Page 17 of Stealing His Cupcake
“N-no,” Turbo whimpers. “No, he wasn’t. It doesn’t make any sense. Please, I don’t know who killed him. The cops—”
“The cops don’t know a damn thing.” The stranger pauses as if deep in thought and I hold my breath because suddenly it’s quiet, too quiet, with only Turbo’s wheezing breaths and whimpers filling the room. There’s no way the man wouldn’t hear my labored breathing, so I simply don’t breathe. Black spots dance in front of my eyes when he finally asks, “What about his girlfriend?”
I almost whimper at that. Why is he asking about me? What has Craig gotten himself into?
“Who?” Turbo asks, sounding so genuinely confused I contemplate marching into that room, taking the stranger’s knife and stabbing the asshole myself. He knows me! We’ve met twice before!
The stranger doesn’t seem satisfied with Turbo’s ignorance either, because several slaps follow. “His girlfriend, you idiot. Amy Hudges?”
Ohmy god, he knows my name. I’m so fucking dead. Of all the people who could know I was Craig’s girlfriend, why does it have to be a psychopathic murderer?
“Oh. The fat Black chick? She— Ow!”
Turbo’s words are interrupted by a ferocious growl from the stranger, followed by a dull thudding as he punches every available inch of Turbo’s body. “Do.” Thud. “Not.” Thud. “Talk.” Thud. “About. Her. Like. That!” Thud, thud, thud. The last word is punctuated by a subduedpop, like a kernel of a corn popping on a stove, inside a pot covered by a heavy lid. Muffled, but still distinguishable.
For a long moment, there’s silence but just as I begin to think Turbo’s dead, he wheezes in a pained breath. The stranger’s words finally register as well, nearly making me gasp. Is he…defending me? What the hell is happening?
Turbo groans. “S-sorry. Sorry. That’s just, fuck, that’s what Craig said.”
“What did Craig say?”
Yeah, what did Craig say? I know I should be freaking out about being an eyewitness to a murder—because somehow I’m certain this won’t end in just a beating—and about the fact I’m most likely going to die today because I’m literally too stupid to live, but at least I’ll have my answers. What did Craig say about me to his friend?
Silence. Then the stranger probably nudges Turbo with a knife, because he cries out and starts talking. “She wasn’t his girlfriend. Like, not for real. Just a chick he strung along. It was a game, you know? How far he could push her until she wouldn’t crawl back anymore. But she always did. Craig would laugh at how pathetic she—” Another thud. Anotherpop. More wheezing. “Fuck, man,” Turbo groaned. “My ribs.”
He babbles on, claiming he was only repeating what Craig said, but I can’t make out the words over the pounding in my ears. A game? That’s what I meant to Craig? Was anything we had real or was it all just a joke to him?
The pain is back with a vengeance, crippling in its intensity. Everything I believed in was a lie. My boyfriend, the man I loved more than anything, never loved me. I was a joke to him. A naïve, pathetic girl so desperate for affection she’d crawl over broken glass just to get kicked over and over. How did I not see it? All those “compliments” Craig used to give me, sweet on the outside but always with a barb, aimed to cause maximum pain. To humiliate.
My pathetic whimper, despite my hands covering my mouth, is still too loud. Fortunately, Turbo is coughing and crying as the stranger does god knows what to him, but I’m reminded that if I want a chance to learn from my mistakes, I need to get out of here alive.
Get out of here. That’s what I’m focusing on, not on how my life has just fallen apart further than I ever thought possible. I wanted answers, and I got them. I guess it just proves the old saying: “Be careful what you wish for”.
Focus, Amy. Get out of here. But how? No matter how distracted the stranger is with torturing Turbo, I’d never make it past him to the door. Looking around, frantic, my gaze falls on the window. That could work. We’re on the second floor. It’s high, but not that high. A broken ankle is better than being dead. I just need to unlatch the window, slide it open and climb out. All that without making a sound. Piece of cake.
I’m about to silently step away from the door when something the stranger is currently growling at Turbo permeates my foggy mind. “… the raped girls?”
I know it’s stupid and I know it will get me killed, but I keep listening, my heart thudding so hard I’m worried the sound alone will give me away. I need to know what the man is talking about. Craig was a lying, cheating asshole, but he wouldn’t go that far. Would he?
“Don’t know anything about it,” Turbo quickly replies. Too quickly. Even I hear the lie in his voice.
There’s no thud or pop this time. There’s a sickening crunch instead, immediately followed by a hoarse wail. “Quiet,” the stranger admonishes. “The neighbors might not be at home right now, but I can’t have you squealing like a pig. Even if you live like one,” he adds with a scoff. “Scream again and I’ll sever your vocal cords. We can play 20 questions then. Only I’m really bad at it, so it will probably take all night and things tend to get bloody when I’m frustrated.”
Turbo whimpers. “S-sorry.”
“Lie to me again and it will cost you more than a finger.” The stranger’s tone is flat, as if he was just announcing he’s going to get his umbrella because it looks like it might rain. Not threatening to—god, did he really cut off Turbo’s finger? Bile rises in my throat and I swallow savagely to push it back. I cannot start vomiting right now.
“Tell me about the girls.”
“I-I just got the pills! From a friend. Fuck man, I’m bleeding!”
“You’ll be bleeding a lot more if you don’t start talking right now.”
More whimpers. They stutter to a stop when the stranger raises his knife again. That gets Turbo talking. “I gave Craig the pills. He got the girls. College parties usually. He’d slip the pill into their drink, talk them up a bit, and when they were pliable, he’d bring them here. We just…it was just some fun. It’s not like we hurt them or anything. It was just sex.”
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. Blanking out, I stumble back, away from the door, from the conversation, from the truth, because what am I supposed to do now? I knew I didn’t know Craig as well as I would have liked to, but…this?
An empty candy wrapper crinkles under my foot but I barely notice, the significance not reaching me because Craig wasn’t just a lying, cheating, arrogant asshole, but also a rapist. How could I have loved someone like that? What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I really that desperate for companionship that I’d stay with a monster, ignoring and excusing all of his red flags because I simply couldn’t bear the thought of being alone? What does that make me?
