Mazie Baby by Julie Frayn Page B

and inspected them. More blood tarnished her fingers and
pooled under her nails. She wiped it on her pants.
    He glared at her. “I should have
kept choking you, killed you when I had the chance. You’re a useless, stupid,
waste of skin. Can’t do anything right. Raising our daughter to talk back to
me.” He thrashed against the restraints then cried out. “God fucking damn it!”
    “You sorry piece of shit.” Her
voice dripped venom. “You don’t have the goddamn balls to kill me. You never
could finish what you started. Gave up on your music, gave up on me. You’ll
give up on Ariel, too. If you don’t ruin her first. Rape her, beat her, use
her. That’s the plan, right? Move on to a younger version of me? Just to get
your puny rocks off. You don’t give a damn about her. About anyone. You’re a
selfish, arrogant, stinking pile of dog shit!” She had inched closer and now stood
over him. She jabbed one finger into his chest, punctuating each insult. “I’ll
die before I ever let you touch her.”
    “That can be arranged.” He yanked
on his restraints. The cow hitch shifted and came loose from the slat that held
his right arm.
    Mazie jumped on top of him, pinned
his arm down and grabbed the scarf.
    He squirmed beneath her and
laughed. “Can’t even tie a proper, knot you stupid cunt.”
    The slick material slipped through
her fingertips.
    He grabbed her hair, yanked her
neck back until her face was an inch from his. “You’re my bitch now.”
    She stared into his eyes. Something
prodded her leg. Bile rose in her throat.
    He had an erection.
    She leered at him. “This is what
turns you on, right baby?” She reached back and stroked him over the sheet. “Violence.
Control. Pain.” She swallowed. “My pain.”
    He smiled and narrowed his eyes, yanked
her hair harder. “Untie me and I’ll show you. I’ll fuck your fat, ugly brains
out.”
    She laughed. “Fuck yourself.” She
grasped the handle of the scissors. “I’m nobody’s bitch anymore.” She pulled
the scissors free from his thigh and jabbed them into his shoulder. The blade crunched
against bone.
    He screamed and let go of her hair.
    She jumped to her feet, raced to
the other side of the bed, wrapped the loose end of the scarf around her hand
and held it firm in her fist. She dragged his arm straight out to the side.
“How about now, baby? That turn you on?”
    “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
    She eyed the sheet where it covered
his groin. “Oh, poor Cullen. Can’t get it up now? That’s too bad. Because I’m
aroused as hell.”
    “I’m going to cut you to ribbons
when I get free.” He turned his head and glared, sweat beaded on his upper lip
and dripped from his forehead. “They won’t even find the pieces.”
    “Free?” she shook her head. “I’m the
one who’s free. By the time you get out of this, we’ll be long gone. You’ll
never hurt me or Ariel again, you hear me? Ever. Again.” She filled her mouth
with saliva and sent a ball of spit into the air. It landed on his neck, a few
drops of spittle dotting his cheek and chin.
    He closed his eyes and pressed his
lips closed, turned and glared at her. “You can’t even spit right.” His voice
had lost its edge. “You’re pitiful.” The malice waned, replaced by a false
bravado. He’d lost his grip on her and he knew it.
    A dark spot grew on the sheet. She
raised one eyebrow, threw her head back and laughed. “What are you, three years
old? Poor Cullen. Pissed his bed like a widdle baby.”
    “Fuck you.”
    Mazie yanked on the scarf. He resisted,
but the damage to his shoulder had weakened him. She used a better knot and tied
it tight to the slat.
    She stood back and surveyed the
room. The bed sheets were ripped, the cream canvas splattered with crimson
blood, soaked with yellow urine, and punctuated by black mascara smudges from
her attempts to secure his free arm. It was almost beautiful. Like a Jackson
Pollock painting.
    Mazie jerked the scissors free from
his