Twisted Pretzel Chapter 22
Title: Twisted Pretzel
Author: 2he_re (Heather and Reena)
Fandom: Jonas Brothers
Pairing(s): Joe/OMC
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, the real people in it are used without their permission and we do not own them or have any copyright to any part of any of them. We do not believe any of this happened, is likely to happen, or will happen. It is simply a story created around known facts about those involved.
Summary: Mrs. Johnson dislikes the Jonas Brothers. She hates Joe. Why? Doesn’t really matter does it? What matters is that she was playing a game to get rid of him. Death. Horrible death.
“Tristan Darthe” was her pawn. Arrested a year after the incident and tried. His mental state was proven to be unstable, and instead of a jail sentence he was sentenced to an asylum for the rest of his poor, pathetic, lonesome life, where I'm not even allowed to go suicidal.
Call me unstable, call me insane, but oh deary me, I’d loved that game. I mean, money is good and all, but you know, killing is better.
But damn, I’d lost.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 pt. 1 Chapter 21 pt. 2
~*~
Do you know those times when you wake up in the middle of the night and then go back to sleep, and then you wake up, and you’re not sure if what you did is real or not? Or you have a dream so real, you don’t know if what happened is real or not? You either keep shut about what you did, or you ask people if they remember the same thing as you. If you don’t do that, you stumble around in a daze, not sure about anything. When you can’t tell what happened in the dream and what happened in real life, then you’re fucked up, fucked up bad.
I was fucked up bad.
The knife clattered to the floor. Joe shifted in his sleep. I dived to the floor, picking up the knife. All would be good, I just had to… I looked at Joe. His shirt had ridden up to expose his middle. I bolted out of the room. I flew down to mine.
I was a fucking wussy. If I had just killed that idiot right then and there, guess what shit I would’ve gone through? Nothing. I would’ve gone through no more shit than the shit I normally went through.
I ripped open drawers, searching frantically. I pulled drawers out, shaking them out onto the dresser. I scattered everything across the room. I couldn’t find it. I lunged to the hamper. I dug through my pockets. I fumbled with the piece of paper as I pulled it out. I flipped on my light, disappearing on another frantic search. Cell phone, the cell phone.
I picked it up off the floor. I hastily dialed the numbers. My thumb slipped and I dropped the phone. I grabbed it up and tried again. I tried breathing in and out. I tried to calm the shakes. Joe with me had calmed relaxed me last time. I tried to remember that feeling again. I fell to the floor. My legs wouldn’t hold me.
I pressed in the numbers again. I pressed send. I closed my eyes. I ended the call. I redialed the number. I flipped the cell phone closed. I snapped it back open. I pressed redial. I closed my eyes. I almost dropped the phone as I listened to the rings. One. Two. Three.
“Hello?” I closed my eyes and licked my lips. I couldn’t talk. “Are you okay?”
“No.”
“Tristan?”
“I want to kill him.” I pushed myself off the floor, the shakes gone. My mind cleared. When I plan on doing something I know well, I get calm. I do it without thought. I just travel through the motions. I turned off the light. I moved to the kitchen.
“Kill who?”
“Him.”
“Why do you want to kill him. ”
“I don’t, but I do. I like killing. It’s something I’ve realized about myself. I’m good at it, people like what they’re good at.” I pulled open a drawer. I craned my neck, looking in without touching. “I had the knife over him too. I knew just how I wanted to do it.” I slammed it shut.
“Did you just wake up from a nightmare?”
“Yes, no. I had one, but I’ve been up.” I found where Denise had hidden the knives. I pulled them out one at a time. I put them on the counter gently. So gently they didn’t make a sound.
“Go back to sleep.”
“If I do, I’ll kill him.”
“People don't really die when you dream and--”
“No, I’ll wake up, and I’ll take another knife and kill him. I wouldn’t call you. I stopped to call you, aren’t you proud of me? Do you know how hard that is? To have someone lying under you, and all you have to do is jab and they’re dead, and not just jab? He wouldn’t have screamed either. I put in a gag.” I gathered up the five knives, and I deposited them on the kitchen counter.
“What are you doing now Tristan?”
“I’m talking to you.”
“Anything else?” I thought about telling him, I thought about not telling him. I weighed the good and the bad. He had said he thought I was too smart to tell him my plan if I wanted to kill someone. I wouldn’t if I really wanted to kill someone. But did I really want to kill someone? “Tell me what else you’re doing.”
