Submitted for Feedback -- "Torn to Shreds"
***Begin Adult Content: Self-Inflicted Violence and Brief Sexuality***




Corbett’s bathroom reeked of dried blood and vomit.

Mostly because in the 24 hours since his face-to-face with Elfleda, Corbett had done nothing but throw up, cut open his wrists and pass out. The vomiting and wrist-cutting were a desperate attempt to force the darkness the Corruptress infused in him out – as if it were some poison he’d lost the antidote for.

The more he purged, the more he bled, the Watcher thought, the sooner he’d be rid of the damn visions and urges. But the truth was, Corbett was growing weaker by the moment, and the only thing keeping him conscious now was the glass of water he drank moments before.

A stunning moment of clarity in the midst of mental chaos.

Corbett sat on the bathroom floor, his shirt torn to shreds in the bedroom. A cold sweat stuck to his forehead, eyes darting around each time his psyche was bombarded with thoughts of deeds the Watcher would normally never speak of. Acts so vile even the darkest of demons would cower in fear.

And the worst part? Corbett couldn’t deny he liked it … longed for it, even. Elfleda really was the Corruptress after all.

Toilet paper soaked in blood littered the floor beside the Watcher. A shaky hand lifted slowly, eventually grabbing the handle and flushing the results of his last purge down the toilet. For a moment, Corbett thought this must’ve been what it was like to be a drug addict, so desperate for a chemical compound the very lack of it made you sick.

Not even the withdrawal symptoms after he broke his bond with Desdemona were this painful. But Corbett needed to suffer through it – the illness, the searing pain along his flesh – if for no other reason than to get Elfleda out of his system and to get back to normal.

Faith would be back soon, and she was, she was going to have a normal Watcher. Not a hopeless old man too busy crouching in front of a toilet and holding a razor blade to be of any good to her.

Death … death to them all …

Corbett flinched and gave a startled yelp, curling back into himself as his body began to shake once more. The images of children running from a mass slaughter filled his head, grainy and yet so detailed. He saw every speck of dust, every drop of blood. Every scream rattled through his ear drums, so much so he covered his ears with his arms and whimpered in a vain attempt to make the pain – or the part of him that enjoyed it – go away.

A black figure stood over a pile of dead bodies. Children he’s killed, butchered in so many horrific ways. Ways Corbett couldn’t even conceptualize, not even in this altered state. The figure stayed in the shadows, staring ahead with blood-soaked blades in its grasp. For what seemed like minutes the figure stood still, saying nothing.

Then suddenly …

”Memento Mori!!”

And with a sudden burst of white in his eyes, the figure was gone. Corbett was alone again, on the bathroom floor, breathing heavy and sweating. The sickness in his stomach slowly returned, but the Watcher swallowed it back, choosing instead to grab the razor blade off the counter. He stared at the blade for several moments, noting the blood not quite dry.

Tentatively, Corbett brought the blade to his mouth, running his tongue along the side of the blade. His blood pooled on his tongue and, much to Corbett’s inner chagrin, he closed his lips and swallowed. The blood was so warm and soothing going down his throat, and once it hit his stomach, Corbett felt the nausea fade.

The Watcher had found his Pepto.

Gritting his teeth, Corbett again took the blade to his left wrist, grunting as he sliced open skin once more, watching as the blood rose and spilled to the floor. The Watcher began to feel light-headed, realizing – yet again – that drawing blood like this wasn’t having the desired effect.

No, all it was doing was making him hungry.

Another vision gripped the Watcher’s psyche suddenly, this one more of a flashback. There was Desdemona, wearing nothing and sitting in Corbett’s lap. Her hips swayed slightly to and fro, the seductive grin on her demonic face at once sensual and predatory. She licked her lips, letting a fang puncture her tongue before shoving it down Corbett’s throat, sharing her vitae with him.

He kissed with equal passion, grabbing the vampiress’ hips and letting himself lose complete control. His eyes closed, the horrors of a moment before all but forgotten as he began to lose himself in Desdemona’s embrace … only to have her vanish into thin air, leaving him with nothing more than a whisper.

“Memento Mori … “

“Memento Mori,” he whispered in a husky, exhausted tone, licking his wrist and swallowing whatever his tongue collected. It’d been decades since he last tasted blood – back when he was still in Desdemona’s thrall – but in many ways, this was a feeling he’d never forgotten.

And in many more ways, a feeling he didn’t want to lose … even as he passed out again on the bathroom floor.

Door wide open for anyone who might happen to walk in to see.




***End Adult Content: Self-Inflicted Violence and Brief Sexuality***