The ex-boyfriend pressed the end of the barrel into the little boy's forehead, lightly, gently.
"I'm sorry about this, little buddy," said the ex. "I really, truly am."
"Aw, don't cry, dude! What I'm doing you is a favor. I promise you, life only goes downhill from here. It ain't gonna get no better. At least this way you'll never have to grow up and fall in love and get your heart ripped out by some cum-guzzling piece-of-shit slut!" The ex turned his head from the crying boy, looking over to his left where a teenage girl sat duct-taped to a high-backed mahogany chair. The gun's eye held its threatening glare, staring intently at the boy's unwrinkled forehead. "Ain't that right, honey?"
"Please stop, Dennis!" the ex-girlfriend pleaded. "Don't do this, please! I'm begging you! I'll do anything you want! I'll go back out with you, okay? Okay? Just please don't hurt my family! Please!"
"Oh, so now you'll go back out with me, huh? It didn't matter when I was calling you every fucking night, crying and begging and pleading for you to please take me back. It didn't matter when I was fucking threatening to kill myself!But now that I got a gun glued to your little brother's forehead, you're suddenly wanting to do anything for me. When I had a gun to my own head all you did was fucking call me crazy and hang up the goddamn phone!"
"I'm sorry, okay?" said the girl. "I should've never broken up with you! I'm sorry. I love you and I want to be with you forever. Just please leave my family alone!"
"Do you really think I'm that motherfucking stupid? You don't love me! You never fucking loved me! All you did was fucking ruin my whole goddamn life! I thought you were the best thing that had ever happened to me, but you were the fucking worst! I really did love you—I still love you. At least I meant all the things I used to say. But everything you've ever said to me was a fucking lie! You broke every goddamn promise you ever fucking made to me! 'Oh, Dennis, I love you soooo much! I want to be with you forever! We're gonna get married one day and have kids and everything! I'll never ever leave you. You're the best boyfriend ever!" mocked the ex-boyfriend in his high-pitched imitation. "Yeah, right. Then you just fucking up and dump me for some goddamn nigger! A nigger! That's fucking disgusting!"
"I didn't dump you for him!" she objected. "We'd already been broken up for two and a half months before he ever asked me out!"
"Yeah, two and a half fucking months! We were together for over a whole year! I supposedly meant so fucking much to you and yet you're already over us in just two and half motherfucking goddamn months? How can you say I ever meant anything to you or that you ever loved me when it only takes you two and half months to get over a whole fucking year of memories?"
A red circular imprint was beginning to form upon the sobbing boy's pale, youthful skin.
"I did love you, Dennis! And I still care about you! You'll always hold a special place in my heart. But we're just not meant to be! It wasn't my fault we broke up! You made me fall out of love with you! Always calling me during the day like nonstop, asking me where I'm at or who I'm with, never letting me have any guy friends, never trusting me. You like put all this pressure on me, saying how you can't live without me and stuff. I mean, who would want to go out with a guy like that? It's not my fault, it's yours."
"That's bullshit!" cried the ex-boyfriend. "I didn't make you fall out love with me! So what if I was jealous of other guys? It's just because I didn't want to lose you! I was afraid some other guy would steal my girl! All of that shit should've been a compliment! It only showed how much I love you!"
The gun pressed harder into the little boy's little forehead. A little cry of pain.
"You're hurting him!" came a high-pitched voice from behind Dennis's back. He looked over his shoulder to the opposite side of the room. A man and woman, father and mother, were sitting in the same kind of mahogany chairs, bracelets of duct tape hugging them tightly to the wood in an unwelcoming embrace. The mother had spoken, and she spoke again; "You're hurting my boy!"
"Was anybody talking to you, bitch? No, I didn't think so. Shut the fuck up then!"
Dennis returned his gaze to the pleading ex-girlfriend, taking great pleasure in that furrowed brow of worrisome fear. He smiled at her. "You brought all of this on yourself, babe. I told you this would happen. I told you breaking-up with me was the biggest mistake you could've ever made. I told you, I told you, I told you. But you didn't believe me. Now, say goodbye to your little bro."
"No!" she screamed. "Dennis, wait! It's not too late. I'll give us another chance, okay? I see how much you love me now; I see how much you care about me. I want to be with you, Dennis! Please just let my family go and I'll be your girlfriend again! Please?"
"What about your nigger boyfriend?"
"I'll dump him! He doesn't even deserve to be with me anyway. You do!"
Dennis shook his head. "No, it's too late."
"No, it isn't!"
"Yes, it is! I don't want to be want to be with you now! You're fucking disgusting! I don't want to kiss you after you've been making out with Ol' Blubber Lips. Probably fucking sucking his dick and shit. You're like all trashy now."
"Then why are you doing this! If I'm so bad, why do care so much about me? Why won't you just leave us alone? It's been three months now! Get over it and move on already!"
"See, you don't understand. Nobody does," said the ex, shaking his head. "I can't fucking move on! Okay? I'm starting to think I'm like the only person who has ever even been in love before. Like all these motherfuckers—guys and girls—act all sad and shit when they get broken up with, crying and whining and complaining, saying their life is over and all that bullshit. And then like two weeks later they're already dating somebody else and talking about how 'in love' they supposedly are. It's fucking retarded! I really was in love with you. I know what love is. You don't, obviously. But I do! I can't go about my day knowing that you're probably out there with that piece of shit scum nigger. That he's touching you and kissing you and all that crap. I can't deal with that! You're my girl! Mine, mine, mine! You ain't nobody else's and you ain't ever gonna be! I ain't gonna allow it! We were supposed to be together forever, damn't! Forever! Don't you fucking know what that word means?!"
"Son, calm down," said a husky voice from the other side of the room.
Dennis wheeled around to face the man, the ex-girlfriend's father. He began walking toward him, head cocked to the side with that semi-confused look a person wears when listening intently to another; a voice heard but misunderstood.