“I’m setting up the room to kill.” Oops, the words just spilled out. Maybe I wanted to finally get credit for my work. I pulled out two forks. They would cradle the heart on the wall. I wouldn’t ruin the heart. It would be too beautiful to ruin.
“Why do you want to kill?”
“I like it.”
“Does the person deserve it?” I gave a dark chuckle. I dropped the forks next to the knives. For everything I did, almost no noise came. I was a professional at this, remember? I knew how to drop metal to make the least amount of sounds, to step where nothing would creak. “Tristan, does this person deserve what you’re about to do to them?”
“No one is perfect, I’m sure there is something. Say hi to your wife for me.”
I heard Dr. Quinter’s shallow breath. “What are you doing now?”
“Looking for something to tie him up with. I can hear her breathing next to you. She knows that you’re talking to me, and she’s afraid that I’ll hurt you somehow. But you can tell her not to worry. I’m not going to hurt you, just like I’m not going to hurt Frankie.”
“What about Joe?” I heard the shuffle of his coat. I heard a door open on Dr. Quinter's side of the phone. Wind started rushing over the mouth piece.
“Where are you going Dr. Quinter? Wait, no, I think I can answer that.” I headed into the closet. I dumped boxes off the shelves, searching. “You’re leaving the house so it makes it seem like you’re going to do something, but your wife knows to call someone which is really your plan. Keep me talking, smart. You wrote my name down on the paper. Your breathing changes when you write.” I put the ring of tape around my wrist.
“Why are you calling me? Tristan, you don’t want --”
I snapped the phone closed. I didn’t know why I called him. I looked at the phone for a second. The police would be coming. I couldn’t get caught. Then I’d be nothing more than an amateur. I would not be an amateur because I was better than that. It could wait another day. I put the tape back. I threw boxes back onto shelves. I stuck the silverware back. I carefully took the knife from Joe’s floor and put it back in the dishwasher. I crawled into his arms, and I closed my eyes.
Joe nuzzled my neck, welcoming my body. I kissed his lips.
“Joe!”
I shot awake in Joe’s arms. He sat up, pulling me closer. “Mom? What are you --”
She opened and closed her mouth, backing away from our entangled figures. “I - Tristan. What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Joe said for me. “Nothing, he had a nightmare again, and Mom!”
Someone shoved her out of the doorway. “Hands up!” Joe’s arms yanked me back into him. My head hit his chest, and his arms bulged around me. I could hear his heart. The man in black pointed a gun at me. He had his face covered. SWAT team. The gun wavered between the two of us.
“It’s alright,” the guy mumbled, probably into a microphone. “False alarm.”
I smirked inside. Who was good? Everything would just pitter out like normal. He didn’t lower the gun, but he made Joe and I get out of bed. We looked like a pair of idiots. Joe wouldn’t let me go, and we had to clamber off the bed together.
“What are they doing here?” Joe asked me.
I darted a glance back at the person following us with a gun. I turned my eyes forward to see three more SWAT team members swooping in. “Later.” Later gave me time to make up a lie.
Joe accepted my answer. The SWAT team led us past the picture wall, and I glanced at it. I saw the picture of Joe and us, still up there. I brushed my fingers over it as we passed. The person behind us stiffened. Joe latched onto my fingers and brought them to his side. “Don’t make them jumpy.”
I gave a cocky grin, one I’d seen on Joe’s face some times. Really?
Making these people jumpy was so fun. Smash a plate by their ear, scream something in the vent.
They led us out to their SWAT vehicle, and I’m proud to say it was my first time seeing one so up close and personal: big, black, and massive. I listened idly as they discussed things among themselves as about two remained professional and silent with me.
I held out my wrists for the handcuffs that looped around my wrists. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”
Joe spun around at me. His eyes flashed from one SWAT member to the other. “What are you - Let him go!”
“Sh, it’ll be okay," I said. "Little misunderstanding I’m sure.”
The rest of the family stood outside, and they pushed Joe over to them. Some of the SWAT team hopped in the back of the vehicle with me, holding their guns straight up and down as if I wasn’t a threat. I looked down at my wrists, covered in the chains. I observed them. I pointed out to one of the guys, and their guns jumped down.
