Clark was tied to a chair, his face a mask of terror and despair, cold sweat pouring down his forehead.
A fresh burn seared his skin.
It hurt. God, it hurt so much.
But the searing pain was eclipsed by the sight of Marjorie's hateful, wicked smile. When he saw the gleaming, cold steel of the scissors in her hand, Clark completely broke down.
How had the once sweet and gentle Marjorie turned into this monster?
More importantly, he couldn't for the life of him understand why she was doing this to him.
It was just a breakup, wasn't it?
Did she really need to go this far?
The woman was a psycho.
A complete and utter psycho.
Clark screamed himself hoarse.
"Marjorie, what you're doing is illegal! I swear, I never treated you badly when we were dating. Bags, jewelry, clothes, money—what did I ever deny you? Okay, so I cheated, and I'm sorry for that, but didn't I compensate you for it? Can't we just part on good terms? Do we have to become enemies?"
Clark was filled with a sense of injustice. He’d assumed all this was because Marjorie was still angry about him cheating.
His tone implied he felt like the ultimate sucker—paying her off only to end up suffering anyway.
If he had known Marjorie was this unhinged, he would never have gotten involved with her in the first place.
Marjorie ignored Clark's roars.
Her eyes were cold, devoid of any warmth.
She slowly raised the scissors and began snipping at the cuff of Clark's pants.
The snip, snip of the scissors was piercing in the silent room, a sound that made one's blood run cold.
Each cut felt like a knife twisting in Clark's heart.

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