"What the fuck did you call me? Did you just fucking call me son? You ain't my daddy, motherfucker! Where the fuck do you get off on calling me son?" He paused, looking down at the gray-haired man. The father flinched; and the ex-boyfriend smirked. "Oh, I see how it is now," said Dennis, nodding his head. "I go out with your daughter for like a whole year and you never even acknowledge me, never try to be my friend; but now here I am with a gun, and you're wanting to be my buddy all of a sudden, wanting to be a father figure. Well, daddy," mocked Dennis, flicking the father's nose back and forth with the end of the gun, ignoring the screams of "no!" and "please don't!" from the ex-girlfriend and her mother. "What happened to your daughter being too good for me? Didn't you once say that a 'person like me' had no business dating your baby girl?"
The father pushed his head away from the gun, his eyes darting from the black eye of the barrel to the dark eyes of the ex-boyfriend. "Dennis, I'm sorry, okay? I understand you hold a grudge against us, and I believe you have a right to, but ... this ... Dennis, you're too smart to do anything like this. You'll end up going to prison for the rest of your life. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life like---"
"Just shut up, old man. You're right, I am smart; smart enough to have already figured all this shit out. I know what the fuck I'm doing."
"If you'll just undo one of us, and then leave," said the father. "I promise you—I promise . . . we won't call the cops or anybody. We'll never tell anybody about this ever. If you go through with this, you won't get away with it. God is watching you."
Dennis burst out laughing, and his arm moved, so the gun moved with it. With Death no longer hovering before him, the father sighed in relief. "God? God is watching me?" laughed Dennis. He started looking around the room. "Well, where is He? God? Where are you, God? I-I don't see him anywhere. Oh, wait! There He is!" Dennis pointed toward a wooden cross hanging upon the wall. He walked toward it, taking it down. He studied it as he returned to the father, chuckling beneath his breath. "You people are so stupid," insulted Dennis. "It's just a fucking lowercase 't'! And yet you worship the goddamn thing!"
Suddenly Dennis dropped the cross as if God had turned it to fire within his grip. He covered his open mouth with the same hand, gasping like a kindergartner who has just heard a bad word. "Oh, my God," he said, the hand sliding down his chin. "I just took the Lord's name in vain, didn't I? Oh, no!" Dennis faked a prayer, both hands in front of his face. The gun threatened the ceiling fan above. "Oh, God, please forgive me! Please, please, please! I'm sorry I took Your name in vain! I really am! You're an Almighty Piece of Shit and I worship you! I worship your lowercase 't'!"
The father shook his head in disgust.
"There is no God, you stupid ass motherfuckers! Goddamn Godfucking son of a God bitch motherfucking God fuckface God God God!" Dennis screamed, holding out his arms and looking up. "Why doesn't He strike me dead right now? Huh? Fuck you, God!" He flipped off the Heavens, then looked down at the father, over to the mother, back to his ex; and then to the little crying boy. The fierce expression upon Dennis's face instantly vanished. He approached the boy.
"I'm sorry you had to hear such language, little buddy. We need to go ahead and get this over with." The gun returned to its original placement, gliding over the boy's creaseless forehead. "I have nothing against you, man. You're like the only decent one in this family. But I have to do this because of what your sister did to me. So you can blame her for it you want. It's all her fault. All of this is."
He pulled the trigger.
Three loud sighs combined.
"Oh, I forgot to take the safety off!" laughed Dennis, turning and looking at the family. The relief on their faces instantly vanished; the look of painful fear reconstructing in a constriction of the face. "What, did you idiots actually think I forgot to load it or something? How dumb do you think I am?"
He pointed the gun back at the boy.
"Bye-bye, little buddy," said Dennis.
"Nooooo!" screamed the mom.
"Dennis, stop!" shouted the ex.
"Mommy—" whimpered the boy.
BANG!, said the gun.
The ex-boyfriend flinched at the explosion, but smiled at the falling chair, the falling boy, the spraying blood.
Things were going perfectly.
Things were going just as planned . . .
From the moment he had arrived and there had been only one vehicle in the driveway. He had parked around back, unnoticed, unheard.
From the moment he had knocked on the door, concealing the gun and duct tape behind his back as the front door opened. It had been the little boy.
"Hey there, little buddy. Your sister home?"
A little nod.
"What about your parents? They here?"
"No. They getting groceries."
"Perfect," said the ex-boyfriend. He knelt down before the boy. "You wanna play a game?"
The little boy nodded.
"Okay, good. We're gonna play hostage, alright? Like they do on the T.V." Dennis took the gun and duct tape from behind his back. "Don't worry, it ain't real. What we're gonna do is this ..."
From the moment he had walked into the living room, holding the little boy before him, the end of the gun resting gently against the little temple. The ex-girlfriend had been on the couch, eyes fixated upon the television screen, indulging in the indulgence of MTV.
"Stupid nigger music," said Dennis, in reference to the rap video. "I hate it."
Her head turned toward him. "Dennis? Dennis!" She jumped off the couch. "What are you doing?!"
"We're playing a game!" cried the little boy.
Things had gone perfectly . . .
From the moment he and the boy had taped the ex-girlfriend to the chair, going around and around like a merry-go-round, singing as she pleaded.
"Ring around the rosey, pocket full of posey . . ."
From the moment Dennis had told the little boy to grab another chair. The boy had objected, "No, I don't wanna be a hostage! I wanna be a bad guy!"
"I won't leave you taped up for long," promised the ex-boyfriend. "Just until your parents get here. I just want to scare them. Then I'll let you go and we're play hostage with them as well."
From the moment a car had pulled up outside. Dennis warned the ex-girlfriend to be quiet, sliding the barrel across her cheek. He took aim at the door, the approaching footsteps, the turning knob.
From the moment the mother had walked in, "We're hom—", words falling, dissipating, evaporating like the saliva in her mouth. She gasped, dropping and spilling the paper bag of groceries. Dennis had grabbed her, threatened her, told her to sit down. He had locked the door. The father was still outside.
From the moment he had quickly taped the woman to the chair, rings of duct tape wrapped tightly around her breasts, her stomach, her ankles; a sticky pair of handcuffs bound her wrists together behind the high backed mahogany chair. The father had been knocking at the door, at first thinking it was a joke, laughing, "Very funny, you guys!" His impatience grew, "Come on, ya'll! These bags're heavy!"
From the moment Dennis had unlocked the door, quickly running back behind the little boy's chair. The father walked in, eyes studying the scene, analyzing the situation. "Dennis," said the father.
