Page 61 of Grave Love
I want him to suffer.
Sure enough, in his usual form, Arnold checks into a tiki bar in Tallahassee, with some hashtag about influencing and meeting people in “real life.”
The bar swarms in shades of rolling blue, a light projector in each corner to give the bar the appearance of being underwater. Arnold rests his forearms on the countertop, licking his lips at the bartender as he gawks at her cleavage. His button-up shirt is undone at the top, his chest hair poking out, and an oversized, gaudy smartwatch is on his wrist, so shiny it’s practically a disco ball. The device glares, and the bartender flinches away. Arnold winks at her.
No matter how hard he tries to disguise it, Arnold is nothing. Just like we are. And I’m going to make sure he knows that before he dies.
“You’re so pretty, you know that?” Arnold says. “You should smile more. A pretty girl like you? You’d make a ton of tips if you just smiled more. I can take your picture for the bar’s website if you want. I’m a great photographer.”
“Yeah?” the bartender says. “Do you want another drink from this resting bitch face, or are you going to keep giving me unsolicited advice?”
“Babe, you know I’m only trying to help you.”
Annoyance flares in my veins. With anyone else, I’d be amused, idly watching to see how long the bartender will take it before she shuts him down for good. Withhimthough, I don’t see the bartender rolling her eyes and shoveling his bullshit back to him. I see a younger, more vulnerable version of Ren, tucking her black hair behind her ear, looking down at her stomach. Gazing in the mirror. Wondering if he thinks she’s pretty enough now that she’s wearing some makeup.
I keep an eye on Arnold, and as the night draws on, it’s obvious thatdespitehis advances, he’s going home alone.
Makes things easier for me.
I follow him to his car—the fucker shouldn’t be driving anyway—and I grab him from behind, then stab him with the syringe, the sedative filling his veins. He swings his fists, but quickly passes out, relaxing into me.
I move him behind the dumpster. A surveillance camera hangs from the building’s back wall, a loose cable limp on the side of it. It’s all for show, like him.
Once the bastard is bound and in the trunk of my car, I take him to Blountstown. The grave is still there, the same one I half-buried Ren inside of, and there’s satisfaction in imagininghimtaking her place. Near where my mother is buried. One pathetic excuse for a human rotting next to the corpse of another.
I drop him inside of the hole.
Stop crying, or I’ll never let you out,my mother had said through the closet door, the memory of her words filling my head as I stare down at Arnold. His body is in a dark hole in the ground, where he can barely see. Where he’ll fucking die. His strong jaw is set, a touch of gray in his brown hair. Dimpled cheeks. He was probably the star of the football team or something stupid like that.
It’s annoying; I can see why Ren liked him.
My mind shoots back again, remembering why my mother preferred my brother.
Why can’t you be better?my mother had said.Your brother never complained like this, you know that? But you? You act like it’s worse than death. If you just shut the fuck up and behaved like a good boy, we wouldn’t be here right now, would we?
Vibrations fill me, the rage coursing through each nerve. The same sensation I got after I watched them fuck my mother. After they took me too.
I told them they could do whatever they wanted,she had said later, like an afterthought.They liked you. I guess there’s a good reason to keep you around.
My mother. Ren’s grandmother. Even Arnold here, the fucking parasite. They’re all the same.
I step on Arnold’s chest, shifting my weight on top of him, my mother’s words filling my head with steam. Each explanation she crammed down my throat. Each lie she told to keep the guilt from taking over. I should see myself in Arnold. I should take pity on him. Instead, I remember the time my mother watched as the first man gave me the cut on my side. How she watched as the other men reopened the wound, letting me bleed. How they all laughed. How I had to learn to take care of the gash, otherwise, it’d get infected again. I remember how she threatened to leave me in the closet if I didn’t stop crying. Those times she said I’d never amount to anything worthwhile in this world. The times I believed her.
Perhaps I do see a sliver of myself in Arnold’s lifeless body. I can see how his insecurities are like Ren’s. Like mine once were.
But I’m not going to let him fuck overmycorpse.
I move my boot, putting pressure on the fucker’s throat. He coughs, then his eyes flutter open and widen as he comes to terms with his new surroundings. I lift my boot, letting him absorb the situation. He’s in peril now.
Panic wrinkles his face, his lips quivering as if the shock has instantly cleared the sedative out of his system. I flick open my switchblade, heat snaking through me.
If only Ren could see him now.
“What the fuck, man?” he slurs. “What is this? Who are you?”
Usually, I enjoy a slow death, savoring every last heartbeat. With him, the rage fills my knuckles until I fall to my knees and stab him repeatedly in the stomach. I don’t stop. My hands turn whiter than before, and the handle of the knife coats in red. Blood gurgles over his lips, and I laugh. I even pull the blade down and split open his stomach. Thread his intestines through my fingers like seaweed on the beach.
His organs are hot. Slippery like jellyfish. My dick throbs as I look down at him, but all I see is Ren: her blank eyes coming to life, then emptying back into that sweet abyss she wants to escape inside of. Her unconscious cave.
