There is blood everywhere; I can smell it better than I can see it. The tears that stain my cheeks are blurring my vision and all I hear is silence all around me. This wasn’t how the game was supposed to end. No one was supposed to get hurt. Deron lied.

“C’mon!” he yells. He’s grabbing my sleeve and pulling me toward the only door in the entire room. “We can’t stay here; the cops will be here soon.”

I swipe the back of my hand across my face, smearing the tears across my cheeks. I jerk my arm away from Deron and for the first time in thirty minutes I can see what we’ve done.

My knees shake, threatening to buckle as I stare at the body on the floor. He’s laying face down with blood spreading and leaking from both the wound on his chest and the hole in his back. There weren’t supposed to be any bullets in the gun. We were just trying to scare him, to make sure he’d leave us alone for good. We just wanted to stop the bullying, that was all. Killing Zach wasn’t in tonight’s description. We were only supposed to make him pee himself at best. But the gun went off in Deron’s hand and now we have to run.

In this kind of lighting, with the huge swamp lights casting gross, hospital yellow beams onto everything, the puddle around Zach looks like thick candy apples after being put through an industrial juicer.

“Fucking hurry up Danny! We can’t stay here!” Deron hollers. His voice pitches and cracks as he runs his hands down the front of his blood splattered shirt. He’s scared; I can tell that much.

I step backward slowly, then turn and run out of the room. Deron slams the door shut behind us and then runs ahead of me to the car. He starts it up and waits for me to catch up. It’s completely dark outside, a moonless night with no stars to match the emptiness. I’m running blind, tripping over everything big enough to be an obstacle. I can’t breathe as I run; my asthma is kicking in and adds to the shock. I stop running and collapse to the ground, trying to take some air into my lungs, but choke on rocks and dirt instead. For a moment I go deaf, for a moment I only hear my thoughts shouting at me to just give up and let the police find me. Before I have a chance to agree I feel a hard punch on my spine. I clench my teeth against the pain.

“Dammit Danny, quit being a pussy and breathe!”

Deron hits me again and I feel a pocket of air explode in my throat. I gasp, finally allowing my lungs to expand and take in whatever oxygen I manage to get.

“What…did…we…do…” I pant.

“We didn’t do anything,” Deron says. He pulls my arm over his shoulders and lifts me to my feet. “Pencil dick deserved what he got.”

“But we…just killed someone.” My head is throbbing and my brain feels like it’s ready explode through my skull.

“No,” he says as he opens the car door and sits me down. “It was self-defense.”

Before I can understand his claim he throws his fist into my nose. My hands shoot to my face, closing around my nose. My eyes water and I’m starting to resent the day I ever became friends with Deron.

“Ow! Shit,” I hiss. “What was that for?!” My voice sounds as if I’m gurgling mouth wash, and I taste the blood that’s staining my teeth.

“Just shut up and hit me.” Deron demands. His blonde hair hangs in sweaty strands against his forehead; covering his eyes and making him seem much more evil than he really is. He pushes a few pieces back and waits for me to cooperate.

“No.” I say as I pull my hands back, watching the blood pool and spill over my hands; I feel sick.

“Do you want to go to jail?”

“No.”

“Then hit me goddammit.”

I look at Deron for a moment, seriously debating whether or not I should listen to him. He is my best friend and for as long as I’ve known him he has never steered me wrong – until now. This entire night is his fault. He was the one who suggested we use a gun to prove a point. He was the one who decided that we should lure Zach away from his friends by promising him a good fuck. It was all Deron’s idea, not mine.

I feel like I’m in Fight Club. I am Jack’s inescapable guilt, I think.

Deron’s brow furrows and I cock my fist back as far as I can; I punch him in the chest, knocking him backward a few steps. He doubles over, cursing and swearing at everything but me.

“There, are you happy now?” I say, not wanting to play this game anymore.

Deron lifts his eyes and grins like the devil he truly is; I immediately know the answer.

“Uh-uh. No way.” I shout. I scramble backward to the driver side door, reaching for the door handle to get away from Deron and his perverted plan. He crawls in after me, moving quicker than I do. He’s hovering over me, grinning like a serial killer just let out of prison. He leans down, pressing his lips to my ear, letting the stubble on his jaw scrape against the side of my face.

“Just play along and it won’t be so painful.” He says in an almost seductive tone.

My ass clenches out of reflex and I close my eyes as tightly as I can. His lips trail down to my collarbone and my breath catches in my throat. My heart is racing, pushing a flood of blood past my ears at an almost deafening pace. I want to tell him to stop, to tell him that this is so incredibly wrong. But before I can utter a word he bites me, hard.

“Ow!” I yell.

He lifts his head, still smiling like a devil, except now he looks like a vampire as my blood drips down his chin.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” I bellow. I shove my so-called best friend off of me and punch him in the neck; my aim is shot.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about. Do it again.”

“No way, you nut job.”

I grab the door handle and pull. Deron is too busy getting off on the prospect of pain to notice that if I push hard enough we’ll both be tumbling to the dirt.

“Do you want to be raped by some tranny bitch named Peaches whose dick is longer than your arm?” He asks completely serious.

The visual I get is enough to make me want to puke. “No, but…”

“But what? If you don’t want to lose your virginity to a guy named Bubba in cell bock C, then you’ll beat the shit out of me and let me do the same to you.” Deron’s eyes are glowing with fascination and determination. The overhead light is flickering on and off despite my firm hold on the door handle. Deron’s car is a piece of shit, the torn leather of the seats are stabbing me in the back and all I can think of is the way Zach’s eyes kept pleading with us even after he hit the floor.

Deron’s theory of masochism makes sense in an insane jack yourself off with knives dipped in acid kind of way. It’s a stupid plan. What are we supposed to do, just fight until we both have a few scars and cracked ribs, then just forget that we shot Zack when he was begging on his knees? It’s sick and wrong, and our only chance of not getting caught.

I grit my teeth and sock Deron for a third time. I let go of the door after pulling it closed, then shove my hands into his chest, pushing him backward until his head hits the window. He laughs like a masochist being stabbed over and over. He’s enjoying my angry submission and it scares the hell out of me, but I don’t stop. I hit him again and he returns the favor. We fight for what seems like an hour or maybe two, beating each other up relentlessly. When we finally stop Deron’s car has blood stains everywhere and I can’t feel my left hand. Three of Deron’s teeth are lying on the back seat, but he still manages to smile. The overhead light is acting like a strobe, flashing on and off nearly in sync with my heartbeat. We’ve created our very own horror movie and all I can do is follow the paths that the blood splatters make as they race in teams to the bottom of the windows.

Deron reaches out to where I’m laying and ruffles my hair. I hurt everywhere, my entire body is a throbbing mess, but I smile too.

“Atta boy.” He says in a hushed voice. His hair is streaked with red and hangs in clumps against his forehead. I use his body as a mirror, I’m not as muscular as Deron, but I know that I’m just as sweaty and bruised as he is.

He crawls slowly to the driver’s seat, wincing as he turns the keys in the ignition. With a roar his old car comes to life, and then settles into a low hum. I continue to lie where I am, heaving and sighing against the painful ache coursing through my body.

Deron looks at me from over his shoulder. “You did good, buddy. You did good.”

I wince instead of thanking Deron, I feel like I’ve just sold my soul to the devil. He laughs at me again and it hurts. He is Tyler Durden, telling me that self-improvement is masturbation but self-destruction is law. I close my eyes as Deron drives the car further away from our One-Night in Vegas. Our lives are no longer our own. I have to protect Deron as much as he does me. And I know that what happened tonight was just an act of self defense.

I am Jack’s broken conscience, I just gave up.