"Put the groceries down and go sit in that chair! And don't try to be a hero or I'll fucking blow your little boy's head off!"
The father had obeyed.
Things had gone perfectly.
Things had gone just as planned.
Dennis now admired the little hole in the little boy's little forehead. A pool of thick, dark blood was forming around the base of his head, oozing out and onto the carpet.
"That's sure going to be a bitch to get out!" laughed Dennis. He turned toward his ex-girlfriend and her mother. The ex-girlfriend was sobbing uncontrollably. The mother was screaming hysterically.
"It's a good damn thing you people live so far off the road," said the ex-boyfriend.
"Oh, God! My baby! My baby! Please, Lord, help me! My baby! My ba-haby!" cried the mother, her face turned upwards, eyes squeezed shut, two steady streams streaming down each cheek.
"Oh, would you please! Shut. The. Fuck. UP!" yelled the ex-boyfriend, striding toward her. "Do you really think God is listening to you? Do you really fucking think He gives a goddamn? I swear, you people are the biggest motherfucking hypocrites I've ever seen in my entire goddamn life! Even if there is a God, why in the gosh darn hell would He want to have anything to do with you people? You're not Christians! You're the kind of people who go to church every Sunday just to fucking socialize and look good. And you put all these goddamn crosses and shit all over the house, fucking pictures of Jesus and shit; it's just 'cause ya'll wanna look like Christians."
The ex-boyfriend turned toward the father, whose cheeks were wet as well. "A true Christian," stated Dennis. "Wouldn't fucking care what I looked like or how I dressed. Yet you people hated me from the very beginning, like the very first time you ever met me. You looked at me and thought I was a fucking pothead or something; a fucking devil worshiper. You—"
"Oh, my God! My baby! Ohh, my baby boy! He killed my baby! My BABY!"
"Bitch, shut the fuck up! You can pray and scream and cry all you want; it ain't gonna bring your son back! What? Would you like to give him a goodbye kiss?"
Dennis grabbed the back of her chair and started dragging it toward the bleeding boy. He pushed her chair over and she fell with a thud, landing hard on her side; the blood splashed upon her face.
"There," said Dennis. "Fucking lick his blood or something. Chew on his brains."
The ex-girlfriend suddenly broke through her steady sobs. "I hate you!" she screamed.
"Aw, I love you, too," replied Dennis. He returned his attention to the father. "Now, as I was saying, how can you motherfuckers consider yourselves Christians when you judge people before you even know a goddamn thing about 'em? You're a bunch of stuck-up cross-fuckers that think you're all so great and holy just because you go to church and have pictures of some long-haired hippie nailed up all over your house. I think you and your wife are the main reason your daughter fucking broke up with me. You two kept feeding her all this shit, telling her she could do better than me and that I'm not good enough for her and she'd be happier with somebody else and just all this motherfucking bullshit!"
"I think you've proven us right," said the father.
"Hmph! What? Because of this? This is all your fault! You and your wife and your goddamn cock-sucking daughter. I loved her with all my motherfucking heart! I would've done anything for her. And I wanted you to like me. I really did. I tried to talk to you and buddy up to you and shit. But you wouldn't have any fucking thing to do with me! I saw myself marrying your daughter someday, having kids and all that great stuff. I wanted you to see me as a son. I wanted you to want me to be with your daughter, to be happy for us. I wanted to be able to see you as a father figure, 'cause God knows I've never really had one. But no, I wasn't good enough for you guys. So this is all your motherfucking fault, sir. All of this shit. Your little boy is dead because of you! Not me. None of this shit should even be happening. We should all be out having a goddamn picnic or something. All five of us!
"And another thing I don't get is, if you're such good goddamn Christians, then why in the hell don't you have a problem with your daughter dating a disgusting ass nigger? You acted like it was so horrible that she was with me, but yet you're fine with her dating some fucking black dude. I don't get that. That's what you should be upset about! I mean, I could understand maybe if he was mixed or something. That ain't that bad. But I've seen him. He's like black-black. Like black as a motherfucking tire. Do you not see nothing wrong with that, dad? Ain't there some commandment that says, 'Thou shalt not date a nigger'?"
"Color doesn't matter to us," said the father. "What matters is what's on the inside, and he's certainly an upgrade over you."
The ex-boyfriend smiled, shaking his head. "Now you're just trying to piss me off on purpose. I still got plenty bullets left in this here gun, ya know."
"Pick my mom up!" yelled the ex-girlfriend.
Dennis sighed. "Fine." He went over to the mother, whose screams had dissolved to whimpers, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, refusing to open and see the inside of her baby boy's gaping head. He lifted her chair. Her cheek was red.
"There. You happy?" he said to his ex. She glared up at him, each eyelash seemingly giving him the finger. "Don't you care about what people think about you now?" asked Dennis. "I mean, you seemed to care so much about what other people thought when we were together. You'd hardly ever even hold my hand when we were out in public. Did I ever tell you how much that hurt my feelings? I was proud to be your boyfriend! I wanted people to know we were together! But it was like the exact opposite with you. I cut my hair for you; I started wearing 'normal' clothes just so you wouldn't act so goddamn ashamed of me! And then now you're dating a fucking nigger? People are going to think you're nothing but slutty white trash. Do you hold his hand when you're walking around in the mall? Huh? What's his fucking pubic hair look like? Is it all afro'd out, too?"
"You're disgusting," spat the ex-girlfriend.
"I'm disgusting? How the fuck do you get that I'm disgusting? You're the one fucking dating him! I just wanna know, have you sucked his dick yet? I mean, you're so good at it and all. It's like your God-given talent. Do niggers have white cum, too? Or is theirs black? Does it taste like hot chocolate?"
A hateful stare.
Dennis turned back to the father. "You guys don't let her go over to his house, do you?"
"Why not?" replied the father. "We trust her."
