Page 53 of Crybaby

“Stop it! Stop it!” shouts the girl. “You’re killing him!”

That’s the point…

I proceed to grab a shard of the lamp shade now broken and jam it into his face. I turn to her while he’s staked to the floor through his eye.

“You really should have more self-worth than to defend this asshole,” I say matter-of-factly.

I start wrapping the electrical cable around his neck and yank hard on it like Princess Leia did to Jabba the Hutt.

“You’re a fucking psycho!” she screams and frees herself from the last tie and hightails it buck naked out the window.

Moments later, Rev appears, looking down at me straddling Mr. Mutilated, and gives me a, “Tsk tsk,” as he folds his arms and leans against the doorframe.

Damn, he looks hot.

My eyes mischievously lock on his like he’s just caught me eating birthday cake before the big day.His hair falls carelessly over one eye, which he shakes out of the way and runs his big hand back through it. He gives me that big Joker smile I’m becoming addicted to.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he mocks with a wave of his hand, telling me to finish what I started.

I bring my leg around, jam my foot under Billy Bob’s chin, and yank back harder on the cord—this motherfucker just won’t die.

The song changes, and I start singing, “Bbaabbyyyy.”

The guy looks at me with one eye like he knows it’s the end.

Rev sighs. “Okay, he’s had enough. We gotta bounce.”

I give up trying to attempt murder in the first degree because clearly, I’m not well practiced.

The asshole is moaning, and I think he’s gone into shock. Maybe I should’ve just cut his dick off. I could have gifted the chick with a memento to take home in a party bag.

Looking at him, I see that he already had a face only a mother could love, and now, I don’t even think his mother would.

“Get cleaned up,” Rev says, nodding toward the bathroom. “I’ll deal with our friend here.”

Rev smiles sweetly, hands in his pockets, looking down at him. I can see him analyzing the guy and figuring out how heavy he would be.

I grab some clothes I need from the floor that the girl must have been wearing—she had some style I’m really liking. Baggy army pants, long coat with a hood, and old combat boots held together with silver gaffer tape, which have been decorated in black pen drawings with stars and broken hearts.

I think we would have gotten along had the setting for our first introduction been different.

I walk into the bathroom and look into the dirty mirror at all the blood spatter on my face. I don’t hate what I see.

I find a tube of lipstick in the pocket of my new jacket and try it on without cleaning my face.

Ruby red.

Something I’d never wear, but when in Rome…

I open the mirrored cabinet in front of me to peruse all the sedating drugs Billy Bob was using on his victims.

I slide open one of the drawers, and what do you know—pretty little hair samples all lined up in a neat row. Tied so meticulously with childlike silk ribbons.

There’s a blonde, several brunettes of all shades, and a fiery red.

He’s a collector.

Fucking sick bastard, I did the world a favor.

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