“You,” I said. “You don’t have a wife. You look like a Henry.” I grinned at the silence. I had hit the nail dead on. “But you were married once. You hate your job, but love it at the same time. You love all the actions, but you’re scared you’ll get hurt. Or someone will decide to hurt you, and you still love your ex-wife. That was why you divorced. You didn’t want her to get hurt.” I reached for him. Someone slapped my hand down.
“Keep your hands to yourself.”
“Does it scare you that I can do that? And you’re almost all the way covered up.”
“You’re just getting lucky.”
I looked down at my hands. I twisted them this way and that. I couldn’t quite think of a way to get the cuffs off. The other trick wouldn’t work. These cuffs were new and improved. “Maybe, maybe not.”
The rest of the ride was silent. I didn’t get put into a cell when I was dragged out. Dr. Quinter waited for me at the door, next to him stood the chief, the big bad SWAT boy. “This way.” He motioned for his little SWATs to follow him with me. Dr. Quinter walked with the same long strides of the chief.
I heard a mumble rumble through the SWATs. They weren’t used to having someone like me with someone like Dr. Quinter. I don’t think they knew who Dr. Quinter was, which made them so uneasily. Those type of people always loved the facts. They led me into an interrogation room, and cuffed me too the chair. I scowled, sitting down.
“I’ll be right with you,” Dr. Quinter said. He left the room with everyone else, and I waited alone by my little lonesome self. I stared at the one way mirror, observing how even though I had just been dragged out of bed, I didn’t look that bad. I jingled the chains and hummed lightly to myself. Nothing to worry about, I had my whole lie straight, more or less.
Dr. Quinter finally came back in. He looked really tired. He held up the cuff key for me to see and unlocked me. “No one’s listening,” he said, sitting down across from me. He held a pad of paper and a pen. “It’s just you and me, like our sessions.”
“This is a little alternate universe. Anything I say or do in here won’t transverse to the real world.”
Dr. Quinter gave a wiry grin. “Yes, you’re right; so how are you doing?”
“Okay.” I spun the cuffs around on the table. “I’d do better with Joe in here.”
“Why did you call me?” I looked up at him, and then looked back down. He marked his paper. “I’d really prefer you answer me so I can get you to go back to Joe. Obviously you didn’t do anything bad, no one is dead.”
“I was never going to kill anyone in there,” I explained. I lied.
“Really?” Dr. Quinter looked down at his paper. “So then what was everything you said to me?”
“I wanted to see how your reaction time would be, and what steps you would take to ensure I wouldn’t kill someone. They weren’t that good. I could’ve killed someone in the time it took for SWAT to get there, and obviously you weren’t able to keep me on the phone.”
“Obviously,” Dr. Quinter agreed drily. I glanced at his paper. “I heard metal clicking, and things being thrown. What were you doing then? Nothing?”
“No, I was getting everything out as if I would kill someone. Generally when people hear background noise they will move quicker.”
“The multiple calling in a row?”
“To ensure you were awake - not just halfway - when you answered the phone.”
“So you’re doing okay?” I gave a shrug. “Another nightmare? I talked to the SWAT team. He mentioned finding you and Joe curled up against one another. Quite a shock to the man. He hadn’t quite been following the Jonas Brothers’ problems.” Dr. Quinter gave a light chuckle. “What was this dream like?”
“Moving on.”
“Your refusal to talk about it tells me it was something important.” I fiddled with the cuffs. “It prompted you into calling me, and you were obviously worried you’d hurt Joe, or you wouldn’t have called me. The only reason you called was because you thought that if you told someone your plan, you wouldn’t do it, because then you’d get caught, and you pride yourself in not getting caught. Am I right?”
“I hate you.”
“You hate me like you hate Frankie,” Dr. Quinter said dismissively. “You’re not going to hurt me because I can help you from hurting Joe. You’re not going to hurt Frankie because he can keep you in check, somehow. But what really has me interested is the way you spooked Henry. Gave him a very good scare you rattling off stuff like that.”
I grinned. “I listened. They talked to each other over my head. And,” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a wallet, “lookie what I have here. Tell them to shut up and to not keep their wallets on an easy to reach place.”
Dr. Quinter sighed. “They can keep you here on stealing now.”
“I’m giving it back.”
“We’ll say we just taught him a lesson.” Dr. Quinter took the wallet from my hand. “Now, the dream, tell me about it.”
“I argued with Joe.”
“So you’re prone to hurting Joe when he argues with you?” I shrugged. “There was more in the dream.”
