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No matter where I go, he’s there. Waiting. Observing. Others might call it stalking, but I just think he’s being adorable.
“Say your prayers, Freakshow,” I growl, staring at his picture, amping myself up for the task at hand. “Even God can’t save you from The Wrath.” There’s a tap on my shoulder, and when I turn to face my wife, she’s blinking slowly at me. “Brody?” “Don’t,” I warn her. “We’ve talked about this.” “It just slipped out.” “You know I don’t like when you refer to your penis as The Wrath.”
“He likes to watch me. I bought a ladder at Wal-Mart in case he wants to sneak a peek. Jesus, it’s like you don’t listen to a word I say. Keep up, please.”
“What are you doing to me, Freakshow?” he muses.
“What are you doing to me, Scotty?” he whispers again, but he seems less distraught when he says it this time. “This isn’t me.
“You’re breaking me, baby. You’re breaking me down, and I don’t know if I can put myself back together.”
The second I saw the footage, I knew Scotty would need me. I might not be any closer to working out the issues surrounding my sexuality, but right now, those issues don’t matter. The only thing that matters is keeping his heart safe.
Freakshow, I love how insane you are, and I don’t want you to stop being batshit crazy around me. You push me outside my comfort zone, and you don’t give me a say in the matter. I love it.”
“What are those?” I ask, pointing at the pills. He smirks at me. “Arsenic. And I swear to fucking God, Freakshow, if you even think of leaving me at the altar, I’ll shove one in your mouth and one in mine. You fucking hear me? I’m not playing with you. You’re gonna fucking marry me, or I’m gonna fucking kill you and everyone you love.”
