Chapter 6

6

Lil Peep, Nedarb - Beamer Boy

The darkness inside me is like a living thing, always hungry, always waiting to consume whatever I feed it. And Tatum… she’s become its favorite meal. The more I push her, the deeper I drag her into my world, the more I see that she’s not just a pawn in my game—she’s something else entirely.

She’s mine.

I’ve always known that I have a certain influence over people, a way of bending them to my will, of making them see the world the way I want them to see it. But with Tatum, it’s different. She’s not like the others. She’s stronger, more resilient, but at the same time, she’s so fragile, so breakable. And I want to break her. I want to shatter that fragile part of her and mold her into something new, something dark, something that belongs to me completely.

But there’s more to it than that. It’s not just about control anymore. It’s not just about bending her to my will. It’s about something deeper, something primal. I need her in a way I’ve never needed anyone before. It scares me, but it also drives me. I want to see how far she’ll go, how deep she’ll sink, how much of herself she’s willing to give up for me.

Tonight is the night. I’m going to push her further than she’s ever gone before. I’m going to take her somewhere she’s never been, somewhere anything can happen, and I’m going to see if she’ll follow me into the abyss.

The streets are empty, the night air cool against my skin as we drive through the city. Tatum sits beside me, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes staring straight ahead. She’s tense, I can feel it radiating off her in waves, but she doesn’t say anything. She knows better than to ask questions.

I glance over at her, the dim light from the streetlamps casting shadows across her face. She’s beautiful in a way that’s almost painful, a beauty that’s sharp and dangerous, like a blade that’s just waiting to cut you. She always has been. Even when we were kids I thought she was stunning. Unusual sure, and unlike the girls I was used to, but that’s part of what made her stand out. What made her different?

And now she’s mine.

The thought sends a thrill through me, a dark, possessive satisfaction that makes my blood sing. “We’re almost there,” I say, my voice low, steady, the way it always is when I’m planning something. Tatum doesn’t respond, but I can see the way her hands tighten in her lap, the way her breath quickens just a little. She’s nervous.

Good. She should be.

The place I’m taking her to is a shithole, a rundown apartment building on the outskirts of the city that’s been turned into a night club. It’s the kind of place where no one asks questions and no one notices if you don’t come back. It’s perfect for what I have planned.

We're parked outside the club, the red neon lights flickering through the windshield, casting a sickly glow over Tatum's face. She’s nervous. I can see it in the way her fingers drum against her thigh, in the way her gaze keeps darting to the entrance, then back to me. The high from earlier is gone, and I know she’s not going to make it through tonight without something to take the edge off.

I reach into the glove compartment and pull out a small bottle. Inside, there are a couple of Xanax bars. “Here,” I say, holding them out to her. “Swallow these.”

Her eyes flick to mine, searching, but she doesn’t hesitate. She takes the pills, pops them into her mouth, and swallows them dry. Good girl. Those will calm her down, slow the racing thoughts, and make everything around her just a little more bearable.

But they’ll also dull her, making her more pliable, easier to handle.

Exactly what I need.

Sliding my hand into my pocket, I pull out a joint and place it between my lips. I light it next, the sharp, earthy smell of the weed filling the car. The first hit is always the best, the smoke burning the back of my throat before settling into a warm haze in my lungs. I pass it to her, watching as she takes it between her fingers, her hand still trembling slightly. Watching her smoke and do drugs she’s never touched before is still mesmerizing to me. To think of the girl she was just a few days ago and who she is now, there’s no comparison. Now, she’s willing to do whatever it takes, whatever I ask, so long as she gets to feel nothing.

As long as she’s numb and floating on the surface of a silent sea.

She brings it to her lips, inhaling deeply, and I can’t help but stare at the way her mouth wraps around it, the way her eyes flutter shut as the smoke fills her.

Her hair’s a mess, free and wild, falling in loose waves around her face. She’s wearing this tight little dress, black and barely there, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin. I can see the bandage on her arm, the one covering the cut she made for me, and it makes something dark and possessive coil inside me. She did that for me, and now she’s here, willing to do whatever I want.

She hands the joint back, and I take another hit, the taste familiar, grounding me. There’s something about watching her like this, her eyes half-lidded, her body slowly relaxing as the pills and weed start to work their magic. She’s coming down, letting go of whatever’s been holding her back, and it’s goddamn beautiful.

“Ready?” I ask, my voice low, rough around the edges.

She nods, and I can see the anxiety has faded, replaced by that calm, detached look that tells me she’s exactly where I need her to be.

I step out of the car, moving around to open her door. The night air is thick and humid, sticking to our skin as I take her hand, leading her toward the club entrance. The city’s alive around us, buzzing with energy, but all I can focus on is her, the way she moves beside me, the way she’s already slipping into that headspace where nothing else matters but me.

Tonight’s going to be one hell of a ride.