“More dead people.”
“People you killed recently.”
“Mom and Dad. Dad was naked.”
“You didn’t kill them recently. But you had people you killed recently in the dream.”
“Nick and Kevin.”
“They’re alive.”
“Joe.”
“Joe again.”
“Only Joe’s heart.”
“Joe’s alive. Did you hold the heart?” I hesitated, looking at Dr. Quinter. “Everything you tell me can help me when you call me again. Hopefully I’ll understand you better. I’m only here to help you.”
“That’s what you keep saying,” I mumbled. I clicked the cuffs onto my hand. I shifted them over my wrists.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to learn how to get out of these.” I stared hard at the metal. I snapped my wrist one way. I frowned. I moved my thumb, pressing it down as the other one flipped.
“You’re not going to talk to me anymore, are you?”
“Does Joe know what I told you?”
Dr. Quinter looked down. “No, but the SWAT team does know that Joe was your target. So it all depends on what they told him.” I nodded. “You’ll be out of here hopefully before an hour is up. Minor misunderstanding that I called them; we were just testing a new piece of psychotherapy.”
“Do they know what psychotherapy is?”
Dr. Quinter winked at me. “I think that’s the idea.” He disappeared out the door. I clicked the cuffs open.
Dr. Quinter had me out in under thirty minutes. Someone could either talk their way out of anything, or he had a lot of influence. Joe wrapped me in a hug. “You okay?” he asked.
“They didn’t beat me up.”
Joe messed with my hair. “You sure? ‘Cause I might be able to take them on for you.”
“You don’t know how to use a gun.”
Joe snorted. He kissed my forehead. “You’re adorable.”
“Because a guy always wants to hear that.”
“Boys, into the car,” Paul said. He and Joe had been the only ones waiting for me. Joe grinned. He kissed me again before tugging me into the backseat with him. I didn’t bother sleeping again, neither did Joe.
He sat as still as Joe could sit in front of me in the living room. I sat on the couch opposite him, a sketchbook we’d gotten at Wal-Mart at five in the morning on my lap. “You’re not drawing a dead dog are you?”
I laughed. “Unless you want me to draw you without your head, you can shut up.”
Joe dropped his head to his side, sticking out his tongue. I rolled my eyes. “Our kids ’ll wonder why you look dead.”
Joe straightened his head back up. He pouted at me, and I drew the expression in. I happened to think him kind of sexy when he did that, and Joe didn’t pout enough. “We’re not going to get a dog. I’d fear for its life every day.”
“As long as it doesn’t bark or scratch up anything, I can deal with a dog.”
“Maybe a robo-dog.” Joe switched his legs around. “You know what, I don’t know if I could get kids either with you. I’d be so scared you’d get mad if they pooped in their diaper.”
I made a face. “Nasty.”
“Hey, tell me about this morning, why we had SWAT people in our house. Not that it wasn’t thrilling or anything, just curious. Remember you said later. Now is later.”
I stilled my pencil. “Dr. Quinter and I… He wants me to talk to him if I get an urge to kill something.”
“I thought I said you could come to me. Anytime, all the time.”
I frowned at Joe’s hurt expression. “I need a backup plan.” I reached forward to brush a thumb over his cheek. “What if you’re on stage singing. I don’t think anyone would appreciate it very much if I ran onstage to start making out with you.”
“I’d like it.”
“I don’t think you’ll have a career after it.”
Joe gave a half-hearted smile. “I don’t think I’ll have one after the two weeks are up anyway. I think the two weeks will turn into three weeks, and then the three weeks into a month, so on.”
“Oh…” I shaded in the darker side of Joe’s face. I erased gently to smudge the edge.
“Not your fault,” Joe said quickly.
“That wasn’t what I was thinking.”
“Oh…”
I didn’t sleep at all Saturday night. I sat up thinking about what I’d do about Mrs. Johnson. What would she do if I didn’t finish up soon? What would she do to Joe? I twisted over and over in bed Sunday night. A plus to staying up all night was I didn’t have nightmares. The downside, I thought, a lot, too much.
I rolled over, thinking. What if, what if I left the job? I looked at the clock, waiting for minutes to click by. Would Joe away with me? We couldn’t stay here, anywhere in the public view; Mrs. Johnson would just get someone else. She wouldn’t bother with the deceiving again. Joe, would Joe come with me? I closed my eyes. If I asked him to leave everything and go away with me to some place no one would find us, would he leave and come with me?
