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Hell’s Around The Next Corner

Hell’s Around The Next Corner

By

Tomas Navarro

 

 

 

 

 

            The cops are almost here, I can hear the sirens wail as they get closer.  I’d run but I can’t, won’t, leave Molly behind.  She’s dead.

            I killed her.

            Sitting there in a pool of her blood, I stare into her lifeless eyes and I have to repress an urge to shove my tongue down her breathless mouth.  Perverse images of an engorged extremity gliding in and out of her now-turning-blue lips plant themselves firmly in my mind.  I try to caress her face but the coagulated blood makes it difficult to run my hand smoothly over her face.

            I can feel myself against my thigh.  Memories of past acts run wildly through my head, trampling any other thought I may have.  She was my first love, why did it have to come to this?  None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t been such a prick and pushed her away.  All the girl did as love me to death but I as too stubborn, too selfish to accept it.

            We met four years ago and went through one of the most bizarre situations we have ever been through.  I was a sheltered teenager and once I locked eyes with her and her punk rock style, all the locked doors in my life swung open.  My life turned a complete one eighty that night we met.  Quite literally actually.  I did something I’d never thought I’d do.

            I had just graduated high school and was at a graduation party and I was lit.  I managed to convince a friend to drunk drive me to the Toxic Narcotic/M.S.I show.  I remember seeing her across the floor; I just kept staring until she finally saw me.  Even when my favorite Toxic Narcotic song was being played, her brown almond shaped eyes captivated me.  As the set list went on, I gradually made my way towards her.  We started talking but could barely hear anything over the band, so we found a nice little quiet place for us to chat.  The men’s bathroom.

            I was shocked it was as clean as it was.  It didn’t smell like days old piss or like someone shit a dead rabbit.

            Her morals and ethics couldn’t have been more opposite of mine.  She may have been exposed to grittier things than I but she was the girl next door type sexually and I was…well…I still am an asshole.  But I knew that she was going to be mine forever.  In the short time we talked I was madly in love with her and named our kids.  I knew that she was the Bonnie to my Clyde.

            Toxic had gone off stage and M.S.I. was minutes into their set when I raped her.  Yes, raped her.

            We stayed in the bathroom to talk.  People kept coming in and out, especially during the break in between bands, so we carried our conversation into a stall.  We started making out and I tried to pull her pants down but she resisted; kept pushing my hands away, even yelling at me to stop.  But I had to have her.  She had to be mine.

            A primal instinct took over and I managed to pin her hands behind her back.  With my thumb and forefinger I unbuttoned her jeans and started roving the pubic range.  When I got to my destination, I was surprised to feel that she was wet.  The feel of her moisture made me throb and I let myself free.

            At first it was forced but then something pretty peculiar happened.  The rougher I was, the more she moaned in pleasure.  By the end of the night, she would’ve followed me off a bridge if I wanted to kill myself.

      

            I lift my hand out of the puddle of blood and pull my cock out.  Without thinking, I wrap my hand around it and the blood provides me a macabre lube as I stroke up and down.  My motion becomes faster as my hormones sky rocket into a sexual nebula and I can no longer resist the urge to kiss her.   

            I gently lay her down and my tongue pokes and prods and it feels like sandpaper in there.  A con to making out with a corpse.  My hand moves away from my crimson cock and just like I did four years ago, I unbutton her jeans and pull them down.  Blood drips from my other hand as I bring it to her shaved mound.  Although sticky, the blood makes it easier to slip it in.  Everything is starting to crust and it hurts but I don’t care because I’m about to cum.   

           

            The cops sound like they’re approaching the foot of the building.  It should only be a few more minutes.  It’s hard to believe this all started a year ago.  I threw everything out the window.

            I worked a lot not because I wanted to but I had to.  I’m so fucking lazy it’s pathetic but living in San Diego is so damn expensive but I love this city so much.  So I worked nine to five during the week, barely making above minimum wage and then bounced on the weekends.  As time went on, I started digging the bouncing gig more and more.  I got a lot of attention and my insecurities hastily vanished.  The lonely brat in me adored the attention from the girls.  She wanted to spend time with me but I started blowing her off for work.  After a year of living together, chunks of shit hit the fan and we split.  I was such a bastard during those arguments, so much so she regretted everything from our relationship to me taking her virginity.  Oddly, the whole process felt like a big adrenaline rush; I was free to do whatever I wanted.  I didn’t realize or feel the full impact of the decision.  But once that rush went away, every ache and pain came screaming at me.