“Come on,” I say, my voice firm but not unkind. I want her to know that this is a test, but it’s also something more. It’s a bonding experience, a way for us to become even closer, even more entwined in this dark, fucked-up thing we have. “Let’s go.”

She hesitates for just a moment, and for a second, I think she might refuse. But then she nods, her jaw set, her expression determined, and she heads through the open door and into the club.

The moment we step inside the club, the world outside dissolves, swallowed by the heavy bass thumping through the walls. It’s dark and grungy, with low ceilings and black-painted walls that seem to close in around us. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and smoke, all mingling into something that clings to your skin and clothes until it becomes a part of you.

It’s packed, bodies moving together in a chaotic rhythm, faces obscured by shadows and flashing lights. The crowd is a mix of sketchy types—guys with too much ink, girls with too little clothing, all of them lost in their own world. There’s an edge to the place, a sense that at any moment, things could go south.

And that’s exactly why we’re here.

I keep a firm grip on Tatum’s hand as I lead her through the throng of people, her body pressing against mine every time someone brushes past us. The music is a deafening pounding beat that vibrates through the floor and into your bones. It’s the kind of sound that drowns out everything else, making it easy to lose yourself.

We reach the dance floor, a sea of writhing bodies bathed in dim, pulsing lights. I pull her close, my hands finding her hips, guiding her to move with me. She’s still tense, the drugs not fully kicking in yet, but that’s okay. Dancing will help her unwind, help her let go.

I pull her closer, our bodies melding together as we start to move to the beat. It’s hot, the way she presses against me, the way her hands slide up my chest and over my shoulders. I can feel her breath on my neck, her pulse quickening under my touch. We move in sync, a slow grind that has me thinking about anything but the music. It has me reminiscing about this morning. How fucking good she felt beneath me when I fucked her.

And all of it being forbidden, just made it that much better.

For a while, we just lose ourselves in the music, in each other. It’s perfect, the way she moves, the way she lets me guide her.

“I’ll be right back,” I whisper in her ear, and she nods, her eyes glazed over, lost in the rhythm. I leave her on the dance floor, pushing my way through the crowd to the bar.

The bartender’s a rough-looking guy, tattoos creeping up his neck with a permanent scowl etched into his face. He’s seen it all, no doubt. I order two shots of tequila, something strong to keep the buzz going, and a couple of beers to chase it down. He grunts in acknowledgment, busy with other orders, but I’m not in a hurry.

As I wait, I keep my eyes on Tatum. She’s still moving, her body swaying to the music as the full effect of the drugs seeps in, but something’s changed. Some guy’s moved in, closing the distance between them. He’s tall, dark hair slicked back. I can see the way he’s looking at her. The way his hands find her waist, pulling her closer.

Tatum’s high, and by the way she was grinding up against me, I know she's fucking horny. Her body responds to him just like it did to me. Her eyes lift to mine as she holds my stare while they dance. His hands roam over her hips and back, and she lets him. She’s letting go, just like I wanted, but seeing it like this, from the outside, stirs something dark inside me.

I feel a flicker of anger, but I push it down. I don’t react, don’t let it show. I just watch, letting the scene play out. He doesn’t know who she belongs to, doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.

But he will. He’ll get his.

The bartender slides the drinks over to me, and I toss back the shots, not taking my eyes off Tatum. She’s laughing now, her head tilted back as the guy leans in closer, whispering something in her ear. Her smile is bright, carefree, and it pisses me off even more, but I stay where I am.

This is part of the game, part of the thrill. I know how it’ll end. He’s just a temporary distraction, something to keep her going until I take back what’s mine. And when I do, he’s going to wish he never laid a fucking hand on her.

I watch them for a while, the dim lights of the club flickering over their bodies as they move together. Tatum’s clearly enjoying herself, swaying to the music, her hands all over that guy. But even as she grinds against him, her eyes keep flicking over to me. She’s playing the game, and she loves that I’m watching. The way she bites her lip, the teasing smirk on her face—it’s all for me.

She’s craving more. I can see it in the way she’s moving, the way she’s pushing herself into him like she’s trying to provoke me. And when she finally locks eyes with me, there’s a spark of something darker, something that says she’s ready to take this to the next level.

And fuck if I’m not intrigued.

She takes his hand and leads him through the crowd, away from the dance floor, towards the back of the bar. I know where this is going, and I follow, keeping a little distance. The heavy bass of the music fades as we head down a narrow hallway and through the back door, into the grimy alley behind the club.

The air outside is thick with the smell of garbage and stale beer, the sound of distant sirens mixing with the low hum of the city. I lean against the cold brick wall, just watching as Tatum pulls him close, their bodies pressed together in the dim light of the alley. She kisses him hard and desperate like she’s trying to prove something. Her hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and he’s all too eager, oblivious to the fact that this is just part of the game.

