Chapter Thirty-Nine
Marisa
“Blah Blah Blah”- Yo Gotti
This really has gotten ridiculously outof hand. And all because Justin doesn’t know when to call a checkmate. Such a shame. Poor Amy—I sigh as I glance at her and her blonde hair tinged with blood. I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out what the hell to do about this little conundrum. I mean, it is quiet the mess I’ve gotten myself into. It all just happened so fast. I’m not even sure why I whacked her with his MacBook, it was just her and that damnblondehair. I’ve been pacing for a good five minutes, waiting on her to come to. Maybe I can just let her go when she wakes up, but she’d go run and tattletale to the police, and I can’t let her do that. And even if she doesn’t go to the cops, there’s the issue of the blood and nasty blonde bits of hair on Justin’s MacBook. How am I going to explain to Justin that I was snooping through his iPhone?Sorry, babe. I thought you were a whore so I texted your plaything to come over.That makes me sound insane. And I’m not. I’m just in love with him. But I’m a firm believer in fate, and Amy, well, she’s what Stephen King would refer to as my fifth business. She’s the game changer here. The way I make sure that Justin and I get that happily ever after. She is how I make sure he never leaves me, and I never leave him. This is how we become Bonnie and Clyde: ride ‘till we die.
Fate put her here. She’s our fifth business.So, I drag her from the entrance to the kitchen. I grab the sleeping pills from my purse, dump about 10 out in my palm, and stick the first one in her mouth. But she’s unconscious. I try blowing in her face. Nothing. Panic sets in. My “don’t-let-him-think-your-crazy” instincts go into overdrive. I pull her panties down her legs, roll her on her side, push her knees to her chest, and cram the pills up her asshole. It should hit her more quickly this route anyway.
I wash my hands and make my way back into the living room. Justin’s still out like a light on his couch. I grab his arms and tug. He falls to the floor with a thud. Groaning, I drag Justin’s limp body into the kitchen with#HavingAGreatTimeWithAmy. Sweat drips down my face, my chest. Really, this entire situation is annoying as fuck. It takes all my strength to prop him up against the white cabinets. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, you know?” I tell him, even though he’s skipping through La La Land right about now. I really am sad that it’s come to this, I think as I dig the packet of dish gloves out from underneath the sink.
“She screamed when I clocked her over the head with your Macbook, babe,” I tell Justin as I secure the latex glove with a pop. “I didn’t know what to do, I wasn’t prepared for this.” Leaning over, I sigh and brush my gloved fingers through his hair.
I grab the butcher knife—cliché.I know, I know. You hate cliché climaxes. Predictable endings.I take my arm and swipe everything from the counter. Plates and dishes crash to the ground. And now, the bad part about tonight. I walk behind Justin and place the knife on the floor, then I bend over, looping my arms underneath his.
“Mmm,” he groans.
“Shhh. It’s okay.”
My back strains as I move him closer to Amy, resting much of his weight over my chest. “You know,” I say, “writing the sick shit we do is bound to get to you at some point, make you lose touch with reality.”
I place the knife in his hand, holding it sweetly in mine. I close my eyes when I lift his arm back and swing at her. The noise is terrible, something comparable to a soggy washcloth being dropped onto concrete, and I think I’m going to be sick. Amy attempts to scream, but is so far gone from the pills that it sounds more like a kitten’s cry. I take a few deep breaths before I make him plunge the knife into her chest again and again.Overkill really, Justin, but you are a passionate man. You fuck like an animal and kill like one, so it seems.My heart pounds. My head spins. And just when I think I’m done, I realize she would have fought him off. I have to drag the blade across his arm a few times and scratch his face up if I’m going to make this believable. Tears seep from my lash line. I feel like a horrible person right now. “All I want is the perfect story,” I whisper in his ear before I kiss his cheek. He groans like that’s all he wants too.
I stand and step back, my pulse racing, my mind a jumbled mess. And I’m not going to lie, as I look down at my bloody hands, I get a little angry at him. He made me do this. He made me murder her because he just couldn’t play fair. He tried to play with more than one queen, he tried to have more than one plot. And honestly, love triangles have no place in romance! I read that in a review once, and I have to agree right about now. Sighing, I go to the bathroom to wash up and change into the clothes I slept in last night.
I leave, chucking my clothes and those nasty gloves into the dumpster behind the Fish Hut on my way home. The garbage picks up in exactly 34 minutes and we can’t have any plot holes in this storyline. This is not how I wanted this to go, but shit doesn’t always go the way you plan. Any good author knows that.