            At one point she was madly in love with me but I kept rejecting her and after every rejection, her sorrow and anger grew to immense proportions.  She also built a huge fucking grudge against me.  And so she decided to fuck every Tom, Dick, and Harry.  I don’t recall how long this period lasted, but it was blurred by a lot of drugs and trying to forget the feelings I had.  She had nothing to do with me during that time and during so, I realized I couldn’t live without her.  I lost about fifteen pounds, which fucked with my self-esteem too.  Even if I had tried, no bar slut would’ve fucked the deflated shell of a man that I was.

 

            Shit, if I couldn’t live without her when she was alive, what am I gonna do now that she’s dead?

 

            But with her gone and fucking like a rabbit there was this emptiness that could be seen in my eyes.  The world was distant and I was lost in my own agony.  But somewhere, somehow that void was filled with misogyny and booze.  I fucked every girl I could, trying to push Molly to back of my mind.  But the more I kept looking down at whatever girl was on her back and not seeing Molly, the more I wanted to smash every tooth in their mouth.

            One night, I was putting in work on this one girl that I had been trying to fuck since senior year and everything was going absolutely great.  I had her bent over table and for once, Molly wasn’t in the forefront of my brain. 

            After we finished, we sat around naked and smoked a joint.  Who the fuck knows what we talked about but I remember the bitch asking about Molly.  I remember her shit talking; her saying she could suck my dick better than her.  In the end, I went limp, she wasn’t as good as Molly and I knew I had to get her back and that I had to right some wrongs.  I had to be next to Molly.  I thought about her for the rest of the night and eventually, right before I went to bed, I rubbed one out to pictures I had taken of her.

 

            Suppose you drop everything you’re doing and you set out to live your life to the fullest, fulfill some promises you made and try to erase the past and start with a clean slate.

            Being born again but not really.

            You find what you’re looking for and that sense of relief and pure bliss washes over you.  And as the sun shines down, you feel as if everything is right in the world.  But then every sin you’ve committed brings bloody rain, washing away that ray of hope.  Every lie you’ve told hooks to your flesh, tearing at your soul and emotions.  And as shame clouds your mind, something, perhaps the smite of God, slices at your throat and your left standing in a cold and worthless rage.

            That’s how I felt when I knocked on Molly’s apartment door.  I heard some talking and laughing but thought nothing of it, which I should’ve; since it was odd being that I knocked on her door at five past midnight.

            I don’t know which was worse, them answering the door half naked or her telling me that she didn’t love me anymore.  I had my chances and now she met someone that she saw was perfect.

            Honestly, I don’t know what came out of my mouth, if anything I stood in a daze, letting the saliva dry from my mouth and watched stars leap light-years in front of me.  Everything seemed to blur after that, literally, the patterns on the carpet contorted to various shapes and symbols, some resembling swastikas and crosses.  Every other minute I seemed to have blacked out.  I was drunk with rage.

            I felt like adding fuel to the fire and somehow managed to walk to a bar in blacked out segments.  As I sat there, I eyeballed every mother fucker that came near me.  The only person I wasn’t hostile with was the waitress, whom I told to keep nearby in case I couldn’t quench my thirst.  Of course, a couple regulars stared me back, none too pleased that I was threatening every horses ass that looked at me cock-eyed.

            I remembered at work an old customer that had been gone for awhile came in.  His name was Tom.  After he came back, he was a different man.  Lost over a hundred pounds, constantly looking over his shoulder.  Come to find out, Tom was holed up in Colorado on drug charges.  DEA really gave it to him hard.  Every time he’d come in, he’d share bits and pieces of his ordeal.  One day, I felt like I was in a movie.  He broke down his entire prison experience:

            “I fucking hated it.  I’m so lucky my lawyer just got me twenty-seven months.  The only reason why I had it made was cause on my second day I choked out a big Hawaiian dude that none of the guards liked.  After that I was their dirty man.  I beat the shit out of people for food, socks, an extra blanket or whatever could get my by.  Half the time though, I was in short socks with slip-on’s in the snow.

