Read The Devil's Monologue Online
Authors: Kimberly Fuller
Tags: #hell, #bully, #devil, #afterlife, #3 years later, #h a carter
The Devil's Monologue (2 page)
here!”
A booming slur screamed in
my ear from down the hall. I knew whatever I had done this time was
going to get me a slap to the back of the head, maybe even a shove
through the doorway. Time will tell. Sometimes I just wish I knew
what it was I had done. Maybe next time I'll actually do it. I bet
he'd like that.
I miss the way he used to
be,
I thought sadly.
knowing full well that would only anger him more, but I didn't give
two shits these days about what he thought. Too much time has
passed, and I have done far too much for me to care what he thinks.
The days of pleasing Daddy were over. I knew a lot of things were
over lately.
The Old Man never used to get so angry with
me, even when he was drunk. So much has changed these last few
months. None of it good. I know that dirty whore and her freak has
changed him into this bitter puppet that I call “Dad”. Why won't my
mom put a stop to this? She has to know what's going on? It's so
embarrassing!
“Jacky! I said now, you little fuck!”
I heaved a deep sigh and got up out bed. I
shoved my hand through the gaping fist shaped hole in the front of
my broken bedroom door and started down the hall towards the spare
bedroom. Last door on the left. I knew for sure that's where I'd
find him, wreaking of whiskey and cigars. Another night of
“overtime”, I'm guessing. I wonder if they bother to get a hotel or
just fuck in the parking lot.
His “overtime” nights all
end up the same. He comes home late, half crocked, wreaking of
cheap perfume and smoke, and pining in his “office” of forlorn. His
“office” being nothing more than a half empty room filled with his
old high school trophies and newspaper articles of “what could have
been” memories scattered amongst a dozen dust covered boxes that
hadn't been moved since I was knee high to a stack of bibles.
Occasionally an article or two would end up downstairs, or a trophy
would get dusted and displayed in the living room for a few days,
but other than that the room was a tomb of broken dreams. He
frequently reminded me of why his dreams were shattered every time
I walked through that doorway. Somehow my mere existence deprived
the world of his greatness. Apparently sex ed didn't exist in his
time because God forbid should he ever take responsibility for his
own pubescent actions behind the bleachers. I mean, how was he to
know screwing the cheerleader would cause a baby? Teen pregnancy
was just an urban legend, right?
Fucking
Jerk.
slowly, cautiously. The Old Man was slumped over his worn leather
chair, clutching an old tattered year book. The aroma of whiskey
was so thick that I coughed hoarsely, both choking on it's
heaviness and easing in its comforting familiar taste as it tickled
my tongue with each breath. I suddenly felt ashamed to be standing
in front of him.
“Yeah, Dad?” I said just above a whisper,
hoping he really wouldn't hear me and just pass out like usual. I
wasn't sure if I could take a confrontation tonight.
He roused only slightly, groaning and
snorting as he did so, drool already puddling on his fake wooden
desk, “Jacky, you little piece of shit. You! It's all your fault!
All you and....that damn... I could have....we
could've...been...”
Here we go again,
I thought. It always came to this. Every f-ing
time! I braced myself, waiting to hear the onslaught of
disappointments and shoulda coulda wouldas. It honestly used to
make me hate myself, pushing me to be the best. At the very least
to be better than
him.
I knew the real reason why my dad drank constantly and ended
up in his “office”. It wasn't because of me. It wasn't because of
my manic depressive mother either. It was because of
him
and that slut. All
he ever thinks about anymore is, “what if”.
Trust me,
Dad
, I doubt your life would have been any peachier if you had
been with her.
even caught the Old Man on the phone with her the other night. In
our own house even! Doesn't he even care anymore?!
I don't get it. He never
used to care about them, cursing their existence, complaining about
every dime forcibly spent to ease her burdens of raising a loser.
It used to actually make me feel special that he cared for Mom and
I more, choosing us instead of them.
My
grandpa wouldn't have had it any other way thankfully, spreading
rumors about that
whore
to the entire church when the Old Man started
talking to her again. Pop Pop was so convincing that one horn dog
decided to take it upon himself to help her “repent”. He even got
her to go on a date with him. Sure wish I could have seen the look
on old Vern's face though when he discovered she wasn't actually
the repenting type.
A slight snort emerged
from the Old Man's body as I realized he had succumbed to his
drunken slumber, a warm thread of liquid oozing down the side of
his face. I lucked out tonight. I waited only a few seconds before
leaving him to his withering dreams.
Sleep
tight, Jerk.
I trudged down the hall,
passing my mother's room, glancing only briefly. She was sleeping
soundly on top of the flower print comforter tucked in with careful
precision around the squared mattress. She sleeps so much these
days. I'm not
even sure she's eaten today,
or yesterday for that matter. Her long wavy blonde hair was
thinning out beyond recognition, dangling limp across her bony
shoulders like brittle straw. I hadn't noticed just how thin she
had gotten recently. I sure wished the medication Dr. Walls started
her on would get her out of this slump. I hated seeing her like
this, like nothing matters. I also hated that she didn't care about
defending me. Never once has she stood up to the Old Man.
Seriously, Mom? Not even a , “Shut up, Jack”,or
“Leave him alone”? Nothing?
I guess I
wasn't worth her time either anymore. I wonder if she agrees with
him.
What dreams of hers did I
ruin?
I wondered.
I eased down the stairs
and made my way into the kitchen. I wasn't hungry, but needed
something to keep my mind occupied. Aside from thinking about my
drunk ass father and zombie mother, all I could think about
was
him
... Never
in my life have I hated someone so much. I'd do just about anything
to hurt that little bastard for taking my father away.
