Page 60 of Crybaby

She collapses against my chest, breathing heavily, but when she realizes I didn’t come, she grips my cock and starts jerking me off. I don’t stand a chance.

With our eyes locked, I come so fucking hard all over her legs and dress, I can’t see straight.

I lean forward, resting my forehead against her shoulder, and she caresses the back of my neck.

We are entwined—sticky, bloody, and spent.

Buckets is still alive and partially witnessed the whole thing in some way or another, in and out of consciousness. Poetic justice, really. He tried to break her, but he could never.

Darcie turns off the tap and garbage disposal, and we watch Buckets slide down to the kitchen floor with a thud. His hand is no more. All that remains is a mangled mass of meat and tissue. A nice deep hole in his head from the missing eye too.

His blood begins to stain the white floor as he lies on his back, staring at the water stains on the ceiling.

We don’t discuss whether we should call an ambulance or not. Let the Lord decide. Hewasthe one who brought us here.

The night is thumping—in my head, in my legs, and in the air. I wonder if this is what serial killers feel like after their first murder. Like a mix of oxytocin and adrenaline far greater than any drug could provide.

The wind is soft and much warmer than the cold nights we’ve been having. Rev keeps reaching his big hand around the back of my neck to caress the bare skin there.

I hate theme parks, but it’s like I’m seeing one for the first time, and my eyes are alight with all the neon colors and smells of candy apples, popcorn, and cotton candy. I’m suddenly craving that rush of sugar to the system after you put that pink fluff on your tongue, and it immediately dissipates.

Teenagers are squealing on rides turning every which way with distorted faces like a bunch of horror masks laughing.

I grab Rev’s hand and pull him over to the guy selling cotton candy.

“I want it,” I say, licking my lips.

“You always get what you want, don’t you?” he asks against the back of my ear as he wraps his arms around my waist from behind.

“Always,” I reply, grabbing the cotton candy and throwing some coins at the guy.

Rev immediately takes a bite out of my perfect pink tree, and I slap his hand playfully. Is this what love feels like? Or is it lust? His mouth is cheeky and sticky, so I grab his face and lick it right off his lips.

“That’s mine.” Staring into his eyes, I dare him to try again.

“What is? Me or the cotton candy?”

“All of it.” I laugh and pinch a ball of it to stick in my mouth, and then another before I’m finished.

Our boots scuff along the dirt ground covered in junk food wrappers and game ticket stubs. There’s a head of a soft toy elephant on the ground, and I kick it.

“Oh, poor Dumbo,” jokes Rev.

“Fuck Dumbo,” I say. “He couldn’t keep his head on straight.”

In the distance, I see a group of boys trying their hand at the strength game, smashing a hammer down and watching a marker fly up to ding a bell. They’re clearly drunk and really annoying the attendant.

Rev leads me over to them. “Hey, I bet you that jacket that my girl Veronica here can smash the bell right off its hinges.”

He has his hands in his pockets again. He’s so cool that it’s ridiculous. He’s unflinching and stoic with the undertone of a devilish broken angel. I’m staring at him. Full trust that whatever he’s doing, it’s okay.

“And what do we get if she doesn’t?” a clearly wasted blond guy challenges.

“The keys to my car. It’s the truck over there by the hot dog stand,” he says, pointing.

“Fuck yeah!” They all cheer and push each other around.

I’m hearing a song beating in the background, some old ’80s track.

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