            “And let me tell you, the whites don’t do shit.  They’re the bitches asking to hold your weight, doing your rehab homework.  The Mexicans run it during the day and the blacks at night.  But if you mind your business, you won’t get fucked with.  You can’t sleep either.  It’s impossible to sleep in prison.  You’re a big guy, Rob, so they know better than to fight you one on one.  It’d take about five guys to do it.

“I only ate every other day.  That food was fucking horrible.  Thirty cups of coffee a day.  Kept me going.  I had sweat glistening off of me everyday like I was tweaked out.

            “And they had two ways of paying for stuff.  Stamps serve as a currency but the other form of payment is service.  If someone offered you a taste of their bitch, you did it.  Otherwise you were disrespecting the proprietor.

            “I remember one day, everyone was making a big deal over this Mexican guy named Ray Ray.  He had served there before cause all the mother fuckers knew him.  I was walking back to my cell from the Super Max when out of the corner of my eye I see the prettiest fucking guy I’ve ever seen.  He sported a faggot faux hawk and was one hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet.  But he was the big talk.

            “One night, I’m trying to go to sleep but, like I said, you can’t in prison.  Fucking impossible.  But I heard sex.  Yea, you know, balls slapping and some grunting so I said, ‘Fuck it, it’s sex.  Let’s go see what’s up.’  And when I turned the corner I saw Ray Ray pumping hard in to this three hundred pound gorilla.  Ass cheeks rippling from the force.  The black dude looked up and yelled.  For whatever reason, I just said the first thing that came to my mind which happened to be:  ‘HATE CRIME!’ and I left.”

            Recalling that story had me want to drink more.  Every second I thought of Molly and every second I wished we never broke up.  I was mad at myself but I wanted to tear into everybody’s chest cavity.

            There was a middle eastern guy across from me at the bar.  Around my age.  Real weird hair, that angled haircut that metro males love.  I never stared at anybody too long, but every time I’d come across that carpet flying bastard, he was staring my soul down.  After a while I got up and sat down right next to him and his friend.  He said something to me in a language I couldn’t understand.  Could’ve been English for all I know.  The noise in the bar and my impaired senses made it hard to hear.

            I kept asking, “What?” and every time that word left my mouth I kept growing more agitated with the asshole.  Eventually his friend stepped in between us to try and prevent anything from happening.  He even bought us a couple rounds of shots.  I started to calm down a bit after the third shot of Crown, only cause my stomach burned and my head was spinning.  I thought I was going to puke.  The middle eastern guy had left my mind when his talking got louder and the next thing I knew his mouth was right in my ear, spitting whiskey at me as he yelled.  His eyes were starting to blur together, looking like an Arabian Cyclops.  The bar behind him start to spin.  And the last thing he said before I swung on him was, “You fucked my girlfriend you son of a bitch.”

            After the punch I blacked out.  When I came to and rubbed my eyes, a dull pain in my hand left itself be known.  I looked down and as my vision cleared I saw what was supposed to be my hand but instead I was confusing it for an overgrown cabbage patch kid hand.  Not one knuckle was protruding or visible.  I was barely able to open my hand but when I made a fist, there wasn’t any pain in the knuckles which meant no broken hand.

            Then when I took a step towards the door, I come to find out, I was a little buzzed.  Shit, I was fucking lit up.  I staggered a few feet before I finally straightened myself out.  A couple of folks eyed me as I left and if I hadn’t had my own agenda I would’ve gotten right in their fat, red nosed faces and asked them exactly what the fuck they were looking at.

 

I burp and taste whiskey.  And whiskey makes me feisty.  A great catalyst for what I did tonight.

 

The wind from the frosty night sobered me a bit almost the second I stepped out.  I looked down the street and for a moment, my stomach churned with whiskey and bile.

Illuminated by the street lamps, her car, with all the memories of us locked inside, was in full view in front of her complex.  As I walked up to the door, a rectangular sticker half torn and weathered on her drivers side backseat window.  Of course upon seeing it, I broke down into another mindless rage.  It was a M.S.I. sticker.

