There are no stars in the sky tonight. An inky black void hangs above my head as I stare at the flashing pink neon sign. My feet sting from the blisters that formed and burst on my manic trek here. My limbs are shaking from exhaustion. Sweat pours down the hot skin of my face. Every breath I take in hurts. My broken ribs send a sharp stabbing pain that runs right to my core. I spent hours getting here. I ran till I couldn't anymore and then I stumbled like a crazed drunkard all the way here. I'm running on sheer force of will. The bitch beckons me forward. Every step I take forward fills me a sexual excitement. I'm so close.
The bouncer stands by the door. He's big, bald and mean. In a shit hole like this they need a man like him. As I draw closer to him, I can see the stern expression start to slip away from his face. The pink glow from the neon sign lights up the bulbous features of his face. He doesn't look horrified, I don't expect him too. It's not typical for a woman to come to a place like this. It's even less typical for someone who looks like me to show up. I am aware of how utterly disastrous I appear. I am covered in sweat, my skin is every conceivable shade of purple that you can be and I'm swollen in places that I didn't know even existed.
He doesn't stop to question me as I step through the swinging violet door. I can still feel his gaze follow me into the club. My nose fills with the stench of cigar smoke and cheap perfume. The carpet beneath my feet is a matted mess of maroon. The walls used to be an ungodly shade of pink but now they're stained with grime and the splooge of lonely men. A rhythmic bass beat pulses through the air. The music is so loud it's making my very bones shake. As I walk into the club, I'm very pleased to see there's not too many people here.
How fucking perfect. Strobe lights flash in my face as I survey the place. There's a bar to my right with a saggy titted bitch standing behind the counter in a gold bikini. She shoots me a dirty look as I approach her. Some tiny Mexican girl has her legs wrapped around the glossy pole in the center of the stage as a group of men shower her with crinkled bills. I climb onto one of the bar stools. My joints are throbbing from the journey and I can't help but grunt in pain. This close up, I can see the wrinkles on the bartender's face. She's wearing so much fucking make up and it makes her age even that much more obvious to me. She looks me up and down and wrinkles her nose.
"Can I get you something, sugar?" She asks.
She honestly gives no fucks why I'm here. It's unusual but all she gives a shit about is my fucking money. This is something that will only play to my advantage. Jesus, this is all going so fucking well. God is on my side tonight. This is going to pan out just the way I want it to. I'm so giddy with anticipation that my hands are shaking. I try to put on an innocent smile but the corner of my mouth is twitching way too fucking much. Why try to hide the crazy?
"Actually," I begin. "I'm not really interested in a drink."
The bartender rolls her eyes. She drums her acrylic nails on the surface of the counter.
"Well, you either buy a drink, or a dance, or you leave, okay?" the bartender presses.
She is so fucking rude. Maybe when I'm done with Maureen, I'll come back over to this bar and shove a broken bottle in her leathery fucking face.
"I'm actually looking for someone," I say.
I sound so fucking sugary sweet. Jesus, I'm so good at this shit. I'm a real fucking bitch.
"What?" The bartender says.
She sounds annoyed with me and I'm relishing the feeling of causing her this minor pain.
"You want a private dance?" The bartender asks. "Whatever fucking floats your boat."
I fold my hands across the bar counter and lean in closer to her. I motion for her to lean closer. I'm half tempted to punch her in the face but I still need her.
"I'd like things to be discreet," I lie. "I'm a little shy."
The bartender nods. I might actually believe that she sympathizes a bit with this imaginary situation I've created for her. Bless her dried up fucking heart.
"Its fine," the bartender assures. "We get women in here too sometimes. Do you want someone specific? We've got a menu-"
"Is Maureen working tonight?" I ask.
My question seems to catch her off guard. She raises one of her ungodly drawn on eyebrows.
"Yeah she is, you sure you want her?" the bartender asks. "Tessa is more into uh-servicing clients of your persuasion."
Her response fills me with elation. She's here. The whore is fucking here. I'm salivating over the prospect of her presence being so close. The bitch flashes image in my head of Trevor pounding his fat cock into her slippery fucking cunt. She chose the wrong man to screw. Of all the men on earth she chose mine. Biggest fucking mistake of her sad little life.
"I want Maureen," I press. "I can't have anybody else."
The bartender pulls back. I can tell by the look on her face that she thinks I'm the weirdest fucking person that has ever walked in here. I probably fucking am too. I don't care. I want to feel Maureen's hot blood splattering across my face as I kick the living shit out o her.
