The Final Coda

This little bit was something I wrote about a year ago. It still makes me smile in an effed up sort of way.

 

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Pretty little face stopped me in my tracks

But now she sleeps with one eye open

I sing as I walk through the living room. My bare feet sink into the thick carpet, muffling my footsteps. Not that I'm interested in silence.

I want her to hear me coming, to know she's about to pay for whoring herself out to the man I love.

The hallway comes to an end, leaving me with the choice between the kitchen and stairs leading to the second floor. There's an exit to the garage in the kitchen, but I don't think she'll head that way. People inexplicably run up when they're being chased. Makes no sense –  your chances of surviving drop the further you are from an exit — but it's a truth I've learned from experience.

I trail my knife along the wall, leaving a scratch in the lilac paint. This house grates on me, the perfect carpet and perfect furniture, all coming together to create a perfect little home for that perfect blonde slut.

I want to set it on fire.

All in good time.

I start singing again, louder than before.

I took a knife and cut out her eye.

I took it home and watched it wither and die.

Well, she's lucky I didn't slip her a smile. That's why she sleeps with one eye open.

But that's the price she'll pay.

A whimper sounds from somewhere above me. I allow a smile to pass briefly over my lips as I start up the stairs. My hair slides over my shoulders, mirroring the movement of my skirt against my legs. The choice of a dress is't practical, but I don't care. Sometimes a girl wants to look pretty.

The door to the master bedroom stands partially open, the room beyond wreathed in shadows — the perfect place to hide if you're too stupid to run. I shake my head and use my toe to push the door open the rest of the way. The light from the street lamp outside the window illuminates a dresser, nightstand, and a king-sized bed. Probably where the little slut does all her business.

Mama always said there were two kinds of girls in this world: ladies and whores. Little Miss Caroline is the latter. Then again, Mama claimed I was too. I still don't understand why she was surprised when things ended the way they did.

I really don't like being called a whore.

On the other side of the room there are two doors, most likely to a closet and bathroom. I glance at the window but it remains shut. Of course she didn't tried to climb out; she's holed up somewhere like a scared little rabbit.

The last lines of the song slip past my lips as I enter the room.

I'll cut your little heart out cause you made me cry.

A sob comes from the door on the left. I cross to the bathroom, taking in the closed shower curtain. I push the door open all the way to ensure she isn't hiding behind it. She isn't. How predictable. If James is going to cheat on me, the least he can do is pick someone less pathetic. This is really too easy.

I ease the shower curtain open and there she is, cowering in the corner of the tub, her arms over her head as if that will save her. The very sight brings my rage to the forefront. All I want to do is stab and stab until there is nothing left to remind me of James' betrayal, until the darkness inside me quiets.

Instead I step back. "Get up." I want to see her face when she dies, to watch the light fade from her eyes. To know I've won.

When she doesn't move fast enough I grab her and yank her to her feet. "I said get up." I shove her and she trips out of the tub, falling against the sink. Enough fooling around; it's time to end this.

Taking a fistful of hair, I force her head back, exposing her neck. "Should have kept your panties on, sweetheart."

Those big blue eyes start leaking. "Please. Please don't hurt me."

"Shh." I raise the knife, pressing it against her lilly white skin. "It'll only hurt for a moment."

"Jenny."

I jump, cutting a thin line across her throat. Not enough to cause any real damage but the little drama queen makes a sound like she was dying. Looking up, my breath catches in my throat. James always does that to me. He's just too beautiful with his brooding good looks and soulful green eyes. "James?"

"Let her go, Jenny." He inches into the bathroom, one hand outstretched as if he can really save her.

Betrayal surges, hot and thick in my throat. "I can't, James. I have to kill her so we can be happy again."

James shakes his head slowly. "I can't let you hurt her, Jenny. I can't."

He doesn't have a choice. He can't reach me before I slit her throat and pour her pretty blood all over her perfect bathroom. I tense as flash of metal catches my eye. A bang shatters the near silence of the bathroom. Pain explodes in my chest, so intense I can't scream.

I slide to the ground, unable to catch my breath. Wetness soaks my dress, a dark stain spreading over the white. "James?"

He appears in my line of vision, a single tear sliding down his cheek. "I'm so sorry, Jenny. So damn sorry."

James has always been weak. I close my eyes against his pain, letting my own drag me down, the last line of the song repeating over and over, getting louder and louder, crashing together in a crescendo that makes my heart threaten to burst from my chest.

Then it slips away and all that's left is silence.

*The song Jenny's singing is Girl With One Eye by Florence + The Machine. You can listen to the song here and buy it here.