            Tonight was a cold fucking night and all I could think of was her all warm and cozy next to some asshole in bed.  I pulled a cigarette out, my first box in four years, and lit it with shaky hands.  When the flaming cherry fell to the ground and I snuffed the butt out, I reflected on who exactly put our flame out.  Granted, I broke up with her but she was the one who went off fucking like it was going out of style.

            God damnit.

            Three months into the break up, a little bit before she moved across town, we were still in that phase where we weren’t sure what was going on with us.  We wouldn’t give the other a title but we still hung out and did relationship things.  Kind of like friends with benefits but not.

            We had a conversation one day and out of the blue she tells me about her encounter with this “really cool” guy she ran into on her run.  She was wearing a Star Wars t-shirt and he approached her while she was stretching.  Apparently, Star Wars geeks have a lot of charm because during her three-minute story she couldn’t wipe that shit eating grin off her face.  She ended the conversation with their plans for their first date.

            My eyes bulged and every blood vessel popped.  They’ve been bloodshot before from smoking weed, but my eyes looked different that time.  They looked like they incubated hate and resentment.  Anger rushed through my veins like heroin to a junkie.

            That was my first experience with blinding white hot rage.  It got worse when she eventually told me she slept with him.  And for some fucked up masochistic reason, I asked how it happened.  Why I asked, I think it’s because I secretly liked that rage feeling; like I could kill anyone with my bare hands.

            She said that they were watching some stand up comedian on DVD when he made his move and kissed her.  Smoke filled my lungs and I felt like I could breathe fire.  I imagined this fuckers hand on the inside of her thigh, moving towards the promise land.  MY promise land.

            That was the turning point for us.  Not only did she do the nasty with some random Star Wars geek but I also neglected to tell her that I still loved her and wanted to marry her.  Then again, at that point in time, I felt completely disgusted with her.          

           

            After revisiting that nightmare, another blinding white hot rage coursed through my body.  Slowly, every finger began to tremble.  Then my arms.  Pretty soon, my entire body was trembling and shaking but also numb.  Probably due to the fact that I punched her windows in.

            I was ready to go to fucking war, so I walked…rather, stormed through her complex.  The stares that the few passerbyer’s gave me, terrified that I was out of my fucking mind.  The bloody raps on the door made for a very dramatic effect.

            By the time he answered the door I was seething.

            “She’s with me now, asshole.”  He said in the doorway, shirtless.

            After a brief pause in the moment, I said my hello with a right jab.

            Stumbling back, he caught himself on the kitchen counter. But he didn’t have but a second to look up before I buried my size fourteen in his gut.  It looked like it took the wind out of him,

            I smiled.

            I couldn’t have cared less whether we were in the ring or in the living room; him and I were going to have it out, mano y mano.  I’m a proud man and he was not going to get away with what happened.

            With my fist clenched, my knuckles were white; I brought down a rain of hammer smashes to his skull.  I heard a loud click and for a split second I thought I was succeeded in breaking his teeth but then a force slammed my head to the side.  Through teary eyes, I saw that Molly hit me with a lamp.

            Tears were rolling down her cheeks.

            That made me feel like shit.

            “Don’t hurt him.”  She cried out.  She was on her knees next to him.

            “Why?”  I slurred.  That fucking knock to the head really put me on my ass.  “We’re soul mates!  Me and you not the two of you.”

            “Don’t you understand?  I met and fell in love with someone else.  You were my first love and you were hard to get over but I managed.  I’ve moved on and so should you.  We had our chances but no…just fucking go and don’t touch Ryan again.”

            She cradled him, blood from his mouth and nose pooled between them.

            It was just so fucking cute.

            But what brought me back into the world of darkness was when she kissed him and said she’d take care of him.  I’m not sure if she said it to spite me or if she really meant it but she opened up her big fucking mouth and said with a cheery choke, “I love you.”

            To say I reacted impulsively would be an understatement.  I stood in front of them and pushed Molly off to the side.  She tried to get back to Ryan but I shoved her harder and kicked him in the jaw.  As he lay on his stomach, I gave him a nice swift kick to the ribs.  He shot up on all fours and tried to catch his breath.

            Every breath he took was labored and looked to be painful.  Numerous thoughts ran through my head about what to do next.  Not one clear thought pushed its way though.  The crying, the coughing, and my laughter were totally distracting

            Molly was on her side crying, begging me to stop but when I looked at her I began to shiver.  I couldn’t control myself at that point.  Not that I could to begin with.

