CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RAZOR
It’s silent. Everything’s too silent. All I can make out is the blood whooshing behind my ears and the shaky breaths heaving my chest, stalking past Admission with tunnel vision on the gift shop.
This place is crawling with douchebags and pigs every day that we’re open. And out of all the mother fucking days they’ve had to piss me right the fuck off, some badge wants to get alone time with the girl I finally. Finally. Just. Fucking. Tasted.
I have spent years watching her, month after month pining for her attention, fast and slow weeks longing for an accidental touch, and days on top of goddamn days conjuring up fantasies that involved her just being mine.
I’ll let you build those frames and paint the pictures yourself.
God. Fuck. She just used my hard-on to get off. She looked incredible and sounded like an angel. Yet I’m drowning in boiling vexation and beelining for the staircase tucked around in the back corner of all the damn gumdrops and lollipops.
It smells like BO and chemicals in here.
My upper lip curls, taking the staircase two steps at time until I’m twisting the brass knob and shoving open the door to Carl’s office.
The acrid punch suffocating the furniture has me quickly shutting the door behind me and locking it, my focus narrowing on the neglected computer basking in the cool glow illuminating the room.
Probably should’ve unplugged that light.
Forgot to after I took the fish out and refilled it.
Passing the tank on my right, I loosely gesture to the desk. “You mind?”
I wish I could spare a cocky fucking smirk, boast my satisfaction with the display of retributive karma, but the card I’m ripping from my pocket tightens my face and gets things in motion to get this computer on.
I saw Fuckface McGee leave Bunny’s tent. I didn’t have time to track where he was slipping off to because my sweet little bunny came toppling out right after him with something interesting in her hand.
She was in a hurry. Why?
Why would she lie? Why would she keep it? Did she fucking ask for his number? What would she want with a detective? Did she smile at him? What all did she say?
My fist locks around the card, hammering down on the desk next to the keyboard with the spike of rage rupturing through my arms. The murderous rattle shakes his old monitor, disrupting the stupid fucking bobble head he has of himself and echoing a bouncing thunder from wall to wall.
I need to fucking focus. But it’s hard navigating around the insistent thought that Bunny will never be happy with me.
“Tell her the truth. See if she hates you.”
I ignore Carl’s voice, exhaling heavily and putting in the password his decrepit ass has on a sticky note attached to the monitor.
The fuck is the point in having a password then?
“You could’ve thanked me.”
Ire speeds up my heart rate, keeping my flaming eyes on the screen to get the browser pulled up. “Would’ve cut your tongue out if I knew your voice would stick to my psyche,” I mutter.
With a huff, I’m laying the card down and typing the detective’s name in, along with the department that will be grieving over donuts soon.
“I let you restart.”
My chest heats, billowing toxic fumes up my throat that spreads like an infestation of roaches in my face.
I crack my neck both ways, hoping to de-escalate the volatility coagulating my blood, but the pace I’m breathing at to keep my chill is manifesting needling beads of sweat to poke through my entire body.
Even though it’s tricky to concentrate with the pickled sensation and scent decomposing me, I get the information I need on Junior Clyde and shut everything off.
Someone’s watching me. They’re in the corner.
They’re always in the corner in here. But I don’t know who it is because they’re a coward and stay hidden in the shadows.
They just want me to know that they know. They see.
Which is fine. The fuck are they gonna do?
I don’t even bother giving them my attention. I move across the office, aiming for the door, but a box sticking out from the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf entrances me.
My boots tug against the floor, coming to an abrupt stop to eye the cardboard a little longer. “What… are you for?”
Interest tips my head, crossing the distance and sliding the box the rest of the way off the shelf.
It’s folded in, giving me a clear shot of the influx of various cellphones thrown inside. All of them are either fractured or dented somewhere.
Maybe a lost and found.
No clue. But the little Nokia sitting on top with a cracked screen is beckoning me.
I pull it out and tuck the box back in, ignoring the eyes observing my scan of a resourceful tool. I can get a charger. That’s no problem. And I’ve seen those minute cards hanging up in the gas station.
This could be fun. And beneficial.
The pixels are obviously dog shit. But my little fuck bunny would look like an absolute star inside the screen.
Maybe Snuff Bunny is more appropriate. Because the film I wanna make is legendary.
Rotating it around to check it out, I move out of the office with thoughts of what I want to capture playing through my mind.
She’s gonna look so pretty begging me with her eyes, the glow of sweat and cum misting her skin and beads of crimson dripping around her curves.
Like a carnal angel. My star.
The old, foggy beams are just whispering on the road, giving me jack shit for clarity on where the hell I’m going.
I don’t adventure around town, so I don’t know where I am. I’ve just been following street signs and hoping for the best, letting rage take the wheel after my pit stop at the gas station.
He must make decent money poking around in other’s business.
The houses in the neighborhood are either brick or stone, have those big archways around the front doors and the greenest grass you’ll find in Arizona.
That’s where all the water’s going in this goddamn drought. Gotta make sure their pools are filled, and the grass meets the HOA’s standard.
Judgement shakes my head. “302, 302, 302… Ah… There you are.” Cutting the lights that are good for nothing, I pull up to the curb a few houses down and kill the engine.
Breaking into a detective’s house isn’t my smartest idea. I’ll admit that. But I’m not too worried about it. I’ve broken in through Bunny’s window several times and no one has ever caught me.
Don’t tell her. Let me do that.
Breaking and entering is a sneaky game of being fast, efficient, and vigilant. It helps to be overly obsessive and observant. I guess being a little sick in the head doesn’t hurt either.
Creaking open the old door of the truck, I quickly toss a foot out to the pavement and double grip the rusted paint, pausing long enough to glance around the shadows clustered around streetlights.
No one’s out. That I see, anyway. So, I creak open the shitty door until I’m able to slip through the opening, then I move like the fucking wind to get it closed and kick it in gear across the street.
I won’t waste my time with any of the doors. The guy probably has at least eight deadbolts on each. Yeah, I could fuck with them. But I don’t have patience for all that shit right now. So, window it is.