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I accept that the accident was my
fault. Just like I told the cops - I was driving too fast, we'd
been arguing, I didn't see that asshole out of the side mirror...
boom.
I can deal with that, same as I dealt
with the two counts of vehicular manslaughter {the asshole and
her}. You just look like it's what you had coming, and sooner
or later they agree and let you off easy.
That was years ago, now. I've moved
away from where it happened, my lawyer's gotten it down to the
point where no one knows about it, and as long as I keep the
State happy {fucking court-appointed psychologists} all is well.
{They give me pills every
month, and each day I drop one down the toilet with my morning
crap. Just one, so they don't get suspicious.}
It happened, and it was my fault.
I've accepted it. I've buried it, and I've moved on.
But she just won't let me be.
It started as soon as I took the
leap and tried to get another, real girlfriend. Every once in
a while, I'd look at the girl's face and I'd see her there, looking
at me.
And I'm not talking her before the
accident, either - the way I like
to remember her {on those rare occasions that I do}. I'm talking
that awful, bloody...
I'm talking about that thing that was left after she'd gone through
the windshield and bounced off the pavement. That stretch-faced,
eyeless and toothless face, with a wide-open, silent scream...
{She'd taken her seatbelt
off to get away from me while we were arguing. Her fault, really...
I wasn't going to hit her like the last time. I wasn't that angry... she should have known
that.}
At first, I thought seeing her again,
like that, was just nerves. Either that or the beer talking.
And the shrink did say I might experience some weird feelings
of guilt when I started dating again.
But after a while I realized that
it wasn't just nerves - especially when the dead cunt started
talking through the girl's mouth.
She'd ask me why I was cheating on
her, and give me all kinds of details about the girl I was dating
- nasty, awful things. Not all of them were lies, either, but
the more I saw of her the more I realized that she could have
been the one making the girl do them...
That was the end of that girlfriend,
but she's come back with each new one. I was safe with one night
stands or hookers, but as soon as I started spending a lot of
time with a girl... boom, there she was.
And she did the exact same thing
each and every time.
When she's not calling me a lying
bastard, or telling me about who the new girl's done it with
- and how - she tells me other things, too.
She tells me about the world she
lives in now - some dark, awful place where the only release
is to come back here and screw with the living. She tells me
that there's cops there, too, and they don't like it when people
do what she's been doing.
And she says it'd be easier if I
joined her, because then we really could be together forever,
just like I promised...
The last time, I lost it and started
trying to choke the living shit out of her. She just laughed
and left the girl, leaving me with a pissed-off girlfriend with
bruises around her neck. She's now my ex-girlfriend, obviously.
{And thank God for her
coke habit - she's not going to the cops for fear of a blood
test during the examination.}
This can't go on, but I am not going to go back to that bitch. There's
reasons why the accident happened - good reasons, too. The fact
that she's doing this, now, just confirms it. World's better
off with her not in it.
I thought about moving, but she'd
find me, somehow {she said as much}. I thought about celebacy,
but fuck that. And I thought about killing myself, but then I'd
be stuck with her, wouldn't I?
It looked pretty bad, but fortunately
she's not the only ghost in town.
Someone else started whispering in
my ear, lately. He says he knows her - knows all about her.
And he's been telling me some of
her secrets - how stuff gets done on their side of things.
He's told me that if you're inside
someone, and they get hurt, you get hurt, too. Now, maybe a little
punch to the nose might just be... well, a punch to the nose.
And once she sees you mean her harm, she'll just jump out and
leave you with a crying ex-girlfriend.
But if you did a lot of damage -
real severe fucking damage - just when she didn't expect it,
then she'd get so hurt that she'd go right back down to Hell
and leave me alone.
{I think he said Hell. Started with an 'H' anyway.
Close enough.}
So we've got ourselves a plan.
I'm starting to date this one girl
from work. I really can't stand her - no one does, really - but
I guess she likes me. I've been though enough whirlwind romances
to fake one, though, so I've got her eating out of my hand. Chocolates
on her desk, flowers in her in-box... the works.
And this Valentine's Day, I'm going
to take her to this nice place. I'll have a sappy card and flowers,
and a lump in my pants pocket that looks like a ring case. And
she - my date, anyway - will know what it just might mean, given
how dumb she is.
That'll be just enough to bring her
around - I'm sure of it.
Meanwhile, my new friend will be
there, in a waiter who's got "a few problems" as he
puts it. He'll spend the night lurking near our table, waiting.
And the moment she shows up, I'll just raise my glass to her...
and he'll do the rest.
A sawn-off shotgun fits neatly under
huge aprons those waiters wear, apparently.
Yes, it sounds extreme. But it'll
do her so hard and so fast that she'll be in Hell before she
knows she's dead all over again. There will be no way for her
to get out of the girl.
{And he's promised to do
the girl - and her - in such a way that I don't get spattered.
I think that would really kill me.}
So that's my plan for this Black
Monday: getting rid of the bitch for once and for all.
What's yours?
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