"What! You can't trust this bitch!" Dennis shook his head. "I swear, she has you guys so fooled it ain't even funny. You both think she's like some perfect little angel. Incapable of doing anything wrong. She puts on this front around you guys, but that's totally not how she is. I know how your daughter really is. She's like a freaking horny little nympho or something. You used to never trust me and her to be alone. I'd just have my arm around her or something and you'd get all pissed off and tell me to stop 'pawing' your daughter. But she's the one you have to watch out for! We would've never done like anything it wasn't for her! I remember just two months after we'd been dating or something, we were all making out hot and heavy, and suddenly she starts sliding her hand down to my crotch. I didn't stop her of course. I ain't a faggot. I do like that kinda stuff. But I never had the balls to make the first move. Like always when we'd be making out and stuff, I would usually just have my hand on her back or something. She's the one who would always grab it and start putting it wherever she wanted, like sliding it up her shirt or down her pants or whatever."
"Dennis!" exclaimed the ex-girlfriend.
"What? It's true!"
"No! Your parents need to know all this stuff. I'm sick of them always thinking you're like this perfect little Christian girl, because you're not!" Dennis directed his dialogue back toward the father. "Me and your daughter have done like everything there is to do without actually going all the way. I've fingered her, I've eaten her little pussy, we've masturbated to each other, she's jacked my dick off, she's sucked my dick. Yeah, that's right, daddy's little girl has had my dick in her mouth. She used to swallow my cum and everything. I used to like jack off on her belly and she'd rub the cum all over her stomach. And we used to like do it on the phone. She'd moan and stuff, be like 'Ohh, Dennis, that feels so good. I love how your dick feels inside my pussy.'
"And like all that stuff, it was all her idea. She would always be the one to start it, be like 'oh, Dennis, you wanna do it' 'It' meaning many various things. And the messed up thing is she never saw anything wrong with it! She still considers herself a virgin. All that stuff we used to do was okay, there was nothing wrong with any of it. As long as I didn't stick my dick inside her pussy, she was still a virgin. Which I guess that's technically true. I mean, I still consider myself a virgin, too. But we're not like true virgins. We're not pure or whatever. But with her outlook on it, I wouldn't be surprised if she ended up letting some guy do her in the butt and yet still consider herself a virgin."
"You're sick," said the ex-girlfriend.
"Whatever," replied Dennis. "I actually wish we hadn't done any of that stuff. I was always okay with it before and everything. You're supposed to be like a Christian or whatever, so I figured all that stuff meant we were going to be together forever. I thought it really meant something to you. I see it didn't now, of course. But, like . . . I don't know. I mean, you had kissed other dudes before. I had kissed other girls. And that's no big deal to me really, ya know? Like I could handle you kissing some dude now. It still sucks, and it still makes me jealous, but I can handle it. We weren't each others' first kiss or anything so there isn't really anything all that special about it. But, like, other stuff. I just can't deal with that. Like all the sexual stuff we did, we had never done with anybody else. And like to think about you now doing it with somebody else, to think about somebody else fingering you and touching you and stuff, or like you sucking some dude's dick or something—it fucking drives me insane! We were supposed to never do any of that stuff with another person ever! So now like anytime you do any of that stuff with somebody, like with that fucking nigger, I'm not as special anymore. I want to be special, damn't!"
"Me and him haven't done anything!" insisted the ex-girlfriend. "Like we've kissed and that's it!"
"Yeah, sure. I wouldn't be surprised if you've already fucked him. That's all niggers are about anyway. Like with that fucking rap video you were watching earlier, it's always about sex. Talkin' about pimps and fucking hos and shit. They only care about 'tappin' dat ass' or however the hell they say it. It's fucking gross. Niggers are fucking gross."
Dennis stopped talking, looking down at the carpet, shaking his head. He turned the gun over in his hand, staring at it without seeing it, his mind drifting, daydreaming, thinking. "You like fucking torture me now, baby," said Dennis. "I can't even jack off anymore! Like every time I look at porn, I see your face. You're like all looking up and stuff with this silly ass grin on your face and a bucket load of cum dripping off your chin. And like I'll try and just close my eyes and fantasize about stuff, like I'll think back on some of the things we used to do, but like as soon as I start going at it, instead of seeing me doing stuff to you, I start seeing that fucking coon on top of you! I swear to God, it drives me motherfucking crazy!
"I just can't deal with it. I seriously can't. I actually think that's the main reason I'm doing all this. I just can't stand to think about you doing stuff like that with somebody else. I was supposed to be only person to ever do anything like that with you! That's the way it was supposed to be! It was special that way! But now somebody else is going to end up experiencing all that stuff with you! I won't even get to have your virginity! Some other dude is going to take it! And then like ten years from now or whenever, you're gonna be like all married to some dude, having sex all the time, having babies with him. Damn't, that was supposed to be ME!"
Everyone was silent, even the mother had ceased her crying. They all stared at Dennis, whose face had grown red, his breath heavy. He was staring at his ex, his shoulders rising and falling. After several seconds, he ended the silence. "Have sex with me," he proposed.
"What!" shrieked the ex-girlfriend.
"Have sex with me! Please?"
"Yes! Why not? Please, baby. That's all I want. I promise you, I'll let you and your parents go and I'll leave if you just please do this for me. It's all I want. Then I'll always be special because I will have been your first! No other guy can ever take that away from me!"
"You killed my brother! You shot him in the head! I'm not doing anything for you!"
"Baby, please! I'll turn myself in! Okay? Have sex with me, and I promise you—I promise—I'll let you guys go, and then I'll turn myself into the police. Alright? Everything will be over if you just please let me have sex with you."
The ex-girlfriend bit her lip, her head down, thinking, thinking, her head rising, mouth speaking. A quiet "Okay."
Dennis smiled. "Thank you. Now, hold on a sec ..." He ran out of the room and into the kitchen. The mother, father, and ex-girlfriend could hear the sounds of numerous drawers being opened and closed. "Finally," said Dennis, his voice faint. He came back into the room, gun in one hand, knife in the other. "Okay," he said, setting the gun down on a desk in the corner of the room. "I'm gonna put this down, but don't you try any funny shit, alright? If you just let us do this, then everything will be okay. All of this will be over with."
The ex-girlfriend nodded, and the ex-boyfriend walked to her, kneeling down behind her chair and cutting the duct tape from around her wrists. He did the same in the other places, freeing her ankles, arms, and torso. He took her hand and helped her from the chair, leading her to the couch.
