Sicko

by Amo Jones

“Why can’t you be like all the other girls and sit up on my shit and look all pretty, huh?”

Someone is screaming so loud that my ears bleed, and it’s not until I’m tearing off his hoodie to see the stab wound in his stomach that I figure out that, that someone screaming… is me.

She can’t know. Leaving her is going to cripple me, but I have no choice. Not now. Not ever. And not when it comes to her.

I falter in my step. College. My classes. Everything that I should be doing instead of being fucked seven ways to Sunday at some high-end sex club.

I don’t give a fuck who you fuck in your free time, where you stay, or…” He pauses, licks his bottom lip and then catches it with his teeth. His grip around my throat tightens. “Or how fucking good my hand looks around your throat.

Perfect white manicure. Simple, clean, yet knowing exactly what to do with it. The only thing worse than an innocent woman is one who knows exactly how to use it to bring evil to their knees.

“You fucking had feelings for me like that and never thought to say anything?”

“Every single day that I’m breathing means your days are guaranteed. Sleep.”

“Listen!” I snap, I’ve fucking had it with the delay. “I need fuckin’ blood, so all of you are going to have to wait until I’m done, and then you can wear his organs as a necklace. We good?”