Beauty in Bloodshed - Part Three
The third installment of my short story Beauty in Bloodshed. Following Anna-Lee and Chris through their crime spree. A night of rest. Feel free to comment your thoughts. Should i continue the story?
Anna-Lee:
We're back in the motel room now after nearly an hour of dodging tree branches while running through the path Chris found through the woods. The glass in my feet dug deeper and deeper the entire way. I can't even stand on them now that the adrenaline has worn off. I'm sitting in the bathtub with the shower raining down on me. It hits me clean but the water coming off me is red. I watch that woman's blood slide off me and down the drain. It almost has me hypnotized. Chris walks in. He is covered in blood and has a smoke hanging out of his mouth. He pulls open the shower curtain. He has his hunting knife in his hands. He holds it out to me.
"Here babe, use this, you need to get the glass out of your feet." He sits down on the toilet seat. Watching me.
I pull my foot up and begin digging the glass out with the point of the knife. It hurts. It really fuckin' hurts. I wince.
"At least I'll have a real limp now" I say to him, almost giggling.
He bursts out into a fit of laughter. After a minute or so he gets up and leaves. When he comes back he has a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He takes a giant swig.
"You get it all out?" he asks me.
I nod, I'm almost in too much pain to speak. I can feel my stomach rising. He hands me the bottle.
"One for you." he says. I take a huge chug out of the bottle and it warms me all the way down. He takes the bottle back. " And one for good luck." he pours whiskey on my cut feet. I cry out.
"Infection risk babe." he hands me the bottle back, " drink up, and, I love you." He leaves the bathroom. Leaves me alone with the pain, and my thoughts. The water beats off my back.
Chris:
I leave Anna in the bathroom. I sit down on the shabby motel bed. I don't even want to know what disease ridden mess has put their bare ass right where I am sitting. I try to not think about it. I try to think about the killing. The gun going off in my hand. The power. The rush. It was more than adrenaline. I guess it's how god would feel, if there was a god. Taking away something so precious as life. I'm not sure how Anna felt about it. But she hasn't said anything. I'm not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing.
I turn on the TV. Nothing. I feel like a kid with A.D.D. After a rush like that it's hard to sit still. Hard to think of one thing that can compare. Well, maybe one thing. I reach over the side of the bed. Into my back pack. I pull out my hand mirror, a 20 dollar bill and a little baggie. I carefully dump the baggie onto the mirror and form little lines up. The bill rolls smoothly in my hand, into a perfect tube. I snort. I repeat. I repeat.
The blow hits me all at once and I set the mirror aside and collapse backward onto the bed, diseases be damned. My head is spinning and my veins are on fire, my heart is jumping right out of my chest and for a minute or two that's all I hear. Thud. Thump. Thud. Thump. Then I hear slow footsteps. I hear Anna crying. I feel the weight of her on the bed next to me. Feel the warmth of her naked skin beside me. Smell the whiskey on her. And all the while. Thud. Thump. Thud. Thump. It quiets. I need another line.
I sit up and look at her. Her hair is wet and her feet are wrapped, but blood is already soaking through the bandages. She has the bottle of whiskey in her hand and it is considerably emptier than when I left her sitting in the shower. I cut up two lines. Rethink it and cut up 2 more. I offer her the mirror. She takes two and I swear I can hear the thud thump of her heart leaping out of her chest. She inhales deeply and closes her eyes. I gently take the mirror back out of her hands. I do my two lines.
After what we just did the cocaine is almost a downer. We lay there for a while. Then repeat the process again. And again. Until there is no more left. I fall asleep with my heart in my ears and blood on my hands.
We're back in the motel room now after nearly an hour of dodging tree branches while running through the path Chris found through the woods. The glass in my feet dug deeper and deeper the entire way. I can't even stand on them now that the adrenaline has worn off. I'm sitting in the bathtub with the shower raining down on me. It hits me clean but the water coming off me is red. I watch that woman's blood slide off me and down the drain. It almost has me hypnotized. Chris walks in. He is covered in blood and has a smoke hanging out of his mouth. He pulls open the shower curtain. He has his hunting knife in his hands. He holds it out to me.
"Here babe, use this, you need to get the glass out of your feet." He sits down on the toilet seat. Watching me.
I pull my foot up and begin digging the glass out with the point of the knife. It hurts. It really fuckin' hurts. I wince.
"At least I'll have a real limp now" I say to him, almost giggling.
He bursts out into a fit of laughter. After a minute or so he gets up and leaves. When he comes back he has a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He takes a giant swig.
"You get it all out?" he asks me.
I nod, I'm almost in too much pain to speak. I can feel my stomach rising. He hands me the bottle.
"One for you." he says. I take a huge chug out of the bottle and it warms me all the way down. He takes the bottle back. " And one for good luck." he pours whiskey on my cut feet. I cry out.
"Infection risk babe." he hands me the bottle back, " drink up, and, I love you." He leaves the bathroom. Leaves me alone with the pain, and my thoughts. The water beats off my back.
Chris:
I leave Anna in the bathroom. I sit down on the shabby motel bed. I don't even want to know what disease ridden mess has put their bare ass right where I am sitting. I try to not think about it. I try to think about the killing. The gun going off in my hand. The power. The rush. It was more than adrenaline. I guess it's how god would feel, if there was a god. Taking away something so precious as life. I'm not sure how Anna felt about it. But she hasn't said anything. I'm not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing.
I turn on the TV. Nothing. I feel like a kid with A.D.D. After a rush like that it's hard to sit still. Hard to think of one thing that can compare. Well, maybe one thing. I reach over the side of the bed. Into my back pack. I pull out my hand mirror, a 20 dollar bill and a little baggie. I carefully dump the baggie onto the mirror and form little lines up. The bill rolls smoothly in my hand, into a perfect tube. I snort. I repeat. I repeat.
The blow hits me all at once and I set the mirror aside and collapse backward onto the bed, diseases be damned. My head is spinning and my veins are on fire, my heart is jumping right out of my chest and for a minute or two that's all I hear. Thud. Thump. Thud. Thump. Then I hear slow footsteps. I hear Anna crying. I feel the weight of her on the bed next to me. Feel the warmth of her naked skin beside me. Smell the whiskey on her. And all the while. Thud. Thump. Thud. Thump. It quiets. I need another line.
I sit up and look at her. Her hair is wet and her feet are wrapped, but blood is already soaking through the bandages. She has the bottle of whiskey in her hand and it is considerably emptier than when I left her sitting in the shower. I cut up two lines. Rethink it and cut up 2 more. I offer her the mirror. She takes two and I swear I can hear the thud thump of her heart leaping out of her chest. She inhales deeply and closes her eyes. I gently take the mirror back out of her hands. I do my two lines.
After what we just did the cocaine is almost a downer. We lay there for a while. Then repeat the process again. And again. Until there is no more left. I fall asleep with my heart in my ears and blood on my hands.
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