"Do I really have to do this? Can't you just let us go anyway?"
"Well, like, what about protection?"
"Don't worry. I'll pull out before I finish."
The ex-couple stood before the couch, an awkward look between them. Dennis hesitated, then moved toward her, opening his mouth slightly before it reached her own. He kissed her. She didn't kiss back. He slid his hand down her hips as he slid his mouth across her lips. His fingers wrapped around the bottom of her shirt, raising it, exposing the blue bellybutton ring, lifting it . . . skin . . . a black bra . . . He broke his kiss as the shirt went over her head, her arms held straight above her as the shirt shot upwards and off of her. Dennis tossed it to the floor. He moved his mouth, bending his knees, kissing her neck, kissing her chest, sliding his hands over her bra-
wearing breasts as his lips connected with her abdomen. He flicked his tongue across the piercing, then moved his hands from the B-sized lumps and placed them on her jeans, unbuttoning the button, unzipping the zipper. His face was level with her crotch as his fingers grabbed her waistband, pulling the jeans and panties down in one swift motion. A smile of perversion. The ex-girlfriend lifted her right foot, her left foot, and Dennis absent-mindedly tossed the clothes aside. He rose to his feet, putting his arms around her and attempting to undo her bra. He failed. "Do it for me," he insisted. She did.
Dennis smiled. "Hold up a sec," he said, turning around. He went to the mother, grabbing her chair and repositioning it in front of the couch. He did the same with the father. "Now," said Dennis, returning to the naked girl. "Your parents can watch, too!"
The ex-girlfriend made a face, but Dennis ignored it. He returned to kissing his former love, his lips smacking against her neck as he backed her toward the couch, his right hand lightly touching her right nipple; he squeezed it softly and it grew in his grip, becoming harder and more erect against his fingertips as he moved his body up against her so she could feel his own hardness as well. The back of the ex-girlfriend's knees met the couch and she instantly sat. She lifted her legs and lay flat on the couch, waiting, her eyes closed and anticipating.
Dennis quickly grabbed at his belt buckle, his eyes feasting on the naked body as his hands fumbled with the zipper. He slid them down as fast as he could, hurriedly kicking off his sneakers as he kicked out of each denim leg. He left his shirt on, and it draped across the throbbing pole.
"Oh, baby," said Dennis, lightly lowering himself onto the sofa, onto the body. "You're so beautiful. I've been waiting for this moment for so long." His knee slid into the back of the cushion as he tried to position himself just right. "Spread your legs," instructed Dennis. She did, and he grabbed her naked thighs and pulled her closer. He put his weight on top of her, reaching blindly between his legs, groping, grasping, guiding. He found her, and he quickly dove inside. The ex-girlfriend gasped as she felt the sudden presence within her.
Dennis moved his hips, feeling around inside; his slow, soft movements investigating, exploring, discovering. The ex-girlfriend's eyes were closed, her lips pressed tightly shut, pain and pleasure battling for possession of the face. The ex-boyfriend moaned, "Ohhh, baby," He looked down at her. "Open your eyes. Look at me." She looked at him. He smiled and said, "I love you." She closed her eyes.
The ex-boyfriend continued his thrusting, slowly growing faster, harder, wetter. He lifted his head from its spot of rest upon the soft pillows of her bosom, looking over at the father. Dennis looked back down at his ex-girlfriend, putting his mouth next to her ear, whispering, "Your dad's watching us, baby. How gross is that?" Dennis's hips continued their clockwise movement as he quickly glanced at the mother, whose eyes were shut, her blood-stained face turned as far away from the couch as her confinement would allow. She was singing—
"AMAAAZIING GRAAACE! HOW SWEEEET—THE SOUND!"
Dennis looked back down at his ex-girlfriend and clenched his teeth, pushing himself harder, faster, diving as deep as his size would allow. "Come on, baby!" he grunted. "Let mommy and daddy hear you!" He thrust harder, his face above his ex's, watching her muffled moans finally break loose from the closed mouth, a scream of pleasure bursting from within. The mother was singing louder now, and Dennis fought to outdo her, harder and harder, faster and faster, deeper and deeper as he raced toward the climax, the pleasure intensifying, his breath accelerating, the girl's moans bouncing off the plaster walls, the sick sound of slapping skin echoing throughout the room.
A volcanic eruption.
Dennis cried out as he felt himself explode, shooting out and into her, swimming, spewing; his seed slid down the ex-girlfriend's valley, dripping off her skin and onto the cushioned couch; a sticky stain of semen. Dennis's arms gave way and he collapsed onto his ex, his breath slowly slowing as he rest on top of her. He eventually pushed himself off, setting his feet upon the carpet, kneeling over and grabbing his jeans, putting them on. "Wow," he said. "See what we've been missing all this time?"
The ex-girlfriend stared straight above her, not moving, not blinking; a wrinkled brow. "I thought you. But you said . . . You said you would pull out! You-you didn't pull out!"
A false apology. "Oh, I'm sorry. I tried to, I really did. I just couldn't help it! We should've done this a long time ago. I should've had sex with you and I could've gotten you pregnant and then you never would've left me. I could've insured forever!"
Dennis rose from the couch, walking over to the desk and retrieving his gun. "So," he said, slowly walking toward the father, "I saw you were watching us, dad, you sick motherfucker, you. Your wife was like breaking her neck trying to look away, and there you were with your eyes like fucking glu—" Dennis stopped, mouth open, eyes staring down at the father's crotch. "Oh. My. Fucking. God. You're fucking horny, aren't you?!" The ex-boyfriend used the pistol to prod the pulsating penis beneath the khaki pants. "You are horny! Oh, you sick mother fucking bastard, you! You were fucking getting off on that shit, weren't you? I basically just raped your daughter in front of you, and you fucking enjoyed it!" Dennis shook his head with a mixture of disbelief and humor. "Hey, baby, come check this out."
The ex-girlfriend hadn't moved, her naked legs still spread. "Helloooo," said Dennis, grabbing her wrist and jerking her from the couch. She landed on her knees, and he pulled her up to her feet, dragging her toward the father.