"Alright," The bartender says.
Jesus, could she sound anymore fucking awkward? If she treats all the customers like this, it makes a lot of fucking sense why this place is so fucking empty.
"I'll go get her for you," the bartender groans.
I watch her flat ass as she steps into the back room. I'm so fucking close. I seize the private moment. I pick at the stitches on my face. I have to do something. I have to keep my hands moving or I'll just go nuts on this whole fucking place right now. I should've just ran to the back room with a baseball bat. I shouldn't have horsed around with all this. That would've been a lot more fun than this but it also would've been very fucking stupid. I suppose though coming here period was pretty fucking stupid.
The ten minute wait seems like an eternity. When Maureen finally comes strutting out of the backroom I find myself taken a back. She's not at all what I was expecting. She's way to fucking thin. Her collar bones are sticking out from her freckled skin. Even with all that make up caked on her face I can see the distinctive scabs on her face. She's a junkie too. Her blonde hair is a mess of frizzy curls and her eyes look empty and sad. So she's not perfect but that doesn't make things any different. She fucked my Airman, she has to die.
"You're the one who wants the private dance?" Maureen asks.
Her voice sounds gruff and unenthusiastic. I know what Trevor saw in her now. For the briefest of moments I contemplate just walking away. Even though we look nothing alike, I feel like I'm staring in the mirror. I'm looking back at the person I was a handful of years ago. I'm looking at the woman he picked up at the bar. She's everything I used to be. She's a bit of a mess but she's so fucking beautiful. My bottom lip starts to tremble as I look her over.
No matter how hard I try I will never get back to that. I will never live up to those expectations ever again. I had no fucking clue just how fucking nice I had it. Fucking her was the worst thing Trevor could have ever done to me. This was worse than pulling the bank job without me. This was worse than those hookers he fucked. This was worse than the savage beatings he's subjected me too over and over. He's reminded me that I have turned into something so twisted and disgusting that there is no going back.
I had planned on waiting. I was going to take her to private room for a lap dance. I was going to lull her into a sense of security and then snap her in half like a twig. I'm in too much pain to think anymore. I leap at her. I can hear her bones snap as I shove her into the ground. The bartender starts screaming and chaos erupts in the club. The bass throbs in my head as claw the shit out of her pretty fucking face. Her blood coats my fingers and hot tears stream down my face. I cry out as I slam my fist into her little mouth again and again. Every time my knuckles meet her face, she's one step closer to looking just like me.
I feel strong arms grabbing at me, trying to pull me off of her. I kick and scream to break free from them. I tear my limbs away from a blessed fucking second and continue to wail on the bitch's busted fucking face. Sticky blood coats my hands as they drag me off of her still, frail body. I can barely understand the words they're shouting at me as they drag me out of the club. All I can think about is getting back to Maureen and turning her into a pile of hamburger. I swing at the bouncer's face and someone else latches onto my wrist. I thrash and curse at them.
Red and blue flashing lights greet me when they drag me out into the night. I don't even fucking care. I just want to kill that fucking bitch. I can still see her pretty face teasing me in my head. I see my old face dancing across my mind. The cops handle me like I'm an animal. They shove me up against the slick surface of the car and tug my hands behind my back. I thrash to try get away as they cuff me. The fucking pigs laugh at me as the shove me into the back of the car. I bang my head against the thick glass of the window. Instinct drives me to escape, it compels me to get out and get my hands back on her. I rattle the bars that separate me from the bastards in the front seat. I keep fighting even as the car rumbles down the street. The neon sign shrinks in the distance until it's barely a blip in the dark night.
I spend the night in jail cell. It takes hours for me to calm down. When the insanity slowly ebbs away my bullshit comes back with a raging passion. I am in jail. I am in fucking jail. I'm surrounded by cold concrete walls and rusted metal bars. My company consists of babbling drunks, boney hookers and mean looking bitches with a grudge. They're all scared of me too. I looked like I walked right out of a slasher movie. I'm covered in someone else's blood. No one will fuck with me. No matter how bad they think they are, I look badder. I don't regret a thing though. I would crush that pretty face a thousand times over. I still want to.
