Page 39 of Miserable Marionette

“Not really,” I repeat.

My mind is buzzing as I walk to the windows of the foyer, watching Audrey as she stomps up the steps of her porch. Her own front door faring worse than mine. Debating putting my fist through the glass, breaking off a large shard, and following her. To do what? I’m not sure exactly.

To make her admit she missed me.

To force her to say the words out loud, even if I don’t deserve to hear them from her pretty salmon-colored lips. Force her to tell me how bad it hurt so I can fix it for her.

I don’t look away, not for a good long while. Until my mind comes back to me and my vision clears, just a bit. The lights in her room are blaring, the curtains drawn as I turn away. My dress shoes scrape the hardwood as I stop to pet the cat. “Stay out of the fucking basement or I’m not feeding you.” It purrs, content with head rubs but nothing more. I don’t go lower onto its back. The damn thing bit me last time. It casts me an annoyed look when I rise to my full height, heading back down the stairs.

18

Cracks Of Gideon Bell

Gideon, Seventeen Years Old, 1983

One Year Before That Night

The hinges on the back door are silent as I twist the handle, letting myself into Audrey’s house. Grateful I thought to bring some WD40 with me last time. It’s not like Sheriff Fisher was ever going to get around to fixing the creaky hinges. A loud moan makes me pause just as I push the door closed behind me, my head snapping toward the back hall. The blood in my veins seems to freeze over at the sound. It’s not with any logical thought, no calculated steps, that the buzzing in my mind takes over. Blind, dumb rage fueling my footsteps, no longer tactful but pounding as another lusty moan sounds again, followed by a man’s grunt. Seconds later, I’m in front of Audrey’s door, slamming it open so roughly the handle embeds in the wall behind it, my hand going to the knife I keep sharpened in my jeans pocket. My eyes are wide, incensed, daring the huddled form on the bed to move, for there to be another one under those purple floral covers with her.

A breathy giggle is what draws my attention away from my perfect Audrey, across the hall to the guest room. A room that should be empty, the only one who sleeps there now is Audrey’s dad, and he left for work an hour ago. The rustling in the room has me quickly throwing a glance at my best friend, assuring she’s still dead to the world, before I shut her bedroom door, hoping she won’t notice the hole in the wall anytime soon. A kid I vaguely recognize from school stumbles out of the door across the hall, his cock wet and still half-mast. The mechanism on my switchblade clicks the moment Audrey’s mother comes into view from behind him. Her eyes wide with shock, her tits red and puffy from use before she slams the sheet over herself.

As if I’d give a shit about them.

The kid, one of Trent Arborshaun’s brothers, stumbles again, but he doesn’t have a second to regain his footing on his way past me before his back is meeting the wall. The light burning faintly in the dusty sconce flickers from the force of my slam, the blade reflecting it as I jam it against his throat. Not drawing any blood yet.

“The fuck, man?!”

Audrey’s mom makes a weird, choking sound before she rushes over the rumpled bed, making the smell of cheap candles and must billow from the room.

“There’s a fifteen-year-old girl sleeping in that room,” I whisper, my lips close to his sweaty forehead thanks to the height difference. “She doesn’t need to see your fucking cock.”

“O-okay, okay Gid, holy shit. I’ll get—"

“You’ll get dressed and you’ll fuck off, or I’ll drag you across the street and exsanguinate you like a corpse.” My voice is low, just audible enough for Mrs. Fisher and him to hear. He makes a choked sound only slightly manlier than hers as I press my elbow deeper into his throat. “Is that what you wanted? You want Audrey to see your dick?”

“N-no man, Gideon… hey everyone knows she’s yours. I’d never—"

“You a fucking pedophile?”

“No! What?! No! I’d nev—"

“That’s right, you’d never. You’d never even consider walking around naked in a house with a fucking kid around.”

He nods, sweat rolling down his temple.

Her mother is silent, eyes still wide with fear as I turn my attention to her. The smell of liquor coming off the pair of them alone is nearly enough to inebriate. The moment I let him go, he buckles, foregoing his clothes as he runs into the living room, the front door slamming seconds later.

I don’t take my eyes off Mrs. Fisher’s. They’re so much like Audrey’s. But somehow the miserable cunt still makes them look ugly. I don’t speak as I close my knife, pocketing the blade again. She’s trembling, and for a second, I debate killing her. Audrey and her dad would be so much happier. My hand twists on the doorknob to my best friend’s room as I lift my finger to my mouth, silently telling her to be quiet. She gives me a shaky nod just as I step inside the dark room, only lit by the warm glow of her nightlight.

She stirs, her hair a mass of blonde, wayward curls as she leans up, rubbing her eyes. “Gideon?”

“Shhh,” I whisper, shutting the door behind me. “Go back to sleep.”

It takes no convincing, never does. Her head plops back down onto her pillow, her cheek smashing into the little wet spot from her drool. Audrey is out cold before I even get under the blankets, but she snuggles into me all the same as I press a kiss to the top of her head. I wonder if she knows I’d do anything for her.

Minutes later, the sound of the washer thudding with the sheets from her dad’s bed fills the home. My eyes growing heavy, determined to get a few hours of sleep before I have to sneak out. Only to show back up half an hour later to take her to school. Somebody has to look out for Audrey. I’m glad I’m the one who gets to.

Audrey, Sixteen Years Old, 1983