Warning: Swearing, sex between a male and a female and mentions of violence
Fandom: The Doom Generation
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters Greg Araki does.
Purgatory
They drive for five hours straight, stopping briefly at a to get gas at a station in the middle of nowhere. Amy remains silent, never moving from her place at the steering wheel while Xavier goes inside to pay. She assumes he does, as he comes back to the car with with a couple of packs of cigarettes and a few bags of chips. He's not waving bloody limbs and no one's chasing them with a shot-gun. This stop's gone better than any of the others since they met.
xxx
She abruptly pulls over at a motel, the car beginning to make Amy feel claustrophobic, trapped. The seats and floor covered with cigarette butts, the tips stained dark red by her lipstick. Just a few days ago she would thought that it looked like blood, she may have said that it was beautiful. Now she's seen enough blood to know how it looks when it's fresh, when it's old, when it's pouring from a still living human being.
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Xavier fucks her roughly that night, she lets him go on top. Their clothes lie discarded by the door, in a pile that smells of sex and blood. Amy still doesn't speak, not really. She makes the mandatory sounds and moans a string of creative curses but she doesn't even bother pretending to listen to Xavier's whispers and growls. She figures he probably doesn't care. As she feels his dick slamming into her she thinks of Jordan. When Amy come she remembers him telling her that he loves her, his words textured by fear and pain. She thinks she'll miss him.
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Amy doesn't sleep. She sits cross legged on the bed, watching Xavier. This was all his fault. If they'd never met him Amy and Jordan would probably be back at the club tonight. He'd be in the middle of the mosh, letting go of everything the way Amy never could. If that repugnant fuck hadn't come uninvited into her car, her life, Amy wouldn't be stuck in a sleazy roadside motel, she wouldn't be involved in multiple homicides, Jordan wouldn't be dead. She's sorry that they had to just leave him there, his body lying in a pool of blood, a mix of his own and the blood of the Neo-Nazi scum-fucks who killed him. Amy has a lot to regret about the past few days the one thing she knows she never will is what she did to those bastards. She wishes she'd done worse.
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"What do you think the meaning of existence is?" She says softly, smoke curling up lazily from her lips. Xavier's hands move to cup her breasts, fingers tracing patterns on her skin. She can feel him smile against her neck and knows just how mocking and how viscous and seductive it looks.
"Who gives a fuck?" He says, voice roughened by cigarettes and lack of sleep. One hand glides down her body, two fingers slip inside her. "Does there need to be more than this?" Amy arches her back as his fingers start to move faster, his thumb rubs against her clit and she moans. She comes quietly, holding onto him, shaking.
"I hope he knows now." Amy says in a whisper so low she doesn't think he hears her, but it doesn't matter. It's not him she's talking to.
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She half expects Xavier to just disappear one day, sometimes she wishes he would, and she doesn't keep that fact a secret. He laughs away all her abuse, throwing insults right back at her, casual as can be. It's infuriating but Amy finds that it helps keep her sane, it's a slice of normality, for her at least.
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Seeing her own face on the news is weird. A grainy photo in the corner of the screen while the anchor-woman talks about murder sprees and cold blooded killers. It feels almost surreal and she surprises herself by simply thinking how unflattering the picture they're showing is. Amy's face is followed by shots of all the victims. She feels numb towards most of them, she doesn't care for those people so why should she be sorry for their deaths? Jordan's face is last. It's a school picture but she knows he's stoned out of his mind in it. He's grinning goofily, looking just past the camera. His face is replaced by hers again as the public is warned that she's armed and dangerous. Amy throws the remote at the TV. "Fuck!"
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They both know that it's only a matter of time before they get caught. People don't just get away with the things they've done, not living the way they way they do. Sooner or later someone's going to recognise her or they'll track her down with security footage. She briefly considered changing her hair or making some other sort of half-hearted attempt at throwing them of her trail but in the end she just falls back on the same apathy she has for everything else. Amy hasn't cried since she accidentally hit that dog with her car. She never cried for Jordan, she stabbed his killers multiple times with pruning shears. Grief through violence was much more her style.
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Men in suits turn up at the motel late one night. Amy watches them through a small gap in the lank, beige curtains. She rushes into the bathroom, barely sparing a glance for Xavier's naked form stretched out in the tub. "Come the fuck on, we gotta get out of here!" He notices the panic at the edges of her voice but takes his time getting up and just throws on a pair of jeans while she climbs out the window. Running around the back of the motel they would catch the eye of any who happened to see them, Xavier topless, his distinctive tattoo on display, Amy dressed in only her bra and panties with a jacket thrown over top of the black lace. She hears people shouting from all directions as they seek cover behind a wall. "Fucking shit fuck!" She whispers. "We are so fucking screwed!" If he were there Jordan would put an arm around her, say something that he thought was comforting but really just sounded stupid. Xavier just grins devilishly and pulls out his knife. "Let's screw the fuckers right back." Where ever he is Amy doesn't think Jordan's going to be missing her much longer.