Page 16 of Touch Her and Die
I plucked petals off the Gerber daisy from Mr. Smith’s grave.
“Thanks, Mr. Smith. Hope you’ve been having a good month.” I sat down next to another headstone.
“Hey, sissy. How’s your day? Mine’s been a little rough.”
She didn’t answer, because, well, she was dead. They all were. The grass welcomed me as I lay down on the top of the grave that had over fifteen years to grow green grass and erase the memories that I could still see like they were yesterday.
“So, there’s this guy. I know, I know. I should have told you sooner, but he sort of had me in a prison. And don’t scold me. This one’s different.”
I plucked another petal off. “He dies.” The orange petal landed on the grass next to me as the wind picked up.
“Anyway. He’s been really good to me. No, he hasn’t exactly let me pick the victims, but sissy, you wouldn’t believe it. He found dear old uncle. The dickless one. I’m glad you never had to meet him.”
The flower protested a little as I plucked the next petal. It’s stem just not quite strong enough to handle being plucked.
“Sorry flower.” I tossed it back to the grave I’d borrowed it from. “Thanks, Mr. Smith, but next time, can you ask for flowers that are little better for he dies, he dies not? I know how much you love that little game.”
I rolled to my stomach and looked at the headstone I’d bought and paid for a few years ago when things had gotten better financially.
“So anyway. He’s really different. Treats me good and understands my therapy. Oh, and you wouldn’t believe how good he is in bed.”
I licked my own lips at this thought. I’d gone back to give him my little gifts and I’d faltered. But not now. I was okay.
I wish I could see how all my gifts were received. His uncle would be very surprised when he got a bunch of middle fingers from my victim’s right hands. And Parks’ new bride? Well, she got the left ones. I giggled.
“Sissy, what would you do if you your boyfriend was engaged to some rich Barbie?”
The stone was still smooth as I ran my fingers over her name. Maggie.
“Yeah. I know. Never give up. I won’t. And the flower agrees. He won’t die. I’d miss his dick. I know, weird right? Okay, maybe his winning personality too. How many men would let you torture someone on their time?”
Is such a short time Parks was in every memory I had. Everything about him was somehow a part of me and I wanted to hate it.
I wanted to hate him.
I laid there, looking at the grave and let the breezes of the cemetery feather over my numb body, taking comfort in the familiar nothing.
“I guess, at least I’m not broken entirely, Maggie. It’s so much easier this way. You have it so good. Not feeling a thing anymore. No more pain. No more sadness.”
A shadow eclipsed the sun, and I blinked up.
“I thought I was the only one to come here.”
I didn’t bother moving.
“This grave’s taken, and she died young, so I know you aren’t an old boyfriend. So, fuck off.”
He chuckled, but it did nothing for me. It wasn’t Parks.
“You can have Mr. Smith. His flowers suck though, or I’d be deciding if I killed you now or later. I don’t like when people interrupt my personal space.”
He didn’t say anything still, and he didn’t sit. He moved, and I hoped that was the last of him.
“Listen, I’m not in the habit of asking strange women dressed in bloody evening wear out to coffee, but let’s face it. When will I ever meet someone else in a cemetery?”
I blew out a breath and tried to think of something adultish to say.
I was unavailable? I just went through a really bad breakup? I was pregnant with the spawn of Satan? What should I go with?
