Beautiful Terror (Burn It All Down Duet #2)

BONUS SCENE

DEX

It’s not hard to deal with Desperella.

She’s almost not worth it, but nobody—nobody—gets away with hurting my Margaux.

She has to pay.

First, a simple hack of her social media and texts reveals that she’s just as thirsty with an entire string of low-value men as she was with Timmy—including her very married boss, and one of the security guards, at the cheap strip club she works at in a scummy part of town. I anonymously send screenshots to the boss’ wife, as well as the boss himself, and she’s promptly escorted from the premises.

She squeals with indignation—her nasal voice full of self-righteous bluster—but nobody cares.

Then I launch a social media blitz, revealing her desperate and thirsty ways—the selfies she sends to taken men.

She’s ostracized from the few friends she’s managed to hang onto.

Finally, I set her up with a supposedly wealthy man on a sugar daddy site. I keep her on the leash for weeks, getting her more and more worked up at the thought of how much money she could extort from this guy. I’m transparent that the catfish is married, but—of course—it doesn’t deter her in the slightest. In fact, it seems to encourage her. She agrees to meet him in a seedy motel room, but when she gets there, there’s no man. Just a note that says, “You’ll never be Margaux,” with a display of photos of Margaux and Timmy smiling and laughing, as well as a hefty amount of ketamine and alcohol.

And she understands the assignment.

With no job, no friends, and no man—Desperella does what she should have done long ago. Does the world a favor.

The free alcohol and drugs are too much for an addict like her to resist.

She drowns herself in the alcohol, crying in her self-pity, and goes down a K-hole.

Hours later, Desperella sits slumped in the worn armchair of the dimly lit motel room, her eyeliner smudged and glittering in the faint light of the bedside lamp.

She laughs to herself, a hollow, fractured sound that echoes in the emptiness of the room.

A nearly empty bottle of cheap vodka tilts precariously on the edge of the nightstand, its contents already spilling onto the sticky floor.

Her movements are slow and uncoordinated as she fumbles with the tiny packet of ketamine. The powdered substance glints faintly in the light, a deceptive allure masking its danger. Her hands tremble as she scoops too much onto the edge of a card and brings it to her nose. The harsh snort sends her head snapping back for a moment before she sinks further into the chair.

At first, she seems detached, staring into the distance as if watching a scene unfold behind her eyes. Her breathing grows shallow, uneven, and a soft wheeze escapes her lips with each exhale. Her fingers twitch slightly, as though trying to grip something unseen. Her body jerks subtly at intervals, an involuntary spasm breaking the stillness.

The room spins around her as the dissociative effects take hold, pulling her further from reality. Her vacant eyes dart wildly under half-closed lids, reflecting the terror of an internal world spiraling out of control. Her breathing slows to an alarming crawl, shallow and erratic, her chest barely rising.

Her pale face takes on an ashen hue, her lips tinged blue from the lack of oxygen. Droplets of sweat bead on her forehead, despite the room's cool air. Her limbs grow limp, sliding off the armrests as she collapses into the chair like a discarded doll.

A garbled sound bubbles from her throat—half a gasp, half a choke. Her head lolls to one side, her eyes now unfocused, staring at nothing. The gurgling stops, replaced by silence.

For a moment, the room is still, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning. Her lifeless body remains slumped in the chair, the remnants of her desperate choices scattered around her like evidence of a life unfulfilled.

I glance at Margaux, her eyes glittering at the sight of Desperella’s demise.

Pulling her closer to me, and, still looking at the camera as Desperella’s corpse lies there lonely, unloved, unnoticed—just as tragic in death as in life—we turn to each other and laugh, and laugh.