Sluts in Love

The last thing I saw was fucking Romeo's shitty red car pulling into her driveway and the only people who drive red cars are chicks and fags. And so maybe I wanted to throw a dart through his eye socket when he raced up her steps with hardly even a nod to me.

"Paris," he murmured.

"Son of a queef," I murmured right back. I didn't think the shithead actually heard me.

"What?" he had spun around to look at me but I just waved him off.

"I didn't say anything, you bastard," I heard him grunt something primate-like but I didn't stick around to find out. I walked towards my own car and lit a cigarette. I really need to stop smoking.

Some shitty pop music was on when I started the car. Usually I'd turn it the fuck off but I figured it would be good for me. It doesn't leave much space to think.



God damn it. I have to stop caring so fucking much.

I keep dialing the number. It takes three minutes but finally someone answers.

"Look, I'll have the money by next week. Just stop calling please."

What the fuck?

"What?"

"Who is this?"

"Is Juliet there?"

"Who?"

Holy shit.

"Your daughter. Your damn kid, I have to speak to her."

"Oh, is this-wait, what's your name again?"

Fucking hell. "Listen lady, I have to talk to Juliet. This is Paris D'Angelo."

"Oh right, I remember you. Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

Jesus Christ lady. It's nearly ten p.m. "Just tell her to call me, okay?"

"Sure. Hey, how's the job goin-"

Is it really possible for any human being to be so out of it? Honestly. I look around my shabby little room and can't sit still. My hands are shaking. This has never happened before. I fucking hate Juliet. I hate what she's doing to me. She's a bitch and I hate her. I jump out of my chair so quickly I stumble over Shitler. He whines and flinches.

"Sorry, Shitty," he goes to lick his crotch so I guess I'm forgiven. I open the drawer that holds all of my pills and-nothing. "Shit," I mutter. How the fuck can I be out? Slurping noises are still coming from the rug. "Brodolf Shitler, you finished cleaning yourself five minutes ago. Now you're just going to town." He stops and looks at me. Good. I go into the kitchen and open the cabinet that holds all the liquor.

"Mother of God." It's empty. It's as dark and desolate as my heart. There's a bottle of gin near the stove but there's hardly even a teaspoon left in it.

That whore. The bitch. If she hasn't done it herself yet I'll kill her. I'll rob a bank and recreate the Titanic with its exact course just to bring her and throw her overboard.

If she really has offed herself then good riddance.