Back in my hotel room, JC paced from one corner to the next, “What were you thinking? I told you to kill her!”next“I couldn’t do it!” I’m sitting in my bathtub playing with the bar of soap. JC pulled himself on the counter. His jaw is offset, something he does a lot when he’s pissed. He already chewed off a fingernail; the dried blood covered a few fingers and his lips. “She’s dead now so it doesn’t matter.”
“She could have talked.”
“But she didn’t.”
Silence fills the room like always. Under his breath, I hear JC mumble “Fucking gimp” as he gets up to leave the bathroom. I don’t want to leave the bathtub now. I’m scared that when I get up and walk into the room, he’ll hack off my dick or beat me to a bloody pulp.
JC + pissed off + past haunting + no sex = someone is going to die tonight.
I just hope that someone wasn’t going to be me.
I can’t help, but cry now. I let the tears fall into the bathwater and sob softly. I’m not crying because Melanie was dead, I could care less about her at this moment. I’m not crying because of what I did to her or what JC did to her simply because I never recalled that happening. I’m crying because I knew who she was, despite what she accused me of doing. I’m crying because she let me hear everything before JC fulfilled her wish. But I’m crying mainly because I didn’t get any sex tonight.
Billboard night is my highest sex night of the year and it’s over. It’s three in the morning and my dick hasn’t touched tongue, pussy or ass since twelve hours ago. Damn it all!
Out of the blue, I hear Frank Sinatra singing “New York, New York.” The last time JC played Sinatra that loud, someone that was completely innocent died. Whether he was the one that did it or his story of burglars breaking in, someone did die. After the song repeats for the seventh time, I can’t stand it anymore. The lukewarm water is starting to turn cold and I need to know what in the world JC is doing out in my room.
Most of all, he better not be touching my girl. That pussy is mine.
I drain the water out of the tub, still sitting in it of course. It feels funny when you do that, try it sometime. I’m careful not to step on the bar of soap I left in the middle of the tub, wrap a towel around my waist and head out into the main room.
No, no. This is not happening. This is not supposed happen.
Blood… everywhere. My girlfriend’s body lies ripped up on the bed. Her intestines are draped over the lamps and curtains. Her eyes are floating in a cup of ice water on the night stand beside the bed. Various organs are scattered around the room.
The walls that were once white, were now painted over with deep, dark, red blood. More blood than I knew a human body could pump. I walk further into the room, making sure not to step on my girl’s parts.
There’s something stuck to the top of ceiling. Can’t really make out what it is.
I get atop the bed. Her head which was hacked off rolls and touches my foot. I want to throw up, but there’s nothing in my stomach to come up. I try to stand the feeling of her dead tongue touching my foot, but it was just too much for me. I end up kicking the head off the bed. I don’t know where she landed.
I’m getting dizzy. I look up at the ceiling and stand on my toes to get a better view. Holy shit.
Atop the ceiling was a small piece of flesh ripped from her body. The black ink from her tattoo had already started to turn a dark purple color.
Joey’s Only.