Black Ice

By Nayanya

                   To Jessica. I wrote this a while ago, because Andre is an asshole and deserves the death that I formulated for him. But since I can’t kill him without going to jail, I wrote a story to make me feel better.

_________

Sandra glared at her boyfriend. Soon to be ex-boyfriend, she thought angrily. “I hate you.” She informed him.

Bobby smiled. “Bet you do, babe.” He sneered. “But you can’t get enough of me underneath the covers, huh?”

Sandra wanted to smack him. Hard. Preferably hard enough to really hurt him, perhaps even paralyse him. Permanently. “Get the hell out of my apartment!” She shrieked. “If I ever see you again, Bobby, I will kill you! Get out! GET OUT!”

Bobby scowled at her. “You ain’t got no right, San.” He said in a low, angry voice. “To tell me what to do. You aint got NO RIGHT!” his face was ever so slowly turning an odd shade of mauve. “You think that you can threaten to ill me? Huh, bitch? You ain’t going to do nothing! You hear me? NOTHING!”

Sandra grinned at him. She wasn’t angry with him any more. As a matter of fact, she was quite calm and relaxed. She was really looking forward to what was to come, all right. Yes, she was looking forward to it.

Bobby raised his hand and smacked her, hard, across the face. “Answer me, bitch!” He screamed at her, seemingly unawares that he hadn’t really asked a question. “ANSWER ME!”

Sandra started to giggle, couldn’t really help herself. Se felt it bubbling up like the little bubbles in a bottle of soda, and then they exploded out of her. She laughed so hard she cried, with Bobby looking on, incredulous.

“What’re you laughing at?” He demanded, only to hear her laugh even harder. “Whadda you find so funny?”

She didn’t answer.

He was pathetic, really. Not in any way a unique or superb specimen of the male form, he did, at least, move with a liquid grace that seemed at times to be unnatural, if not inhuman. His body, not particularly well built, was supple and strong, and flexible enough to be considered fit, though certainly not to the point of being spectacular. His face, nothing to marvel at, had sharp, rugged features. His dark, blue-grey eyes were framed by a pair of too-thick dark brown eyebrows, and a straight, thin nose and sharply chiselled cheekbones were offset by his full, sensual lips and mouth.

It was his mouth, actually, that had first drawn Sandra to him. The way he smiled was the only remarkable thing about him. Bobby had a bright, happy, optimistic smile, one that seemed to just brighten up your day along with anyone else who was with you. It didn’t matter that the smile was the only good thing that Bobby had going for him. Of course, Sandra didn’t find this out until much later, when he had his first ‘violent outburst’.

That had been the most terrifying moment of her life, that split second when Bobby turned on her, his face dark with anger and rage, looking for all the world as if he would like to send her to hell along with anyone else dumb enough to get in his way. It hadn’t been until then that she had though to ask his friends and family about him.

Bobby had a violent history. Always, he would seem to be a normal, happy, bright young man and then he would have one of his ‘episodes’. A violent outburst so scary that his family was petrified to say anything about it, lest it result in him being committed.

Talking to his old girlfriends hadn’t been nearly as cheerful. Bobby, it seemed, was not particularly caring towards his girlfriends, didn’t car about anything other than sex. “Bobby didn’t care about me.” One of them had confided. “All he cared about was sex. And if I didn’t feel like it, he’d force me. That’s why we broke up.”

Sandra, of course, had found it funny, almost ironic at the time. Her history was almost the same. She had a horrible temper, but was gifted in being able to control it. Most of the time. In high school, though she was normally a quiet and shy girl, one boy had made a crack about her hair, an unusually touchy subject ever since her four-year-old brother had treated her to a haircut while she was sleeping. Immediately flying into a rage, Sandra had attacked him, screaming at the top of her lungs. It had proved impossible for the teacher to pry her off of the teenage boy… it had taken five of her classmates to do that. By the time the ambulance had arrived, Sandra was her normal self again, quietly finishing copying the homework off of the board.

She’d almost killed him.

Of course, as the boy had always been a troublemaker, his parents decided that the incident had all been his fault, and they saw no problem in letting a fourteen-year-old girl teach him the lesson that he so desperately deserved.

They were a little relieved, actually, that someone had put him in his place. Later, the boy and his family moved all the way to Texas, and the incident was never mentioned again. 

There was no police investigation, no story in the paper, no hinting that Sandra was possibly mentally unstable,

It was the only incident of the sort in high school. The rest of the school had thought that it was kind of cool that Sandra had ‘stood up to that bully’ and therefore, everyone wanted to be her friend, in the hopes that she would stick up for them too.

