“It’s nothing you haven’t earned,” I say calmly, walking toward him. I let him see the device in my hand, running a finger along the smooth metal edge. “Think of it as... a reminder. Every little jab, every little bruise—those are for Margaux. For every moment you made her question herself, every time you tore her down. Every time you needled her just to get a rise out of her and then blame her for reacting like a human.”
I press the tip of the gun against his arm, letting him feel the cold metal. He flinches, his breath hitching. “Please,” he stammers, his voice shaking now. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Oh, but I do.” I press the trigger.
The first burst of needles punctures his skin, and Timmy screams, his body jerking violently against the restraints. Tiny red dots bloom across his forearm like a field of angry roses. He thrashes, but the chair holds him steady.
“Stop! Please, stop!” he howls, tears streaming down his face. The sound is guttural, raw, filled with a desperation I didn’t think he was capable of.
But I don’t stop. I move the gun to his other arm, then his shoulders, his thighs, his calves. Every inch of exposed skin becomes a canvas for his suffering. The room fills with the rhythmic hum of the needle gun and his screams, a twisted symphony of pain and retribution.
His reactions are visceral—his face contorts in agony, veins standing out on his neck as he tries to squirm away. His eyes are bloodshot, his throat raw from screaming. He begs, pleads, curses me, cycling through every stage of desperation.
And me? I’m calm. Detached, almost. Each burst of needles is a release, a catharsis. For every bruise that blooms on his skin, I imagine the emotional scars he left on Margaux. This is justice, not cruelty. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.
When I finally stop, his body sags in the chair, trembling uncontrollably. His skin is a patchwork of red and purple, tiny puncture wounds peppering his arms, legs, and torso. His breathing is shallow, his head lolling to the side as if even holding it up is too much effort.
I crouch down, gripping his chin and forcing him to meet my gaze. His eyes are glassy, unfocused, but there’s still a flicker of something there—fear, anger, humiliation.
“Now you know,” I say, my voice low and steady. “Now you know what it’s like to be poked and prodded, to feel like every part of you is under attack. But don’t worry, Timmy. We’re nearly at the end. Only a few more stages to go now.”
I let go of his chin, standing up and turning away. Behind me, he sputters, his voice weak but full of venom. “You’re a monster,” he rasps.
I pause, glancing back at him. “Maybe,” I admit. “But I’m a monster with a purpose. And you? You’re the parasite no one will miss.”
I walk back to my table and grab another item. I hold the firework in my hand, turning it over slowly as Timmy watches, his eyes wide with terror. He’s trembling, his wrists still bound to the table, sweat dripping from his brow. The room is silent, save for the faint hum of the old lightbulb swinging overhead.
“Do you know what this is, Timmy?” I ask, my voice calm, almost conversational.
His gaze flickers between the firework and my face, panic etched into every line of his expression. “You don’t have to do this,” he pleads, his voice shaky. “I’ll do or say whatever you want. Just please?—”
“Oh, you’ll say what I want,” I reply, my tone sharpening. “But not because you think it’ll save you. You’re going to say it because you’ll finally understand what it feels like to face the truth.”
I kneel in front of him, holding the firework at eye level. “You’ve spent your whole life looking at yourself as the hero, haven’t you? The misunderstood victim, the guy who just couldn’t catch a break.” I lean in closer, lowering my voice. “But the world sees you for what you are now. A liar. A coward. A destroyer of everything good you ever touched.”
Timmy shakes his head frantically, tears welling up. “That’s not true. I loved her. I?—”
“Youlovedher?” I spit, slamming my fist onto the table beside him. “You tore her down, day after day, and called it love. You made her question her worth, her sanity, her very existence. And now, you’re going to see what you’ve done.”
I light the firework, letting the flare illuminate the space between us.
Timmy’s eyes widen as he sees me light the fuse. His panic sets in instantly, his head jerking back and forth, his voice a mixture of pleading and screaming. "No, no, no! You don’t have to do this! Please!"
The sparks dance, casting an eerie glow on Timmy’s face. He flinches, squeezing his eyes shut as though bracing for impact.
“Open your eyes,” I command. “Look at me.”
He hesitates, his breaths shallow and rapid, before finally obeying. His gaze locks with mine, his bravado now absent.
“You’ve spent years making people feel small,” I say. “Now, you get to feel what it’s like to be powerless.”
I hold the small firework steady, positioning it on a stand just inches from the bridge of his nose, and step back, watching the fuse hiss and sputter as it burns down. His thrashing becomes frantic, his face flushed with terror, veins bulging in his neck as he strains against his restraints.
The firework explodes with a deafening bang, a sudden burst of light and force that fills the room with smoke and the acrid scent of burned flesh. The sound echoes in my ears as the immediate aftermath reveals the damage.
Timmy’s head jerks back violently, his screams rising to a pitch I didn’t think humanly possible. Blood gushes from the center of his face, pouring from a deep, jagged wound where the firework erupted. The skin around his eyes is scorched and blackened, the heat having singed away his eyebrows and lashes.
Raw, blistering burns spread outward from the point of impact, the skin peeling and bubbling grotesquely.