"You like this?" taunted Dennis, positioning his naked ex in front of her father. Dennis rubbed his hands across her body, over her breasts, stomach, vagina. He put his finger inside of her, then drew it out, forcing it under the father's nose. "Here, wanna smell your little girl's pussy?" The father turned his head, closing his eyes, muttering, "Fuck you."
"Oh, is that what you want to do? You wanna fuck her? Alright then. Get on your knees, baby."
The ex-girlfriend turned and looked at Dennis, her melting eyes staring into his. "What? B-but, Dennis, you-you said that—"
"I know what I said, okay? And I meant it. But, just, do what I tell you, okay? This one last thing."
"Do it!" Dennis pushed down on her shoulder and the ex-girlfriend fell to her knees. "Undo him," demanded Dennis. She undid him. "Well," asked Dennis. "What are you waiting for? Pull it out!"
"No," objected the ex-girlfriend.
Dennis aimed the gun at her mother. "Do it or I'll fucking blow her head off!" She did it, and the father rose from his confinement, tall and erect, the blue-veined neck and the purple head throbbing in excitement. "Now, suck him off," Dennis instructed. "Make daddy proud!"
The ex-girlfriend slowly lowered her head, her lips pursed together tightly until they made contact with the engorged penis. She opened her mouth ever so slightly, and the father slid into her mouth and across her tongue.
Dennis watched his ex-girlfriend bob her head, a grinning grimace growing across his face. "How fucking gross is that? Be careful not to get one of those gray pubes in your mouth," laughed Dennis. He went to the mother, turning her chair toward the act of incest. The mother immediately looked away, but Dennis grabbed both sides of her face, forcing it forward. The mother shut her eyes, but the fingers on Dennis's free hand pulled at her eyelid, making her watch with a squinty eye.
"What do you think about that, mom? Your own daughter sucking your husband's dick! Your daughter! Look at her go!" The mother tried to turn her head. Dennis increased the pressure.
The ex-boyfriend let his eyes wander to the door and the fallen groceries. "Oh!" he said, letting go of the mother's head, which, without his resistance, immediately snapped to the side. "Lookie here!" He picked up a cucumber. "It's a homegrown dildo! Why don't you pleasure yourself with this, mom?" Dennis walked toward her with a wicked smile. "Fuck yourself with this while you—" His sentence ended and he looked down at his feet. He had stepped on something. It was the lowercase 't.' Dennis raised his eyebrows, kneeling down and pulling it out from beneath his sole. He tossed the cucumber aside. Dennis held the cross toward the ex-girlfriend's mother. "How 'bout this?" he asked. "This is even better! You can use this cross as a dildo! Close your eyes and pretend it's God fucking you. Have a holy orgasm!"
Dennis knelt over the mother, cross in one hand, pistol in the other, attempting to somehow undo her pants.
"Dennis, don't," came the ex-girlfriend's voice.
Dennis looked behind him. His ex was still on her knees in between her father's legs. The pole stuck straight up from the father's lap. It had now turned red. The father's eyes were shut, his body trembling.
"What the fuck are you doing?" asked Dennis, ignoring the mother and focusing upon the girl. "You're supposed to finish him off! Keep sucking!" He walked behind her, jamming the barrel into the back of her skull. The ex-girlfriend ended her break, returning to the job, bobbing her head up and down, sliding her father in and out of her mouth. A few seconds later, she stopped, gagging. She crawled away from them, spitting, wiping, spitting, retching, spitting . . .
"Aww, what's wrong, baby dear?" asked Dennis in mock concern. "I thought you liked the taste of cum. I thought it was like your favorite snack or something."
The ex-girlfriend was on her hands and knees, spitting, wiping her mouth, spitting again. She turned her head toward Dennis. "Leave," she growled.
"What? Why would I want to leave?" asked Dennis with a smile.
"You said you would leave! You promised!" the ex-girlfriend snarled.
"Oh, yeah, I did, didn't I? Well, promises never seemed to mean anything to you. You broke all of yours. I guess it's about time I returned the favor."
The ex-girlfriend jumped to her feet, racing toward Dennis with outstretched arms, her face the face of a wild and dangerous animal on the onslaught of a kill. She caught Dennis off guard, their bodies colliding and falling. The gun cartwheeled across the carpet.
"Quick, honey! Grab the gun!" coached the father. The mother was watching the action, her lungs forgetting to breathe. She had the look of a sports fan watching the closing seconds of a football game, the field goal with three seconds to go, down by two, ball soaring through the air. The ex-girlfriend quickly crawled across the ex-boyfriend's body, her knees stomping on his groin, his stomach, his chest, as she pulled herself toward the pistol. Dennis turned over onto his stomach as she passed him, reaching out and grabbing her by the ankle, pulling her back. His knees found foundation, the bottom of his right shoe pushing itself from the carpet. He was on his feet now, both hands around the ankle of his ex. Her fingernails scratched the black steel. Dennis yanked her back, she was inches from the gun; another tug and she was over a foot away. Dennis let go of her wrist, quickly jumping on top of her, locking his arms around her waist. He pulled her to her feet and slung her across the room. The gun was already in his hand as the carpet burned her naked flesh.
The mother and father breathed again, their shoulders collapsing in defeat. The field goal had missed; game over.
Dennis pointed the gun at his ex-girlfriend, his face red, a blue vein snaking down his forehead. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU FUCKING DOING!" Dennis screamed, the blue vein throbbing. "DO YOU WANNA MOTHERFUCKING DIE THAT GODDAMN BAD? HUH? I'LL FUCKING BLOW YOUR GODDAMN HEAD OFF RIGHT THIS MOTHERFUCKING MINUTE!" A red-cheeked Dennis stood over his ex, his knuckles white from the increasingly tight grip with which he held the gun. His chest and shoulders rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell. "I was going to let you motherfuckers live a little longer, but fuck that! You goddamn stupid ass bitch, you!" Dennis spoke through clenched teeth, his frustration and anger showing in a kick to the ex-girlfriend's thigh. She winced in pain. "Stand the fuck up!" he ordered; and she ignored him. "I SAID STAND UP!" He put the gun closer to her face, and the ex-girlfriend did as she was told, rising to her feet, her eyes looking at Dennis in hate, then falling to the floor in fear.