Yes? No?
Dr. Quinter looked at the bags under my eyes, the way I would start to droop if he talked for too long, and he made marks on his paper.
“If Joe… if I asked him to leave his dream and family and come with me to some place no one could find us, do you think he would?”
Dr. Quinter flipped back in his paper. “I don’t know Tristan. I only know Joe through what you have told me. I don’t really know him.”
“I know, but tell me what you think anyway.”
“What do you think?”
“You’re not going to say what you think.”
“I think you need sleep.” Dr. Quinter’s pen moved over the paper.
I grunted. “I’ve been getting -“
“No sleep. You’re not talking to Joe about the problem you’re having. You’re not talking to me about it either. You’re keeping it inside and it’s going to explode out. And you’re going to hurt whoever is near, whether you want to or not. What you’re doing to Joe isn’t healthy for a relationship. You need to talk in a relationship, not just --”
“Fuck?”
“That’s definitely one way of putting it. Come on, you’re doubling up on the session now.” I sighed, following Dr. Quinter out and to a different room, a bigger one. Joe pulled me down to the sofa with him and Dr. Quinter and Janice sat in opposite chairs from us.
Joe was wrong. I didn’t like Janice. She was fat and looked like she tried too hard on her appearance. Denise would like her though she didn’t have an acne filled brother. I guess she was good for Joe, he talked to her a lot, and she talked to us like we were real human beings, not how Dr. Quinter talked, but okay. I wondered if someone analyzed how we were before we came and paired us with people we wouldn’t kill. Because I definitely think I would kill Janice if she ended up being my therapist, or go more insane. She just rubbed me the wrong way.
“So everything’s been going okay then.”
Joe laughed. “Yeah, pretty much.” Blah, blah. I barely paid attention. I didn’t want another session tomorrow. Janice scheduled another one. I grabbed Dr. Quinter before we left.
“I don’t want another session with her.”
Dr. Quinter sighed. “It’s either you both go to both of us for that time. Or you let us share notes and the pair of you can go to only one.”
“How about just no more together sessions? It didn’t do shit.”
“That’s because you weren’t making an effort.”
“I made an effort.”
“You gave her a critical once over that ended with you glaring at her all doing the meeting. I would’ve sent all the questions to Joe too, and it wasn’t like we didn’t try to include you.”
I scowled, stomping away with my boyfriend, who no doubt wondered what had got my panties in a twist. My day didn’t get any better when Denise announced we had a surprise shopping trip. Weren’t we supposed to keep a low profile? The shopping trip would be in LA. We’d be flying their private jet over and staying the night. Apparently when you have thousands lying around you could do that.
Joe didn’t let go of my hand the whole time me flew. I didn’t enjoy the shopping like I did with Joe at five in the morning and before all the stupid publicity stuff I did. This was shopping with bodyguards, a whole new experience. We couldn’t sneak off. Someone watched our every move, and lumbering huge people only brought attention to us. Attention I really didn’t want then. I drank cup of coffee after cup of coffee, pouring packets of sugar into them. I dragged my feet and closed my eyes whenever I could. Only to snap them open when a dead body rotted in front of them. Oh the joys of murdering people.
I had my own hotel room. I couldn’t sleep that night either. I slept only five stories off the ground. Insane people can climb up to at least ten. I’ve climbed up seven to go in and kill someone. The bed seemed too big, the room too cold. I pulled on a hoodie. I pulled on a pair of socks. I wouldn’t be able to sleep with socks on. I wouldn’t be able to sleep with my feet freezing. I crawled out of bed. I tugged on my sneakers.
I moved slowly down the steps, taking my time going down the five stories. Around and around my thoughts chased each other.
Yes. No. Did I even want to find out? How long would she let me carry on like this?
I paused in the lobby. I turned down to the kitchens. A fancy hotel had fancy kitchens. Fancy kitchens meant big knives. I pushed through the swinging door. Someone still worked for room service. I ducked down. My hand brushed over the table. Something cut my hand, and I recognized the steal bite of a knife. I picked it up, sliding it into my hoodie pocket. “Hey, you!” The chef caught sight of me. I hurried out the door.
