Page 80 of Crybaby

None of this makes sense as it’s the ramblings of a desperate man. But it appears someone blackmailed Blake, and like a pussy, he caved, which makes what he did even worse.

“I don’t care!” Darcie screams, getting into Blake’s face. She yanks on his hair and pulls his head back. “Who told you? Motherfucker, who!”

Blake’s lower lip trembles. He is actually afraid of this asshole. “I can’t tell you. He’ll kill me.”

With a few rounds left in my gun, I place it against Blake’s sweaty temple. “Wrong answer, fucker. Answer her.Now.”

This is the moment of truth, but the answer is, what’s going to happen when Darcie uncovers the truth?

I can see Blake’s pulse punching at the side of his throat, his heart desperate to give in because that will be far more merciful than the fate headed his way.

“Carson.”

Darcie gasps, and I can see her mind cataloging over the night to determine if Blake is lying. When the full moon catches the tears in her eyes, the answer is clear.

“Please kill me,” he begs, eyes pleading with me.

He knows when Carson finds out who the snitch is, death will seem like a mercy.

I look at Darcie, who seems to have slipped into a world where she doesn’t want to exist.

However, when the junkyard fills with blue and red lights, I know it’s time to bounce. The cops have been on our asses, but I refuse to be caught inside this shithole.

“Baby, we gotta go.”

But Darcie doesn’t move.

Gripping her cold cheeks in my palms, I coax her to look at me. “It’s just you and me, baby, versus the world. Come back to me.”

I can hear static over walkie-talkies. The cops are coming.

“Kill me, man, please,” Blake says, yanking at the ropes at his wrists.

But I don’t have time. I can’t draw attention to where we are.

His voice seems to rouse her, and she turns her cheek with deadly precision. “You’re already dead inside.”

She returns her focus on me and her pain, fuck me dead, I want to eat it and swallow it whole so she’ll never look at me with that vacant look ever again.

“Let’s go.”

Darcie thankfully nods, and we take off, like fugitives into the night, keeping to the shadows…and Blake still breathes…for now.

It’s late, almost morning, by the time we check into a run-down motel room where no one would look to find us. I’m covered in blood, piss, and ink. I feel disgusting, and the high is gone.

I don’t know what I feel other than low seeping dread in my stomach.

Carsondid this to me?

Flashbacks leave me winded when I think of him trying to help me in the parking lot. His sweet, understanding smile and demeanor. I close my eyes, and I can see the dark figure that was smoking in the bleachers. Just watching.

Was that him?

A scent drifts under my nose, like a memory that I can literally smell—the scent of his aftershave mixed with…cigarette smoke.

Did he orchestrate this so he could come out looking like a hero? Prince Charming, dashing in with his white sports car to rescue me from his fuckboy rapists? Then what? I fall madly in love with him because he goes off and pretends to beat them up and protect me?

This is fucking messed up.

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