I'm not sure how many hours slip by as I sit alone in the corner. My back is pressed up against the icy surface of the walls and I run my nails across the stitches on my face. I tug on the threads because it's the closest thing I can do to picking. The pain is so minuscule though. No amount of picking or cleaning will undo this. There will be hell to pay when Trevor finds out. Every cop in this station will be dead. I can't allow that. Thinking about him triggers that ancient instinct within me. This is the worse mess I have ever created and it's time to clean it up. I've had my revenge but it has cost me my freedom. I had to do it though. I had no choice. I had to prove to Trevor that I'm not a joke.
A detective approaches my cell. The other women whistle at him and snicker. He's accompanied by two other officers. That's how I know he's here for me. After the struggle I put up, they're not fucking around with me. I won't fight them anymore. I know it's useless. I'm not blinded by my thirst for blood anymore. The detective calls my name and I sit up. I flash him a smile. Jesus, I must look really fucking pretty because he cringes.
"You don't need those two," I assure. "I'll be good, I promise."
The detective just shakes his head. His shitty black toupee looks like it's about to slip off his sweaty fucking head when he does it too. I giggle as the officers step in and cuff me again. They escort me out of the cell and down the narrow corridor.
"See ya, ladies," I tease as they haul me away.
The officers talk about me as if I'm not even there. They explain to the detective what happened when they picked me up. Apparently I did get a few hits in on them. I beam with pride at the thought. I assaulted an officer. That's good fucking news. I'm going to be put away for a long fucking time for that one.
I watch them unlock the door to the interrogation room. It's a place that I knew I would very well see one day. The yellow, florescent lights flicker over my head and peeling grey paint on the walls makes it even more inviting. The officers plop me down in the rickety folding chair and I watch the detective sit across from me. He shuffles the pile of papers on the filthy table. He won't look me in the eye. Am I too much for him? Am I too fucking scary for the big bad cop? The officers take their positions on either side of me. It brings a smile to my face. If only Trevor could see me now. He'd be so fucking proud.
The detective looks over the paperwork that he has spread out in front of him. His soft face looks haggard. I watch his eyes dart across the words on the pages. Eventually they flicker back up to me. He says my name and I flash him a toothless grin.
"That's me," I say. "Unless some aliens kidnapped me and replaced me with a clone."
No one finds that funny. Jesus, these guys are pricks.
"This really isn't the time for humor, ma'am," the detective says. "Do you realize how much trouble you're in?"
Oh I fucking do, the hand cuffs and the iron bars clued me in to that one. I've been a bad fucking girl.
"Okay, so I beat up some cunt." I say. "Big fucking deal."
His expression remains stone cold.
"We ran your prints," the detective explains. "You've done a lot more than that."
My heart literally fucking skips a beat. The smile falls away from my face. I try to lean forward to look at the papers but one of the officers pushes me back into my seat.
"What are you talking about?" I ask.
I try to search his face for any hint; any clue of what events are unfolding before my eyes.
"You must remember the gas station off of highway ninety," the detective says.
Shit, shit, shit. I finally get a fucking reaction from him. He's grinning like an obese kid who just heard the ice cream truck coming. He can tell I'm panicking. I'm fucked.
"We pulled your prints off the counter," he explains.
I'm so fucked. I'm so fucking fucked. Assault and armed robbery. That's some serious shit. That's at least ten fucking years in the slammer.
"I-I want a lawyer," I beg.
They're laughing at me now. I don't blame them. I'm a fucking idiot. I'd be laughing at me too. Jesus, if they can tie me to that gas station, they can tie Trevor to me too. He was there. Terror grips me in the chest. It feels tight and I'm having a hard time breathing. I can't send Trevor back to prison. I can't let him be hauled away. I might not have the power to keep that from happening. If there's a god, they don't have enough to get him. There still might be time for him to run.
"You had company at the gas station didn't you?" The detective says. "Maybe if you—"
"I ain't saying shit until I have a lawyer," I snap.
I'm full on in clean up mode now. I have one priority and that's keeping Trevor safe. I am going down for this. I will go away for a long fucking time. I won't let that happen to him. I won't put him through that again. I won't stab him in the back. We swore to each other we'd have each other's backs. Even after all the shit he's put me through lately, I can't do this to him.
They drag their feet getting me a lawyer. I know whoever it is, they'll be shit. Anyone that shows up from the public defender's office is a fucking joke. I'm so fucking screwed that I doubt anyone is willing to take on my case. I can't make bail and I refuse to call Trevor. I have to keep him as far away from me as possible if there's any hope for him to escape. I need to warn him somehow though. I need to get him the fuck out of here. How long will it take for them to figure out he's my boyfriend? They could be knocking on our front door right now. I won't be there to protect him. He'll be all on his fucking own.