I reach into my pocket and pull out my blade, the cool metal familiar in my hand. I flick it open, the sound sharp in the quiet of the night. The guy doesn’t even notice. He’s too busy with her, too lost in the heat of the moment.

But Tatum does.

Her eyes meet mine as she pushes him down, urging him to his knees in front of her. I watch, amused, as he tries to pleasure her, his hands gripping her hips, his mouth working on her like he knows what he’s doing. But it’s all wrong. She doesn’t make those noises for anyone but me, and the way she’s biting her lip, trying to hold back her laughter—it’s pathetic.

I laugh, the sound low and cold, and it cuts through the tension like a blade. The guy freezes, looking up at me, and I can see the anger flash in his eyes. The glint of her juices on his lips as he pulls away from her. He stands up and faces me as his body tenses.

“Who the fuck are you?” he spits, his voice laced with anger, trying to assert some dominance. Tatum’s still laughing, her hand covering her mouth as she steps back, letting the tension between us build. “Can’t you see we’re busy? Do us both a favor and take yourself back inside. I’d really hate to have to─”

“You’re a joke,” I reply, cutting him off mid-sentence. My voice is calm and almost bored. I flip the blade in my hand, letting the light catch on the edge, and I can see the way his eyes narrow, his fists clenching at his sides. “You can’t even make the bitch moan.”

“I’ll show you who the real fucking joke is,” he snaps. He’s pissed now, really pissed, and that’s exactly what I wanted. He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a knife of his own, and I can’t help but grin. This is where the fun really starts.

He takes a step towards me, slashing out with the blade, and I let him. The edge catches my arm, a sharp sting cutting through the leather of my jacket, and I can feel the warmth of blood spreading beneath the fabric. But I don’t react. I just smile, watching as Tatum’s laughter turns to something more manic, more unhinged.

Before he can swing again, she’s on him, her eyes wild, the exhilaration of the moment fueling her strength. She grabs his arm, twisting it back with a force that surprises him, and the knife clatters to the ground. He tries to fight back, but I’m there too, moving in behind him, my blade pressing against his throat.

“You fucked up,” I whisper in his ear, and I can feel the fear radiating off him as he realizes just how bad.

We move together, in perfect sync, as we take him down. My blade slides across his throat, a clean, effortless cut that opens him up, and the blood rushes out, thick and dark, painting the ground beneath us. The sharp scent of iron fills the air, mixing with the damp rot of the alley. He gurgles, his eyes wide with terror, but he’s already lost, already sinking into that cold, inevitable end.

Tatum’s laughter rings out, high and manic, and she’s on him before he can even hit the ground. Her hands are slick with blood as she claws at his chest, tearing at his shirt and exposing the pale skin beneath. She digs her nails in deep, leaving jagged, angry lines across his flesh, her fingers slipping in the blood that’s pouring out faster than he can breathe. The crimson smears across her skin, staining her fingers, arms, and clothes.

“Get him!” she shouts, her voice sharp with glee, and I know exactly what she wants.

I grab his arm, twisting it behind his back, forcing him to his knees as Tatum straddles his chest, her eyes locked on his. Her lips curl into a smile, a twisted, beautiful thing that sends a shiver down my spine. She’s in control now, taking over, and I’m just here to ensure she gets what she wants.

She rakes her nails down his throat, the skin giving way under the pressure, the blood bubbling up as she carves into him with reckless abandon. The guy tries to scream, but it’s cut short, choked off by the blood flooding his mouth. His body convulses beneath her, his eyes rolling back, but she doesn’t stop. She keeps going, her hands coated in his life as she digs deeper, as if she can reach his very soul.

“Tatum,” I whisper, watching her work, her movements precise yet frantic, like she’s dancing on the edge of insanity.

She glances at me, her eyes wild and shining, and then she leans in, biting down on his shoulder, her teeth sinking into his flesh with a vicious snap. She pulls back, blood dripping from her lips, and she grins at me, a crimson-stained smile that’s pure, unbridled chaos.

“Mine,” she breathes, her voice trembling with exhilaration, and I can see it in her eyes, that hunger, that need for more.

The man’s life slips away in a series of shudders, his body jerking one last time before going still. But Tatum isn’t done. She grabs the knife from my hand, her fingers curling around the hilt with an eager desperation, and she drives it into his chest, again and again, each thrust of the blade punctuated by her breathless laughter.

His blood splashes across her face, her chest, soaking her hair, and she’s reveling in it, savoring every moment as she rips him apart, her hands a blur of motion. The blade sinks into his heart one final time, and she twists it, grinding it into the bone, before finally pulling back, her chest heaving, her eyes wide and wild.

She looks up at me, her breath ragged, her body trembling with the adrenaline, and she’s never looked more beautiful. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ll ever need, and as I watch her there, bathed in the blood of the man who thought he could take her from me, I know she’s mine. Completely, utterly mine.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.