Read The Devil's Monologue Online
Authors: Kimberly Fuller
Tags: #hell, #bully, #devil, #afterlife, #3 years later, #h a carter
The Devil's Monologue (8 page)
the entire neighborhood? What the hell do you want?” she screamed
through a hoarse whisper.
“Come down and talk to me. Scout's honor,
if you don't like what I have to say, I'll never bother you again,”
I lied. How could I ever leave her alone?
She hesitated, looking from left to right
and back again. I wasn't sure if she was looking out for
eavesdroppers or potential rescuers. Either way, she would find
neither. The only other soul awake around here was Mike, hiding
quietly behind the tree.
“Alright. I'll be down,” she responded
shortly after several long moments of weighing her options.
I beamed as I watched her leave the
confines of her room. It was only a few seconds before I heard the
soft click of the front door and saw her glowing form. She looked
like a goddess in the moonlight. It simply took my breath away as I
realized all I have worked for may actually be happening.
“I'm here,” she announced, still irked but
slightly more vulnerable than she had been in her room. I eased at
her nervousness. This I could handle.
“Yes, you are,” I smirked.
“Say what you came to say or I'm going back
inside.”
“It's cold out here. I can see you're
shivering. My house isn't that far away and my truck is parked just
up the street. Why don't we sit in my garage and talk?” The words
so easily spewed out of my mouth. Granted this was not the first
time they had been used to lure a girl into my lair, but I was
still fearful she would not be persuaded so easily.
“I don't think so,” she answered quickly.
The terror beginning to bubble in her eyes. I tried desperately to
figure out how to make her understand that this was best for the
both of us, but came up short. A small crack of a twig sounded in
my ear as I remembered my cohort behind the tree.
“It wouldn't just be the two of us, if that
helps,” I blurted out.
She looked confused, and I think I was too,
but I motioned for Mike to come out from behind the tree, his own
face unsure of what action to take.
“See, Mikey will be there too. No pressure.
Just talk,” I tried subconsciously to will her to see my side of
this.
She glanced back and forth from each of us
several times, no doubt doubling checking the possibilities of
whether or not to accept my offer. A cool breeze blew through the
air, chilling her creamy skin.
“Just talking. And you do not leave the
room,” she demanded, pointed a tiny strict finger at Mike. He
raised his hands in playful defense and nodded.
I held my hand out in front of her, hoping
she was just take it. Instead she shoved her hands deep in the
pockets of her dark jeans and followed Mike to the truck. I was not
defeated, reaching into my own pocket, and taking a long swig from
the tiny silver flask. I swirled the liquid around my tongue,
relishing in the taste and basking in the confidence it gave me. I
took another drink before catching up, glad I had another bottle
under the seat.
I passed the flask to Mike, who enjoyed the
remaining shot. Jo Jo sat in the middle, the heat of her body felt
good against the cold outside. I reached for the full bottle under
my feet, drank, and passed it to her. She shook her head with a
Vivien Leigh like look of disgust. I wasn't offended as I passed it
to Mike instead, who drank hungrily. I actually liked that she
didn't drink.
I smiled as we pulled
away.
She will see things my way. I know
she will. She has to,
I told myself as we
drove down the street, taking another long guzzle of liquid
courage.
on the pavement that night before any of this shit ever happened. I
should have just stuck to the first plan and offed myself, going
out in a blaze of glory, on my own goddamn terms. Even then, I
guess I might have still wound up in Hell.
Fucking, Moron,
of course I would have ended up here. Heaven was
never meant for me.
the mirror, watching me decay from the inside. My skin is dripping
off with stomach churning precision, landing with disgusting splats
on my dirty shoes. I wait. I know it won't be long before my lady
killer face has melted into a pile at my feet. I actually decide to
watch this time.
My eye sockets darken as the peachy flesh
fades away. My face is always the last to change, but the hardest
to watch. The claws that used to be my hands grow impatient and
finish the job, ripping the remaining skin off in rubbery chunks.
My pearly whites crack and break, shattering into tiny specks,
leaving only jagged razors in their wake.
I stare remorsefully at the gaping bullet
wound in my forehead. The blood that crawls out of that cavern
never stops flowing. I feel tears welling in my eyes, but see
nothing of sadness in my reflection. The demon I am is the only
thing that stares back at me.
I know it's just an illusion. A rather good
one, I'll admit, but I still continue to tell myself that it's not
real. I gaze down at my hands apprehensively. They're a little
dirty, but seemingly normal strong hands. My father's hands.
The mirror paints another story, of course.
The mirror is not my friend. The mirror has no friends.
In that dirty fucking mirror, claws scratch
and poke at my fleshless face. I become nothing more than the
Devil's plaything in that mirror.
My lips tighten, my eyes forcing back their
treasonous tears. I yell out like a rabid wild dog, ripping off my
muddy boot with my father's strong hands, wanting nothing more than
to cut them off and forget my life ever existed. With one quick
fling, I chucked my boot at the demonic face, letting it shatter
and reform yet again. The second my boot returns, I repeat the
process. Over and over.
Smash and restore. Smash and restore.
I wasn't sure how long I
kept it up. Time doesn't exactly keep on ticking down here. I threw
my shoe once more. Like a trapped fly in a glass house, I somehow
kept hope that
this
time would be that magic moment when it all works
out.
again, I just stood, looking back at my now normal reflection.
“I'd almost rather stare at the monster all
day,” I declare to myself out loud, sadly afraid to admit that it
was more painful to see the boy I used to be than that gruesome
monster.