Dennis grabbed her upper arm, his painful clutch bruising her flesh. He pulled her toward the mother. "You're gonna fucking do it your own goddamn self!" he informed. Dennis positioned his ex-girlfriend in front of him and against him, wrapping one leg around her. The gun was directed at the trembling mother, and Dennis grabbed one arm of his ex, forcing it to the gun. He placed her finger on the trigger. The ex-girlfriend tried to wrestle away from his grip, grunting and groaning as she struggled to get away, but the raging ex-boyfriend was too strong. He pressed her finger into the trigger.
The mother's head rocked backwards, and the front two legs of the chair rose off the floor, hovering, then losing balance. The mother crashed to the floor as the ex-girlfriend collapsed, sobbing and screaming and wiping desperately at the blood upon her face. Dennis stormed away, pacing violently back and forth, breathing loudly through his nose.
The father started shaking in his chair, a failed attempt at escape. He wiggled around against his constraints, trying to muscle out of the bonding duct tape. "I'M GONNA KILL YOU!" he screamed.
Dennis stopped in mid pace, directing his weight toward the father, turning and stumbling toward him, the arm immediately outstretched, the gun trembling. "No," objected Dennis. "I'm gonna kill you!" The sound of the gunshot was caught in the ceiling fan above and slung about the room, bouncing off all four walls, carpet and ceiling; it dug into the ears of the ex-girlfriend, making her cringe. She didn't bother to look up. She knew what had happened. Her weeping was silent; her body convulsed as she lay like a dog upon the floor, mouth open, eyes shut. She cried without crying, her tears now dry.
The father hadn't fallen. All four legs of the chair were still upon the floor. His head was limp just like the exposed penis between his legs. A river of red ran down his face, flowing excessively off his nose and chin; a waterfall of blood. Dennis put his hands on the father's shoulders and pushed. The chair fell backwards, the dead dad staring blankly overhead.
Dennis started kicking at the father, the end of his tennis shoe connecting with the corpse's side again and again. Each kick produced a word. "You! Stupid! Old! Ass! Mother! Fucker! You!" Dennis stopped kicking and put both hands on his knees as he bent over the dead body. "You were never anything but a goddamn hypocrite, old man! Your daughter never even liked you! She told me she didn't! Daddy's little girl was never really daddy's little girl! You dumbass, you!" Dennis kicked the father once again, this time in the head, turning the end of his white shoe red.
The ex-boyfriend turned and walked away, collapsing onto the semen-stained couch. He covered his face with his hand, his fast breath slowly slowing. He looked over at his ex. "See what you've done? Your whole family is dead now because of you." His words were weak, his voice tired.
The ex-girlfriend was still on the ground. She glared up at the murderer, her face a boiling pot of emotions. "You're going to burn in Hell," she muttered.
Dennis snorted, shaking his head and smirking. "Well, I guess you and your parents can save me a spot in the waiting room, then, huh?" He looked at her. She looked back. "You really don't think you're going to be taking the elevator up, now, do you?" he asked. "God ain't gonna want to have anything to do with you now. Not after all this. You just killed your mother! You fucking sucked your daddy's dick! You had premarital sex! Ooo, you bad, bad girl, you!" Dennis laughed at himself. He rose off the couch, walking slowly toward the naked girl. "And if such places really do exist, I guess you and I will be able to spend eternity together just like we always said we would. Ain't that right?"
"Fuck you," spat the ex-girlfriend.
Dennis smiled. "You want to? That is a good idea! C'mon, let's do it again!"
The girl immediately backed away, her hands becoming her feet, her arms her legs. "Don't you touch me!" she said.
Dennis's smile evaporated. "Where's your cell phone?" he asked.
Dennis closed his eyes, shaking his head and sighing. "You don't fucking answer a question with another question. Just tell me where the damn thing's at!"
"Oh, I'll do a heck of a whole lot more than that!" said Dennis, thrusting the gun before her.
"Go ahead! Shoot me! It's not like it really matters."
"So now you know what it feels like. You know how I've felt these past three months."
The ex-girlfriend made a face. "I was just a stupid highschool girlfriend, you bastard."
"Baby, you were everything to me! You were . . ." Dennis let his words trail off, shaking his head. "Fuck it. I'm not getting into all this right now. I'll find your cell myself."
Dennis walked toward the desk, the new home of the duct tape. "Nooo," whined the ex-girlfriend. She started to push herself off the ground, to jump back on her feet, but Dennis quickly jumped on top of her, his weight forcing her to the ground. He pulled her arms behind her back as if she was a criminal and he was the cop; a game of roleplay. He went around and around her wrists with the tape, then did the same with her ankles.
A couple minutes later he came back into the room with the cell phone in his hand. The girl was a caterpillar crawling across the carpet. "You have his number saved on here?" asked Dennis, setting the gun down and pressing the buttons on her phone.
"No," replied his ex.
"Yeah, sure." After a few pressed buttons, he found it. "Quantrell?" Dennis snickered. "That's gotta be it. I'm gonna give him a ring. Invite him over."
"No, Dennis, don't! Just leave him out of this. Please?"
"Leave him out of this? Why, he's the biggest reason all this shit is happening!"
"But he's never done anything to you!"
"He's going out with you, ain't he? He's like fucking corrupting you and touching you and shit. I can't let him get away with that! You're my girl and my girl only!" Dennis dialed the number, holding the phone to the prostrate ex-girlfriend's ear as the first ring commenced. "Tell him to come over." On the fourth ring someone answered, saying, "Yo, what up?"
"Quantrell . . ." whined the ex-girlfriend. "I—"
Dennis pulled the phone away. "Hey, man, what's up? . . . It doesn't matter who this is . . . Whatever, just listen to me . . . You need to get your ass over to your girlfriend's house . . . Doesn't matter, just do it . . . Drive fast . . ." Dennis hung up the phone. "I think he's on his way."
