

She glanced at him, still disappointed. "So you kill because you're crazy?"

"Because I enjoy it."

She gaped at him for several seconds. Then she smirked. "That's kinda hot."

"Oh, fuck off," he groaned as he pushed his plate away. He would've vomited if he took another bite.

"What?" she exclaimed with a shameless smile. "It is! Why do you think I like watching you kill?"

He stood up and rushed towards his bedroom. "Fuck off!"

***

She, unfortunately, did not fuck off.

After Damien's thrilling, and unintentional, confession, she was determined to know more about his fucked up desires. And so she began another relentless campaign against him, hoping to reinvigorate his waning killing spree, hoping to get another glimpse of his violent nature. She was back to tantalizing him, tricking him, showing him photos of potential victims and abandoned locations. If Luke weren't around, she probably would've pasted them all over the apartment walls just so that she could shove them in Damien's face. It felt like she was shoving them all in his face anyway.

He, fortunately, had self-control.

***

And then the fateful day arrived: the day Luke was going to be out all day for a tournament. Damien was waiting for this day to come because he knew that it would be the day Helen would use every trick up her sleeve to fuck with him.

He tried to schedule his time so that he would be out of the apartment all day, but there was short period of time when he had to return to the apartment. He also thought that Helen was scheduled to be out of the apartment all day, but she must've cancelled or rescheduled all of her plans.

So the moment Damien stepped into the apartment, Helen was standing near the entrance with a small grin on her face.

"Hey, Damien, how's it going?"

"Fuck off." He pushed her aside and headed directly to his room.

"I just want to talk!"

"I don't."

Then Helen grabbed his arm and yanked him back.

"Just talk to me for five minutes!"

Damien ripped her hands off his arm and glared at her. "If I talk to you for five minutes, then you leave me alone for five days."

She frowned slightly. "That seems a bit excessive."

"Five minutes is already too excessive for me."

She rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Fine, fine."

Damien followed her to her bedroom, where she dropped onto the bed and he stood near the doorway.

"What's wrong?" she asked, staring intently at him.

His frown twitched. "What?"

"You've been on edge lately."

He shook his head. "I've been fine."

She pressed lips together and shook her head. "No, you haven't." Her pursed lips showed sincerity but her eyes hid something more sinister.

"What do you want, Helen?"

She scoffed. "I just want you to feel better, Damien. And I think we both know what will make you feel better."

His hands instinctively tightened into fists. "I'm not going to kill anyone for you."

"No! I'm not asking you to do that. In fact, I'm thinking of something entirely different."

His hands relaxed, but his body was still tense. "What are you talking about?"

She let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know if you're actually open to doing this, but I want you to keep an open mind—"

"Get to the fucking point," he interrupted.

A pause.

"Would you fuck me?"

Ding, ding, ding! There it was. There was the million dollar question Damien had been waiting for. And now for his million dollar answer:

"No."

He was expecting her to be upset, but she looked completely unfazed.

"So under no circumstances, would you fuck me?" she asked.

"Under no circumstances."

"Not even if I were your next victim?"

"I wouldn't need to fuck you for that."

Then she pulled out a fucking knife from under her pillow.

Oh, fuck.

She lightly dragged the tip of knife across her forearm, looking up with a devious grin. "You know, I didn't think I would hurt myself again, but under certain circumstances . . ."

The knife paused right at the end of her wrist, right before all the surface blood vessels branched out.

Oh, fuck, shit.

She swiftly swiped the knife across her wrist, leaving a tiny cut with a little drop of blood oozing out.

"Fuck." He didn't realize that he said this out loud.

"Would you fuck me now?"

Damien glared at her but didn't give her an answer.

"If I let you hurt me, would you fuck me?"

Damien refused to give an answer.

"I know it's been a while since you've last hurt someone and . . ." she scoffed lightly, "And let's be honest, I know it's also been a while since you've last fucked someone."

"That doesn't mean I want to fuck you." He definitely wanted to hurt her.

"You told me that you enjoy hurting people. Why waste the opportunity to do that?"

Damien hated that he almost agreed with her. "I would just kill you."

"Yeah, but you won't." She held the knife up towards him, waiting for him to take it. "I trust you."

He glanced at the knife then at the red line of blood across her wrist. He gulped and looked away.

Don't fucking do it.

"Damien?"

Don't fucking do it.

"Damien, it's not just for me, it's for you too."

Don't fucking listen to her.

"Dam, please."

Fuck.

Damien lunged at her and swiped the knife out of her hand. He then shoved her down against the bed and pressed the knife against her throat.