I pushed out of the lobby. Left, right I looked before crossing the street. I picked up my pace until I started running through the city, that was only halfway sleeping. I was running out of breath. Pounding on the asphalt, each time my foot hit the ground, a jolt ran up my spine. Each time, something seared across my stomach.
It started to get black -- not dark, black -- after a while, not my stomach, I couldn’t see it. My sight. Just little blotchiness. Black here, black there, right side, left side, then in the center. It spread. Left, right. I stumbled along. Wrong, right?
“Flash!” I ran faster.
I’m a runner.
Frankie knew that. I heard feet coming up behind me, faster than I ran. I matched my steps to theirs. But I couldn’t keep up. I tripped over my feet. I fell to the ground. The knife slicing against my skin. “Tristan,” Joe’s voice shook. He collapsed next to me. “God, you...” He helped me sit up; I pulled the knife from my pocket. I felt goose bumps rise along Joe’s arms. The tip caught in the streetlights. I saw my blood slowly run down it. Joe grabbed the knife. “What did you...” he trailed off.
His hands attacked my middle, pushing here and there against it. The red started to seep through. I grabbed his arm, and I heaved myself up. “Walk with me.” I took a step, gritting my teeth.
“You need to go -“
“I don’t need to go anywhere. Just don’t touch the fabric and all ’ll be fine.”
“Tristan…”
“Trust me for this.”
Joe swallowed, bobbing his head. “I trust you.”
I saw the knife dangle in his hand. I turned away from the red steel. He helped me along. I didn’t know really where we were going. I doubt Joe knew either. He started to look lost as I kept walking and he kept helping me along. I didn’t really worry, I’d been lost since I’d started to run. The blood stopped coming out finally, and I could straighten up more. I worked through the pain, which started to disappear. The knife had just sliced, it hadn’t stabbed. I breathed at a steady rate, matching Joe’s breath, even though every breath hurt.
I let go of Joe’s arm and he followed me. I moved up to a bridge, flowing over a river. They had the whole area lit up. It looked kind of pretty, I guess.
I leaned over the railing. Joe shuffled around awkwardly with the knife before placing it on the railing between us. He folded his arms up on the rail, and looked out at the river with me.
I pecked him softly on the lips. His hand came up to hold me there, but I pulled away. I turned out to the water, to the lights, to the beauty. “What if I say,” I started softly, “I knew you’d be coming for me when I lied on the road bleeding out?”
“God spoke to you?”
I gave a dark chuckle. “No, no, God doesn’t speak to people like me. Someone set it up.” I picked up the knife, my hands hung over the railing, and I twisted the knife around and around. It reflected all sorts of lights.
Joe gave his own chuckle, much lighter than mine. “That’s silly.”
I shrugged. “Someone wants to kill you.”
“I doubt that.”
“They asked me to do it.”
I saw Joe swallow; I saw his eyes dart to the blade. “You’re lying.”
“I thought we didn’t lie to each other.” I flicked the blade up into the air and caught it. I watched the way it moved.
“You… I - you have to be lying about this.” I didn’t say anything. “You’re going to kill me.” I looked down at the water. I could see our reflections, they moved in the flowing river, distorted.
“Maybe. I don’t really know. Weren’t you the one to say I just get in a killing mood? I think I might be in one, I’m not sure though. I never had nightmares before coming here. I didn’t like her, she out creeped me.”
“Who’s -“
“I want you to run away with me.” Joe looked away from me. He stepped away from me. “She wants me to cut out your heart. She wants me to be best friends with your family. She wants it to hurt. I had it all planned out!” I stabbed the knife into the wooden rail. “All of it. Just on Saturday. I had you weak and helpless. I had tape to tie you down with, I already had you gagged. I had the knives to extract your heart. I had everything laid out where I wanted to put ever single piece of your body. I knew my escape route, and where I would disappear to. I could get away, and I could stop having stupid nightmares. I knew fucking everything!”
I closed my eyes, taking a ragged breath. My hands squeezed the rail. “But you called Sid.”
“I want to get away from everything. I want to go with you into the mountains. I want to get different names. I want to get married. I want to have kids. I want to say fuck it to your family, and the fans, and the records company, to the people who can’t seem to except what we are! But she isn’t going to let you go if you just run. No.” I shook my head. “No. Your family won’t let you go if you run away. No.”
“Tristan.”
I snapped my eyes open to him. “We can fake your death.”
“The bridge.”
