Page 77 of Crybaby

So I begin to saw at it. No idea how I’ll get through the bone, but I’m not thinking that far ahead.

Rev grabs my wrist to halt me. “Not that one.” He’s drawing a line, and I don’t know why. “Pick another one.”

I sigh, realizing how fucked life would be without an index finger. How would he text me his apology without it? How would he flush the toilet?

I really don’t fucking care, and I look at Rev in disbelief. Is he softening? What the fuck?

I keep going, trying to cut this meaty thing off, but in one swift movement, Rev rips the knife from my hand and stabs through his ring finger against the floor. He cracks through the bone and smashes Blake in the face another time for good measure.

He casually hands me his finger as I watch the blood gush around the rest of his fingers on the floor beside Blake’s head.

I drop the finger quickly like it’s hot because, I swear, I felt a pulse in it. I shiver and make little fists with all of mine. Why does this feel worse than watching Buckets lose a whole hand in the sink? Rogue fingers are just creepy as fuck, I guess.

Pulling myself together, I finish my masterpiece by taking that finger and shoving it as far up Blake’s anal passage as I can. I hope it gets lost in there. Grabbing the burning candle, Rev sears his amputation, and I can smell burning bacon mixed with something metallic.

I dunno if that even works, so I slide his belt out from his pants and fasten it around his wrist tightly to slow the blood flow. “Honestly, I don’t care if he loses his whole hand. He and Buckets can start a boy band, for all I care.”

I’m not making sense, but Rev feels me and knows I’m broken inside. He doesn’t question me or give me looks of judgment, and for that, I’m grateful.

The word CRYBABY is beginning to swell, but I think it will be there to stay. No one likes a crybaby. Except maybe prison inmates when they rail that little bitch in the laundry room. The vision tickles my senses, and I can’t help the evil smile that creeps across my face.

Well, holy mother of fuck. I’m so hard, I can barely see straight. Something about watching Darcie in her element is utterly cathartic. I suppose that makes us both fucked up because most would be hitting the road after watching what I just did.

But it makes me want her all the more.

She smiles, pleased with her handiwork as she cuts the clothes from Blake’s body, dusts off her hands, and stands. “Don’t want his little minions to recognize him,” she explained why she disrobed him. “Let’s go.”

And just like that, she’s done.

Or so I thought.

I stand, but when Darcie hunts through the drawers of the bureau, I know we are far from done. She holds up a gun, her eyes wide with excitement. She retrieves another and smiles.

“We’re going to take a walk. Rev, I need your trench coat.”

It seems she’s thought all of this through. I toss her my coat.

Peering at Blake’s ass, I see there is one single word.

CRYBABY

A snort escapes me because that shit is fucking funny.

Blake is still passed out, so I yank him up by the scruff of the neck and help Darcie dress him in my coat. Darcie slips the guns into the deep pockets, and then we lead him from the room. To onlookers, he is merely drunk, swaying from side to side, so when we descend the stairs, no one heeds any attention to us.

It’s just another day in the office for us friends.

Darcie makes her way toward the entrance, but I shake my head. I know a back way.

She follows my lead without asking questions. I know she’ll ask how I know about this place. The security doesn’t look twice as they open the door for us. The moment we’re outside, the cold air slaps life into Blake, who inhales sharply.

Darcie holds on tight, but I know she doesn’t stand a chance if he decides to fight. So I let him go, only to headbutt him out cold. I don’t bother catching him, and he collapses to the concrete with a thud.

“A shame, really,” I say, gripping both of Blake’s ankles. He’s still wearing his boots. “I really liked this coat.”

Darcie arches a brow, but when I commence dragging a passed-out Blake along the ground, she understands after tonight, we’re all ruined in some way, shape, or form.

I retrieve the guns from his pocket before tossing his ass into the back of the pickup we stole. We both quickly get in, as we don’t want to cause any more of a scene with the cops on our asses. The truck roars to life as I take off into the night, never looking back at the mess we made.

---