Dennis exchanged the cell phone for his gun. He knelt over his naked ex-girlfriend, grabbing her by the pits of her arms and lifting her to her knees. The gun became a comb as he rubbed it through her hair, talking in the process. "I am going to make that motherfucker suffer so goddamn much. I took it easy on your family. They didn't feel anything. It was like bang, boom, dead. You're starting to get dandruff pretty bad, babydoll." said Dennis. "Anyway, like I was saying, I'm gonna make that nigger suffer! He'll wish he had never even heard your name before. As soon as he comes in the door, I'm gonna shoot him. Oh, but I won't kill him. Not yet. You know how I'm gonna kill him, baby? Huh? I'm gonna fucking cut his dick off and jam it down his throat! Let him choke on it! What do you think about that? Hm?"
Dennis traced the outline of her face with the barrel; when it reached her chin, he brought it up to her lips; a dangerous kiss. Then he applied some pressure, and the ex-girlfriend fought to keep her mouth closed; but the pain became too great and the gun was forced into her mouth. She gagged. "Oh, what's wrong, baby?" asked Dennis, smiling. He moved the gun around inside her mouth, sliding the barrel in and out. "I thought you liked having black things in your mouth."
The ex-girlfriend threw her weight backwards, away from Dennis and the gun; she fell onto her back, her knees bent in the air, legs open and exposed. "You didn't steal my virginity!" she revealed. "He did!"
"Quantrell! Quantrell took my virginity! I had sex with him! A bunch!"
"No! I'm not! He's done everything to me! And I've done everything to him."
"Stop it. You're not being seri—"
"And he is so much better than you! At least he knows what's he doing. And he's so much bigger and he feels so good. I could hardly even feel you earlier!"
"I love him, too! I'd like to marry him one day and have kids with him! I love him like five times as much as I ever loved you."
"I SAID ST—"
Dennis had been pointing the gun at his ex, his grip growing less and less steady with each word she spoke. He was sweating, his forehead glistening; he could feel the slickness of his underarms beneath his t-shirt. His fingers were slippery. He hadn't meant to pull the trigger. It had been an accident.
The bullet sliced through the girl's heart, her countenance instantly changing, the life fading, slowly dissipating until it was nothing. He. Had. Killed. Her.
Dennis's arm dropped to his side, the gun falling from his grip. He paid no mind. His lips moved, stumbling, stammering, stuttering. He tried to say her name, but the letters were lost inside his mouth.
A dead ex-girlfriend.
He dropped to his knees. "Baby?" he said, putting his hand on her chest and shaking her. "Baby, are you okay? Baby? Please, baby, don't die on me. You can't die yet! I didn't mean to shoot you, baby. I didn't! Please, baby, c'mon. Open your eyes. Breathe!"
Dennis collapsed beside her, wrapping his arm and leg around her like a lover in the bed, pulling her naked body tightly against him. He dug his face into her shoulder, tears sliding from his skin to hers. "I-I'm so sorry, baby," he sobbed. "About all of this. I am. I-I had to, though. I did. I really d-d-did. You hurt me so bad, baby. You have no idea what it felt like. No idea at all. And I know your parents had a lot to do with it so they had to pay, you know? They stole my happiness, baby. I'm so, so sorry." The sobbing turned to whimpering. "I'm going to kill myself, baby. After I kill that nigger boyfriend of yours, I'm gonna put a bullet through my brain. You don't know how close I've come these past few months. But I couldn't then. Not then. But now, now I'll go to prison and shit just like your dad said. This way I can end my suffering, my pain, and I don't have to worry about you and what you'll be doing when I'm gone. And maybe you and I really will be reunited. Wouldn't that be nice, baby? Oh, I love you so, so, so much. Forgive me for all of this. P-please?" The whimpering turned to sniffing.
He propped himself up with his elbow, his liquid eyes staring down into the ex-girlfriend's eyelids. "You're so beautiful, baby," he said, caressing her cheek. "Such a beautiful face. Magnificent body. I could never believe how lucky I was when I was with you. I couldn't believe that a girl as hot as you would ever have anything to do with me. I know like every single guy had to be so totally jealous that I was with you." Dennis lowered his head; he kissed her lifeless lips. "Oh, how I've missed that," he said, raising his head. "You still taste so good. I miss making out with you so fucking much. I miss holding your hand and watching T.V. together and hanging out and talking on the phone." Dennis's hand started to slide down the corpse's body, down her chest, smearing the blood; a line of red as he continued south, his fingers feasting on her flesh, savoring the sensation of her skin. "And I miss touching you and . . ." Dennis stopped, his eyebrows clenched. "You still shave down there?" he asked. "I didn't notice that before. W-why the fuck do you still shave? You used to always talk about how annoying it was and how you only did it to please me. Is it for that fucking nigger? For when he's eating you out? Huh? So he won't get any fucking hairs in his mouth or something? You daddy-fucking bitch, you!"
Dennis stuck a finger inside the girl, then another, and another. Three fingers fingering. "You're not as tight as you used to be, either! You were fucking telling the truth, weren't you? Oh, my God! I can't believe you! I'm gonna kill that goddamn nigger!"
Dennis grabbed the gun and jumped to his feet, aiming it at the ex-girlfriend. Her blood had seeped onto his shirt. His eyes were wide, eyebrows high, his lips pressed tightly shut. The blue snake had reappeared upon his forehead. His entire body trembled in anger. The ex-girlfriend didn't move. She lay still, eyes closed, expression blank. A sleeping ex. Dennis loosened his grip. He lowered the gun and smiled. She was dead. It didn't matter anymore. No guy would kiss her lips ever again. He had been the last to have her.
"You're mine and nobody else's."
Dennis looked around the room, analyzing the scene: the dead ex-girlfriend at his feet, the fallen chairs, the pools of red, the dead father, the dead mother, the bleeding little boy in the corner. The ex-boyfriend laughed, loud, hard and hysterically.
Everything had gone perfectly.
Everything had gone just as planned.
"Thank you, God," muttered Dennis beneath his breath.
Several minutes later, as Dennis sat in the same chair that his ex-girlfriend had once been taped to, he heard the sound of nigger music approaching. The bass-induced vibrations grew more and more noticeable until they were right outside the house. Then the expensive speaker system was cut off, and the talk of the ghetto instantly ended. A slamming car door. Footsteps approaching. A doorbell ringing.
"Come in," said Dennis, raising the gun and aiming it at the door. "It ain't locked."