“You don’t really even need to fall over it. But you can.” I imagined him tumbling over. Leaning over and landing safe in the water. He’d swim to shore, we’d leave. “People think I’m going to kill you are any moment. I slice a sliver from you, take your blood, and I put some around here. I put some on the rail, it’s like I rolled you over it.” I wrenched the knife from the wood. I took a step towards him. Just, just push…
“Tristan.”
I took his arm. “What? It won’t hurt, I promise. We can even numb your arm if you want. Just hit a pressure point.”
“No.” He yanked his arm from my grip. It fell to his side.
“No?” I questioned. I stepped towards him. “What do you mean no?!” I seized his arm. I placed the metal to his skin.
“Tristan, no. I don’t want to go.”
I froze. “Yes you do. I’m your everything. ‘I love you’, ‘Tristan, I love you’, ‘You’re the only person who can make me feel this way’. I’m your everything.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes,” I seethed. “I am. You said I’m your everything. You’ll never leave me. Your family can’t accept you. You picked me over Kevin.”
“What -“
“You believed me over Kevin in that room. You love me. He can never accept you, just like everyone else can’t.”
“I still can’t go.”
“Why? Is it me?” I twisted the knife up dangerously close to his face. In one flick of my wrist I could slice off his tongue. In two I could carve out his eye. “Is it because of that little kid in the mirror room? Is it because I sliced him up, because I betrayed his ‘trust’ of Aladdin?! Is that why you’re saying no?” Joe tried to back away. I slid the knife back onto his skin. I jeered at him, “Is it because of that reporter? I burned his body, Joe. What do you think of that? He could’ve only been twenty-four, twenty-five? I saw a wedding on his finger, and I cut that off, and I threw it in the fire too. Is it because I’m two years younger than you? I’m seventeen and you’ve been doing illegal things with a minor.”
“Tristan you -“
“Is it because of the Megan’s? I did it. I told you to find that bastard who hurt Meghan, and it was me the whole time. Do you want to kill me now? I drowned that poor girl in the toilet, and I did it with the help of you. I said I was showing her to you, and she entered the bathroom because of that. I killed her for you. So I could see you. I needed a way to get in like any other normal person.” I looked down at Joe’s arm. I gently moved the knife back and forth over it, raising goose bumps. He was scared I would cut him if he tried to jerk away. He didn’t want to scar his precious skin, like the scar on my stomach.
“No, it’s not because of -“ I changed my mind mid-thought. My eyes latched onto the beauty of the moving vein. “That day you came in to check on me after Daniel died. You came and said ‘Wanted to see if you were alright.’ But that isn’t really why you came in. You came in to see if I was still there. You wanted to ask me if I had done it. If I had killed Daniel. It’s because of that fucking cheat.” I brushed my thumb over his vein, the one pulsing into his hand.
“It’s because of Daniel. Dear Miranda’s brother. That bodyguard. I killed him. I ripped out his heart, just like I planned on doing for you. You could say he was my practice. He smoked Joe, did you know that? He kept a pack close to his heart. He had so many problems in his life. He wasn’t built for security reasons. You should’ve realized that. He was weak. He had too many secrets. He blubbered when he died Joe. He blubbered. You’re not coming with me because I murdered him!”
“Tristan!”
I looked up at him. I gently traced the vein with my knife, my pulse falling. I knew its path well. Things I knew well calmed me, like a mother to their child. I knew how to kill well. Joe glanced down in fear. “This is your Cephalic vein.” I pricked at the skin, and I felt the flinch in his arm.
“Tristan.”
“Hmmm?”
“No, it’s not because of all of that, okay?”
“Yes it is. I see it in your eyes, your posture. What was I thinking? What was I thinking when I thought you could live with a person like me?” I clenched my teeth. “People like you don’t live with people like me. People like you avoid people like me.”
“You use what you can to get to the top, to get the job done,” Joe whispered to me. “My job isn’t done. I have people who look up to me. My brothers are counting on me.”
“Do you think your brothers will accept you again? You’re gay now, you’re covered in gay filth.”
“Filth washes off,” he spat. The knife flashed upward. I plunged the blade into his shoulder. He screamed. I twisted the knife. I wrenched it up.
My hands snapped back. I lurched away. I watched Joe fall to the ground. He landed on his knees. His eye squeezed shut. I watched blood spill out. The knife dropped from the gaping wound. It clattered to the ground.
I turned away, and I ran.
~*~