Can he make it on his own? The one thing he's seem to proven over the past few months is that he doesn't fucking need me. He's a stronger human than I. He's capable of greater things than I could ever fucking imagine. If anything, I've been holding him back. I know he's a monster but at his heart he's a good man. He won't let me go down alone. Trevor would kill me before he let me go down alone. I can't give him the chance to do this. I start to formulate my plan before my lawyer arrives. There are so many chances for it to fall apart but I have no other options.
We meet in the same fucking room they dragged me in to interrogate me. It leaves me feeling uneasy. I know they're still watching me in here. I have to choose my words carefully. I have to hope that the suit they send in is willing to cooperate with me. I'm a raving lunatic. Who the fuck is really going to listen to me? I find comfort in the fact that she's a woman too. She looks like a fucking angel. She has perfect brown skin and long golden hair. She's the fucking angel of my salvation. She has kind eyes and I can tell she actually fucking feels sorry for me. Her pity won't be enough though to get me out of this.
"My name's Joan Harrow," she says.
She holds out her perfectly manicured hand. A frown creeps across her face when she remembers I'm cuffed and can't shake her hand.
"Nice to meet you Joan," I say.
She smiles awkwardly. I have to place all my hopes on this stranger. If she can make happen what I need to, than I'll have won.
"I've reviewed your case," Joan says. "I must say, things are not looking good for you."
I laugh. It's a weak sound and I don't really fucking mean it. How many more people are going to tell me I'm fucked? I'm well fucking aware of that. Thanks for sharing.
"I know," I say.
Joan sets her thin suitcase on the table and flicks it open. She takes out yet another stack of paperwork. Jesus, these fuckers certainly love their goddamn forms. Joan sets them down in front of me. I don't even care. I don't want to see them.
"You can read over those if you like," Joan says. "You can read, right?"
Wow, am I that much of a fucking hoodlum that she thinks I can't?
"Yes," I growl.
She laughs nervously and I just shake my head.
"You're looking at a lot of time," Joan explains. "Armed robbery, assault and battery-if you cooperate with the police, it'll help lessen your sentence. I think that's all we can hope for."
I expected her to say this. She means well but she has no idea the type of person her client is.
"I know how the street is. You don't want to be a snitch but you need to look out for yourself," Joan goes on. "I guarantee those guys would back stab you in a heartbeat if it meant they could get off."
She has no fucking idea what it's like to live my life. She gets points for trying though. Joan doesn't realize that this is only going to end one way.
"That's not happening," I say. "I'm sorry. You can talk my ear off all fucking day if you want but I will not back down on this. I will not turn my partner in. No matter how much you fucking try, you will have to pry open my skull on my cold dead corpse to get their name."
Joan shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She clears her throat before she speaks again.
"I'm sorry you feel that way," Joan says.
She starts to pack away the papers she set out. Smart fucking woman, I like her, it's a pity we had to meet under these circumstances.
"Well, I understand you have a history of mental health problems?" Joan says. "We can try to plead insanity."
This business can be addressed later. Trevor's all that matters to me right now. Until I know he's taken care of I won't be able to concentrate on my case.
"I need you to secure me a meeting with a man called Michael Townley," I say.
Joan freezes and gives me a queer look. She brushes her blonde hair away from her face and smiles nervously.
"Um…who is that?" Joan asks.
I glance at the camera hanging up in the corner. They can't hear me but they can fucking see me. I need to get used to being watched. Privacy is a luxury I won't get to experience anymore.
"It doesn't matter, can you do it?" I say.
It's not a complicated fucking question, Joan. Just answer me.
"I need to talk to him, once we've spoken, I'm all yours," I say. "Can you do that for me?"
"Yeah, I can do that. Is he your boyfriend or something?" Joan says.
That makes me laugh. Shit, it feels fucking good to actually find something funny.
"Thank fucking God he is not," I chuckle.
Joan stands up and smoothes out the wrinkles in her purple skirt. I have a good feeling about her. I think she's exactly the person I needed to get this job done.
"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Joan asks.
If she could teleport Trevor here so I could kiss him goodbye and beg him to forgive me that would be fucking golden. There's no way to make that happen. There's no way I will ever get to properly bid him farewell. His silver grin flashes across my mind and I feel the weight of defeat settling in my heart.
"No, Joan, that's all I need," I say.