            She never cried for me.          

            I took his chin in my right hand and placed my left at the top of his head.  Both him and Molly reacted at the same time; her screaming for me to and him yelling and wildly grabbing at my arms.  It happened within seconds but it seemed like minutes.

            His head twisted to the right.  I applied as much pressure as I could.  His face met my gaze as his body hung limp.

            Sweet annihilation in my hands.

            The snap of his neck reassured me that the problem had been taken care of but it was painfully obvious Molly grew attached to that dicknose.  “We can start over,” I said looking down at her, “let’s start with a clean late.  Look, I should’ve never ended things with us but I’m sorry.  I know you and we can be happy with each other.  You and I against the world.”

            She just sat there with a pained expression on her face.  Lips pursed and eyes watered she yelled at me, “I sucked his dick!  We fucked without a condom and guess what?  I’m not on birth control.”

            I knew she was trying to piss me off but I was trying to compose myself.

            “We already started talking about weddings…” she trailed off and wailed her ass off.

            Marriage, huh?

            Lights were flashing and the alarm was sounding.  Any ounce of anger and frustration that I had left was magnified twenty-fold.  I could feel a warm sensation travel from bottom to op; boiling my blood as it made its ascension.

            I backed away from his body, staggering, and felt as if everything I had ever done had no meaning to it.  As she climbed over his body, she wept like a baby and started hyperventilating when she touched his loose goose neck.

            I stood in her kitchen not knowing what to do.  The original plan was to come here, talk to her and live happily ever after.  But she’d been crying, holding that fools head, and I realized that I would never have her again.  The night I broke it off was the last night we would share happily.

            She was my baby, supposed to be my wife.  But I knew she had to die.

            About a foot to my right was her set of steak knives.  When I pulled one out, it made one of those sounds that put Michael Myers into my head.  Only this wasn’t my sister or a babysitter.  The knife felt heavy and part of me didn’t want to put forth the effort.  But I knew nothing would be right, nothing would work out the way there were supposed to.

            Before, I could close my eyes and dream about us having a family but she had snatched that idea of my head and stomped it to death.

            I took a step forward.

            She stopped crying when I pulled her up by her hair.  The look in her eyes told me everything.  Someone else cleaned up the mess I made and her love shifted in that direction.  

            She never once cried for me.

            But I made her cry tonight.  Tears fell silently down her cheeks.  Finally, after seeing those eyes brim over with salty tears, I cracked a smile.  But my smile stopped her tears and I saw her anger consume her and swallow her.  She reached out and her fingers ran four lines down my cheek taking skin with them. Ever since I was a kid, I wanted a scar on my face like Sub-Zero from Mortal Kombat II.  But after I felt the stinging pain after I moved my hand from my cheek, I came to the realization that I was a pretty stupid kid.

            I had dropped the knife in favor of grabbing my bleeding cheek.  Luckily, she didn’t go for it but instead lunged at me and hit me with a combination of a kick to the gut and then the baby maker. While hunched over, she jumped on my back and wrapped her forearm around my throat.  The poor girl was trying to choke me out.

            For a brief moment, it felt as if she was like six foot four.  But then soon after, she felt the ground knock the wind out of her.  Pancaked.  While she tried to catch her breath, I grabbed her hair once more.  I gave her our last kiss.  It was bittersweet that kiss.  It felt good kissing my baby again but I also knew that she wasn’t my baby anymore.

             I tugged on the handful of hair in my hand exposed her pale neck.  I saw her gulp hard.  She knew.

             The edge of the blade sliced through her jugular then opened up a gaping hole in her esophagus.  Blood poured out over the blade, onto her body, and then finally splashed down on her carpet.

 

            I couldn’t make her love me, now she’s lying in a pool of blood.

            I can’t leave her like this.  I hate her but I love her.  This will be a battle in the afterlife, I know.  Hopefully she’ll be in hell when I get there.  The cops are here but I don’t plan on being arrested.

    There’s a sliver of regret filling my scarred mind.  I’m still horny and wish I could’ve shared one last intimate moment with Molly.  The cops are yelling.  What they are saying I don’t know nor do I care.  I just want to know who called the fucking cops.  Assholes.

          

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