"Don't fucking call me that," he growled into her ear.

He felt her shaking underneath him. He leaned back to see her laughing.

What the fuck?

"Oh my god," she laughed through struggled breaths. "Oh my god . . ."

"What," he hissed, still pressing the knife against her throat.

She gently grabbed his free hand and moved it between her legs. "I'm so wet . . ." she exhaled, followed by grating laughter.

Damien yanked his hand away, realizing that he was just adding fuel to the fire.

He tossed the knife aside and adjusted himself so that he was straddling her. "So you really want me to fuck you?"

She looked up at him and nodded, her giggling now slowing down to heavy breathing.

He wrapped his hands around her neck. "What makes you think that I would ever do what you want?"

He began to squeeze, tighter and tighter, her eyes wider and wider, until it seemed like they were going to pop out. Just a little tighter and tighter, for a little longer and longer, and she would be gone. But that's not what he wanted. Not yet.

"Damien—" she choked, her hands scratching against his arms.

He let go and watched as she gasped desperately for air.

She gaped at him, eyes still wide, chest still heaving. "What the fuck?"

He grinned and lowered his face until it was hovering a few centimeters above hers. "I'll do what I want to do to you."

He grabbed her face and shoved his lips against hers. She moaned into his mouth and pulled him closer. A sloppy, messy, disgusting kiss. Tongues smashing against each other, spit dribbling down the sides of their mouths.

He eventually pulled away and started to move down, sliding his tongue along her neck before biting down. Her shrill scream nearly broke his eardrums, but her tight grip around him urged him to continue. He moved down to her shoulder, pressing his hand against her mouth before biting down again.

This time he drew blood. He licked away the blood that appeared, eliciting a pained, drawn-out moan. Then he started grinding against her, resulting in an even louder, longer moan.

And then he moved again, grabbing her hips and flipping her over.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered. "And get on your knees."

She stripped off her shirt and her pants, then positioned herself so that she was grabbing the headboard. Meanwhile, he stripped off his own clothes, searched for a condom, and then positioned himself behind her, with the knife back in his hand.

"What are you doing?" she asked impatiently, glancing over her shoulder.

Without answering, he pressed the knife against her back and left a thin gash on the flesh between her shoulder blades. She gasped and lurched forward, tempting him to leave another gash along her spine, perpendicular to the previous one. She cried out even louder. Then he left one more gash, deeper, thicker. As she wailed out in pain, he slid into her and began thrusting.

"Oh, God," she gasped, gripping the headboard tighter and pushing back against his thrusts. "Oh, God." Her moans progressively got louder with every thrust until she was screaming at the top of her lungs.

Everything Damien was experiencing had narrowed down to the blood-curdling screams and the intense pleasure. He was ready to lose all sense of himself, ready to bring down the knife one more time, until suddenly . . .

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

It was Luke.

Oh. Shit.

Damien immediately dropped the knife and pulled himself out. Before he could glance up at him, Luke had shoved him aside to check on Helen.

"What did he do to you, Helen?!" he cried out frantically. "What did he do?!"

He examined her entire bloodied body with horror and then covered her with the bedsheets in an effort to stop the bleeding.

"I'm sorry, Luke, I'm so sorry," Helen mumbled, grabbing the bedsheets tightly.

"Don't be sorry," he growled, glaring at Damien.

He nearly lunged at him, but Helen grabbed his arm and held him back. "No, Luke, stop! I asked for this! I wanted this! I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry!"

He stared at her bewilderedly, his mouth slightly open. "What?"

Her eyes were beginning to water, her voice was starting to shake. "I asked him to do this. I tricked him into doing this! It's my fault!"

Luke stepped back, glancing between Helen and Damien. Damien sat at the edge of the bed, silent, still, exposed.

"And what's your excuse?" Luke snapped at him.

"I don't have one," he replied, his tone quiet, his body still tense. "We both know that I wasn't fucking tricked into doing this."

"And we both know that you could've killed her!" Luke yelled.

"But he didn't!" Helen cried out. "I'm okay! I really am okay!"

"Shut up, Helen!" Luke snapped. "You knew he could've killed you!"

"But . . . he didn't," she mumbled, sniffling and wiping away her tears.

Luke clenched his teeth and shook his head. "Rot in hell, Damien."

He left the room, slamming the door shut on his way out.

After several moments of silence, Helen looked at Damien and sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Shut up, Helen."

He jumped off the bed, put his clothes back on, and left the apartment.

Maybe he should've stayed and apologized to Luke. But burning in the fiery pits of hell seemed significantly less excruciating than having to deal with Luke.