 It worked out quite nicely, actually, because Sandra inspired everyone, and soon anyone caught bullying another person was beaten by the nearest twenty people.

Sandra, of course, didn’t attribute it all to herself. After high school, she chose not to go to college or university, instead to simply move to New York and open up a store She had taken accounting and business in high school, so she sort of knew what she was doing.

Later, she met Bobby. His name was, in actuality, Robert Anthony Marcus Finch, but he had said with a heart-stopping grin, “You can call me Bobby.” Sandra had immediately fallen in love with his smile, ignoring her friend’s warnings that he was trouble, ignoring the fact that he had so many flaws. She was blindly professing her undying love for him, oblivious to the fact that he had had never said that he loved her in return. Perhaps if she had noticed it, she wouldn’t be in this mess. Either that or she would have insisted that it was because he was afraid of how intense his feelings for her were, happily manufacturing and swallowing her own bullshit,

Bobby had never said he loved her, He had never even pretended it, telling his friends, her friends, pretty much anyone who would listen that he didn’t consider them to be in a relationship, it was pretty much just sex for him. “Not even great sex.” He had smirked, talking to Roseanne, Sandra’s best friend at the time. When Roseanne had relayed this information to Sandra, Sandra had just smiled and said that Roseanne needed “to understand Bobby. He’s not like that, he just needs to feel that this isn’t as much as it is.”

Roseanne had swallowed that, knowing that Sandra was wrong, but hoping that she was right. When she reported other incidences, Sandra dismissed them all. “He has to say that, Roseanne,” Sandra had said, smiling condescendingly. “Macho pride, and all of that.”

When Roseanne told her Bobby had gotten drunk and tried to rape her, Sandra had sighed, shook her head, and told Roseanne that she was jealous. And no matter how much Roseanne denied it and protested it after that, Sandra was adamant in her beliefs.. “You are just jealous, and are therefore trying to break up our relationship.” Sandra said gravely. “But I understand and forgive you.”

“What relationship?” Roseanne had screamed, tossing her strawberry blond hair over her shoulder. “He doesn’t think he’s in a relationship, he thinks he’s found a penny whore! I don’t want your forgiveness, I want you to get over him and realise that he’s trash!”

Soon after that they stopped talking.

It was much later when Sandra had realised Roseanne had been right all along.

Now she was going to get revenge.

Revenge for the months in which Bobby had strung her along, the times in which she had just blindly done whatever he said, lost in the illusion that he loved her. Even though he’d never said it.

Oh, yes. It was time for revenge. Time to make the bastard pay for what he’d done. He thought that he could just waltz in and use her like a prostitute, attack her friends, and not have to suffer the consequences?

Ha.

No, he’d suffer. She’d make damn sure of that, and then she would be in the background, a happy little smile on her otherwise stony face as she watched the pain on his face. Or perhaps she would laugh, like she was laughing now, clutching her stomach and crying so hard that tears were streaming out of her eyes. Bobby was there, watching her. Then he turned and left the apartment, a disgusted look on his face,

Sandra slowly calmed down, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and then went into her bedroom to get a sweater.

She was going to go see Roseanne,

It had taken to two of them almost three weeks to formulate this plan, and nothing was going to stop them from pulling it off without a hitch, especially not Bobby.

**

The ambulance pulled away, lights flashing, but the siren was silent. Not because it wasn’t in a hurry, but because the body inside was already dead.

“Its sad.” The ambulance driver commented to his partner. “People these days think they’re invincible, that they can just go speeding about in icy weather…”

“Yeah.” His partner agreed. “If this guy hadn’t been so stupid, then he would be alive today.”

“Pity, isn’t it, that some people are ignorant enough to think there’s no big deal about speeding on icy roads.”

“Yeah, if he hadn’t been going so damn fast, then maybe when he hit that patch of black ice, he wouldn’t have gone over that cliff and ended up as a charred mass we had to pull out of a car explosion wreck.” He grinned. “Probably served him right, though, he was probably some pervert or convict trying to get away from the police.”

“Yeah.”

They drove in silence for a while.

Bobby was gone.

**

Sandra smiled and then walked away from Bobby’s funeral, arm in arm with Roseanne. The two girls went to a coffee shop and then, sitting down, sipping the hot tea, Sandra turned to Roseanne. “Are you sorry, at all?” She asked hesitantly.

“Why would I be?” Roseanne replied. “I haven’t done anything wrong. Neither have you. Guilt simply refuses to come to me.”

“Good.” Sandra smiled. “That’s how I feel, too.”

 

The End

Author’s Note: The Moral of the story is, piss of my friends and you will piss off me. Think of me as Roseanne. Or Sandra.