Just a stupid boy.
the neatly made bed. I always wondered why she took so much time
and effort to make a bed look perfect when no one would ever see or
care but her. I guess maybe that in itself was the point. Her face
was sullen, her eyes empty and lost. I wasn't sure she was even
aware that I was in the room. She just kept staring at the same
ugly flower patterned wall paper. I followed her gaze as it landed
on a pale yellow cluster of dainty flowers. In the dark they looked
wilted and forgotten, almost sad. I wondered if that was how Mom
was feeling.
I walked quietly to the wooden dresser,
placing her newly filled prescription on the edge next to Dad's
latest bottle of whiskey. I set the small plastic container down
softly along with the four pages of possible side effects that came
with it.
This shit is suppose to
cure you in one way but can kill you in a thousand others? No
wonder doctors make so much money,
I
thought bitterly. I hated that she had to take these things. Why
couldn't she just go back to being “Mom” again?
Ma. They're right here when you're ready. Doc says to take them
with food if you can,” I spoke slowly and nervously. It was almost
like talking to a new acquaintance who you knew hated your guts
already. I didn't think Ma hated me, but I did think she hated the
world right now. I couldn't say I blamed her.
Mom didn't make any attempt to move or
acknowledge what I had said. She just continued to stare at those
stupid yellow flowers. I had the urge to go buy a can of paint to
wipe them all away, and give Ma a fresh coat of life so she would
stop this zombie bullshit.
Kids aren't supposed to
see their parents like this,
I wanted to
scream at her, but knew it would only fall on deaf ears. If she had
stopped caring about Dad's drinking, I doubted she gave a shit
about how I was feeling.
Do you need anything before I go?” I asked, knowing full well she
didn't, but felt the need to offer. As I expected, she said
nothing, keeping her focus on the dying flowers.
I nodded my head both in agreement and in
aggravation and walked out the door. I stopped in the hallway
briefly, peering towards the “office”. It was quiet and still, for
now.
I touched my left arm tenderly, still
feeling the tight angry grip against my skin as I glared at the
door.
Keep it up, Old Man, I
swear,
I screeched quietly at the empty
door, frustrated that I lacked the ability to say it to his face.
Not like he'd care, especially if he'd had a few too many, but at
least it would be out there on the table. At least Ma had her damn
flowers and happy little fucked-in-the-head pills to let her
escape. I was stuck in reality hell with this asshole.
It can't get much
worse,
I thought sarcastically. I'm wrong,
of course. Shit can always get worse, unfortunately. Fact of life,
right there.
graduation and then I'd be long gone from this crap hole. Let the
Old Man stew in his own failures for a change.
Knock.
The persistent tapping boomed in my ears,
heading ringing sharply. My stomach swirled slightly as I got up
from the comfort and silence of my bed. I rubbed the sides of my
temples harshly, trying to push back the pain. My breath still
slightly wreaked of last nights festivities. With a horse cough and
a heavy sigh, I wrenched myself out of bed. So much for
napping.
The cool breeze of the hallway hit my face,
slapping my senses awake.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I checked the flowered clock on the wall.
10:52 am.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
“For fuck's sake it's a Sunday! Give me a
minute!” I muttered angrily. You'd think if no one answered by now
they'd get the hint and leave. As I tried to imagine why someone
would be so insistent, it hit me.
Desperately, I began to
piece together the jumbled mess of shit that was last night, small
fragments of Joanna filtered through my clouded mind, but still
nothing solid. The faint scent of lavender wafted off my fingertips
as I ran my hand across the stinging pain on my neck. I guess she
really had liked it rough. My hands tingled as all the muscles in
my groin began to ache. Short snippets of touching, kissing, and
screaming flashed through my memories. I had a hard time
distinguishing between any of it. I didn't know anything! I had no
idea what the fuck happened last night, and I regretted that
deeply. The pang of wanting to remember bore into my heart yet
again. Thousands of questions instantly erupted into my
thoughts.
Was it good? Did she like it? Of
course she liked it, Stupid, she came back!
I thought as the eagerness at the front door
continued.
My heart caught in my
throat as I looked down at my disheveled state.
Oh, shit!
Fear washed over my face,
the swirling gurgling sensation coming back with a vengeance. I
couldn't decide whether to run and hide or puke on the
stairs.
knock!
The pounding at the door
was coming more fiercely and wanting than ever. The raging vortex
of bile and whiskey in my stomach failing to subside. My shaking
hands quickly smoothing down the wrinkles in my shirt, fingers
doing their best to wrangle my mess of hair. I had to push forward.
I had to open that door!
Despite the overwhelming
urge to upchuck, I couldn't hold back the school boy grin that was
spreading across my face.
Shakespeare, you
old dog!
Grabbing a chalky mint
from the table drawer by the door, I braced myself.
Stay calm, Man. Be cool. Be cool,
I prepped.
opened the door to my destiny.
The sudden whoosh of air through the opened
door felt good against my sweating skin. Hard bony knuckles
accompanied the coolness of the air, soaring straight for my face.
Before I had time to react, they made clear precise contact with
the side of my already tender face.
Wham!
I stumbled back slightly,
completely unfocused and confused, ready to vomit now more than
ever. My face was on fire, blazing and throbbing, screaming in
pain. I touched the already swelling bump of my cheek as my eyes
settled on
him.
My comprehension was
lacking, but my hatred reigned as I glared back at my dear
brother.
News sure does travel
fast,
I thought with a smile. Before I had
a chance to gloat, it occurred to me that I might actually have to
fight back. Curling my fingers into their trademark snarl, I
readied myself to attack.
Twinkling bubbles of flashing lights mixed
with wisps of darkness invaded my everything. My teeth smeared
unnaturally together, creating an alarming high pitched screech in
my ears, as Harvey's jagged little fist smashed under my chin. The
unsteadiness of my feet grew ten fold as I stumbled again and fell
flat. Blood began spewing inside my mouth in thick globs of salty
goo.