Anything.
It used to be so important
to me. Getting back at
him
for ruining my life was all I ever thought about.
It's practically all I lived for. Revenge, football, and girls.
Mostly revenge, less football, only one girl in particular, and
never in that exact order. You know, I'm not all that certain it's
still not important to me, just not as much fun.
Hell, writhing in his own shit. Or so I hope. He has to be after
what went down, but not being able to see the torment on his putrid
little face just doesn't make hating him worth the effort like it
used to. Damn, I must be losing my touch.
I did some crazy things to that kid.
Verbal abuse.
Physical abuse.
Mental abuse.
You name it, I did it all, and enjoyed
every minute of it. I was the king!
I wonder if he still remembers even half of
the shit I did? I know I do. Some of the only memories I have that
actually bring a smile to my face are the ones that involve putting
Mr. Know-it-all in his rightful place.
All he ever really wanted was to be left
alone, except when he found out about us, then he wanted a truce. A
small part of me wonders what it would have been like had I just
been a little nicer. Maybe we could have been friends. Am I really
such a monster for tormenting him when all he wanted was
peace?
No, Jacky, you're not the
monster.
He
is
the monster. Everyone says so! Everyone thinks you are a frickin
saint!
Pick your sorry ass up and stop
being such a pussy!
I scream at
myself.
Man.
Ha! I bet that would really get his
goat.
egg hard at the beat up wooden door. It smashed dead center making
a soft splat sound, milky goo dripping slowly to the concrete
below. I waited for the light to flick on at the old “Carter
Mansion”, excitement growing at seeing the pained look on his face
when he opened the door.
The living room light peaked through the
dirty off white curtains, the soft yellow glow from the cheap light
bulb giving them an even dingier color. I'm not sure why, but I
wondered why they didn't just buy new ones.
A slow creak resounded through the
darkness, echoing off the trees. The wind howling slightly in
response as the sticky egg remnants started fusing to the scratched
door. I waited.
Dark hair emerged through
the half opened crevice, my heart sinking only slightly. The
delicate frame of a woman appeared, raising a petite hand up to her
mouth, tears welling in the corner of her eyes. A small pang of
remorse resonated through my insides as Trina Carter assessed her
front door. I don't often feel bad, but this time I did. Seeing her
cry over nothing more than one of my stupid pranks was almost hard
to handle. Why couldn't
he
have answered the door?
of the night, when another voice filled the air.
“Mom, are you okay?”
“Oh, yes. I don't know why I'm crying, it's
just another prank. Why do they keep doing this, Harvey, why?” she
sobbed.
He stepped forward, giving
his mother a tight hug as if saying he was sorry for all of
this.
You should be sorry,
I thought bitterly. The both of them.
stepped back into the decrepit old house. Harvey waited only
seconds before turning towards the trees, towards me, staring hard
into the night. Daggers filled his eyes, his lips smeared into a
tight angry line, but he said nothing.
I caressed another smooth
round piece of ammo with the edges of my fingers, the tiny egg
itching to be released. Harvey took the sleeve of his shirt and
began wiping away the gunk from the previous strike. His back
turned boldly against me. He knew I was there. Probably even knew
I'd do it again, but continued cleaning the door.
God, you're stupid.
planet, but my feet were like butterflies, quiet and sure. I flew
up just yards from where he stood, incessantly wiping. My arm
arched back, nature taking over, as I rocketed the egg straight at
his scrawny body. The white shell splattered and cracked into
hundreds of gleaming pieces, smashing unceremoniously across the
back of Carter's faded blue shirt. I laughed out loud, almost
snorting, unable to control the glee I felt.
Harvey didn't move, didn't even turn around
this time. He just sighed heavily and continued wiping the damn
door.
“Fuck you, Carter!” I yelled triumphantly
as I darted down the street, not caring who saw or heard me
anymore.
Mike met me a block away, out of breath and
laughing hysterically, “Did you see the way...haha..the way those
eggs just smashed all over him! I...I can't believe he just stood
there! Hahaha!”
Mike slapped his hand in complete redneck
fashion against his knee, doubled over, clutching his stomach with
the other hand. His convulsive laughter getting so exaggerated I
thought he may even puke from excitement.
“Oh, shit, that was fun!” he chuckled,
regaining his composure.
I nodded in agreement, giving Mikey a sharp
punch to the shoulder, feeling satisfied with a job well done. He
rubbed his arm, taking in a long, thoughtful, deep breath. His face
suddenly serious.
“Not that I don't love screwing up Carter's
life, but I've always wondered. Why him, Bro? I mean, there are a
ton of other losers we could pick on just as easily,” he asked with
a slight nervous chuckle. I could tell he had worked up a lot of
courage to spit out a question like this. I almost admired him for
that. Almost.
“Because,” is all I said, turning away. I
sauntered off gruffly, leaving my best friend alone in the foggy
yellow glow of the streetlight. Alone with his traitorous
thoughts.
sweeter than others, of course. Screwing over Harvey was always a
happy time, but my memories of Jo, however, still melted my heart
and broke it at the same time.
“She should have been my
girlfriend! Mine!! She should have screamed
my
name!!” I shrieked into the
darkness, angry spit spraying from the corners of my mouth amidst
my rage. I could feel the overwhelming sensation of heat bubbling
in my veins and fire flaming in my heart. The telltale signs of
vengeful wrath I knew were nothing more than imaginary, but the
diminishing link between my mind and body often couldn't tell the
difference in the burning warmth of Hell.