Chapter Forty-Four
Marisa
“Bang, Bang” – 2 Cellos, Sky Ferriera
Istandat the coffee shop counter, waiting for the barista to finish up my order. It’s been two weeks since#HavingAGreatAmyleft this world, and Justin’s not taking it so well. Which I can understand, really, I can. Traumatic events will fuck with you, I mean, after all, I did have a nervous breakdown when John cheated on me with thatfucking blonde. And then, when I killed him, oops, see, I shouldn’t confess to that, but, I did it, and well,Iwasn’t the murdering type. Having to stage it all to look like a suicide, that did a number on me, but what really sent me teetering over the edge like a lead weight was the worry. The paranoia. The waiting on the shoe to drop. Which, it never did... funny how easy it is to get away with murder, and once you can justify it in your head, you’re golden. The problem here is, I don’t know how to make Justin justify killing Amy because he doesn’t see what a threat she was to our happiness.
He wakes up at night in full-on sweats, screaming and sometimes crying. He paces. And as far as having sex? Forget that. He can’t even get hard. He’s so preoccupied with what he did... on and on he goes, questioning, trying to put pieces of a puzzle together that will never fit. And then, of course, he’s cancelled all his signings, which is great. That was the point after all, wasn’t it? To get all those horrible distractions out of our lives and—someone bumps into me, snatching me from my train of thought. “Sorry.”
I turn around and my heart pitter-patters like a soft summer rain on a tin roof. I’m staring into his blue eyes, that sweet smile. “Oh,” I manage to squeak out, “it’s fine... Ed.”
“Told you I’d find you?” he smirks. I feel the barista’s eyes boring into me because Ed, singer extraordinaire, is standing in this coffee shop, smiling atme. “When does your next book come out?”
“I uh... I uh... ” I swallow. My cheeks are on fire. I’m swaying from side to side. He’s so pretty. I just want to take his hand and lead him out of this coffee shop and to Central Park and have him sing sweet love songs to me. Ed is standing in front of me waiting. Waiting on a response. “Um, I don’t have a release date yet.”
“God, you’ve got me on pins and needles. Loved that story, actually,” he takes his coffee from the barista, “I uh, I wrote a song based on it.”
“You did?” I want to clap and scream and jump, but I don’t.
“Yeah, you know, I’d uh, I’d love to sing it to you.” He smiles and my traitorous heart swoons. “I’ll sing it here if you like?”
“Are you... ” I small gasp leaves my lips. “Are you serious? Oh my god, I would love that.”
He glances back at the barista. “You don’t mind, do you?”
She shakes her head, a dumbfounded expression plastered to her face. I’m sure she hates me, and she should. I’m fucking Justin Wild, and Ed... is one ofmyfans. I’m one lucky bitch. My heart fills to the brim with expectations and excitement. Two fans of each other’s work.That makes a perfect love story doesn’t it, Justin? Doesn’t it, Ed?I twinge of guilt plucks at my heart as I think about Justin sitting at the apartment, waiting on the Caramel Macchiato that is growing colder by the second.
Ed clears his throat, smiles—his sweet dimples popping out as he does—and then, he sings:“Love... hmmm... crazy, crazy love, my dear. Walk along the track my dear with my crazy love... ”
He sings the most beautifully poetic song, the entire shop frozen in a hypnotic trance by the sound of his voice. Some people are videoing with their phones, and I’m fighting to contain myself. My cheeks hurt from how hard I’m smiling. My heart is thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings, and when he finishes, all I can do is throw my arms around him and kiss him—just a peck, but I kiss him on his warm, sweet lips and he kisses me back. People applaud and whistle, and it’s like a moment from a movie, perfect and unplanned. Spontaneous.
“I’m in town for a show, we should hang out.” He smiles, pulls his phone from his jean pocket, and hands it to me. “Give me your number and I’ll call you.” He winks and I melt. I quickly type in my number and give his phone back to him. “Well, I’ll see you later, Marisa.”
And he leaves, everyone watching as he goes. I compose myself and head out of the coffee shop with my Vanilla Latte and Justin’s Caramel Macchiato.
When I open the door to Justin’s apartment, he’s still lying on the couch, Cobain’s head resting on the cushion. “Hey babe, got your coffee,” I say as I cross the living room. He glances over and smiles, those purple circles below his eyes even more distinct than when I left.
“Marisa. Fuck... I can’t take this. I’m going to get caught.” He sits up, leans over his knees, and drags his hand through his hair. Cobain huffs and lies on the floor. “I’m going to go to jail.”
“No, you aren’t. Two weeks. They interviewed you and you’re done. You aren’t even a suspect.” I hand his coffee to him, but he just holds it loosely. I keep watching the lid, waiting for the coffee to trickle out.
“It’s all over the news.” He wipes his hand over his face. “All over the news now.”
“And it will be. She disappeared. And they aren’t ever going to find her. She’s mixed with mountains of piss and shit and used condoms by now.”
He glares at me. “Am I crazy?”
“No.”
“I feel crazy.”
“I know.” I do know, but I can’t tell him. I want to tell him I did it, that I used him like a puppeteer would a jangly little puppet, moving the strings just so to lift his arm to kill#HavingAGreatTimeWithAmy,but he won’t understand that I did it because I love him that much.
I know he’s torturing himself thinking he’s some monstrous murderer, but really, if you want to get to the heart of it, he always was a type of murderer. He slaughtered all those girls’ hearts he fucked his way through, tossing out promises like a pageant queen tossing out Mr. Goodbars from a fucking Christmas Parade float.
“I just,” he says, taking my hand in his. “I don’t know what I would do without you. You’re... ” he shakes his head and his eyes fall to his lap, “just so good to me.”
“I love you, Justin.”
