| Dark Streets by destiny Chris walked alone, the streets glossy with rainfall, it's only occupants night dwellers and hookers. His hands were hidden deep in his pockets, and his mind buzzed incessently as a result of too much alcohol. He didn't care. He didn't want to care anymore. He wanted to live his days numb and his nights lonely. That's what he deserved, after all, for pushing her away, the only woman to ever love him, to ever give a fuck about what he wanted in life. Now, she laid in a hospital bed, her wrists bandaged from a failed suicide attempt, and he was the cause, solely. It weighed heavy on his heart and conscious. How could he have let her down like this? There were no more tears in his ducts to fall. They'd fallen for days amidst concerned friends. What no one knew was he was the one who dumped her so harshly, in such a cruel manner it pushed her into hell. And once in hell she'd sliced through her soft flesh with an icy razor, found hours later in a pool of her own blood. He pressed his lips together and continued on, stepping over a homeless man laying on the sidewalk, an empty bottle of cheap vodka next to him. Chris snorted, rubbing his head. He wondered if that would be him eventually, a lost soul on the streets of life with only his sarcastic sense of humor to comfort him. He stopped and looked over his shoulder at the man, curious as to what could have brought him to such a way of life. Backtracking, he knelt down next to the man, tapping him on the arm. "Go way," the man muttered, curling up tighter. "Can I help you?" Chris asked lowly as a couple of hookers passed by them. "Go way," the man said again, kicking his legs out. "I have some money," Chris offered, sniffling in the chilly night air. "Can I offer you some?" He didn't know why this man had caught his interest suddenly but he felt it imperitive to assist. Plucking his wallet from his jeans, he pulled out two twenties, pressing them into the man's hand. "Here, buy some food or whatever." The man sat up a bit, and eyed Chris carefully. "Why you wanna give me forty bucks?"he questioned, street wise and wary. "No reason. I figure we could all use a break in life, someone to help out." Chris cast his eyes downward, wondering if he was in desperate need if someone would pause to give him a hand. The suicide attempt had created a rift in his perfect little world, a crease that broke his veiw of the world in two sections, The Good, and The Bad. He was sitting on the bad side, on the devil's shoulder with his sharp tounge and cold heart. The two hookers stood at the end of the street, watching the fashionably dressed young man stooped over the old man. "Should we?" the platnuim blonde said to the petite brunette. She grinned wickedly. "He had a wad of bills. Why the fuck not? Beats dishing out blow jobs all night." The two nodded, expert in their craft, and headed back toward Chris. "Hey, honey," the blonde cooed. "You all right?" The brunette knelt down next to Chris, rubbing his back gently. "You wanna get a cup of coffee or something?" She stared into his drunken eyes and smiled sweetly. Chris glanced at the two of them, his body weary and numb. They looked so sympathetic, so kind hearted, caring enough to offer him a warm drink and some much needed company. "Okay," he said agreeably, touching the man's arm once more. "You take care okay?" The man shrugged away from his touch, pocketing the money. "Yeah, yeah," he said, returning to his fetal position and interupted dream. The blonde linked arms with Chris. "You ain't from around here are ya?" Chris shook his head. "Nope." He was glad that he wasn't recognized, and with the massive amount of Jim Beam in him, he didn't give a second thought to the idea maybe they did know who he was and were playing him. Nothing mattered right now except that these girls didn't know what he'd caused, the havoc in his ex girlfriend's life, in her family's lives. The girls eyed one another with secret grins. "There's a great diner just down the road," the blonde said, licking her lips. Chris nodded, his feet carrying him down the sidewalk while his mind soared with dizziness. Coffee might sober him up. "Maybe we could go to a bar instead," he suggested, adjusting the bandana on his forehead, his brown eyes taking long, drawn out blinks. The two women looked at one another. Bars were not a place they were allowed. Rules were rules and cops were vicious. "Naw, sweetie. You don't need more booze. You need some coffee. Sober that cute little face of your up. By the way, I'm Caroline, this is Jamina," the blonde said. "I'm Chris," he replied flatly. "Chris Kirkpatrick." He wasn't used to giving his last name, something most people would consider an identity. He considered it a curse, a link to some fame and fortune where he could break souls in two and cause red blood to flow from broken hearts. Jamina let out a little gasp at the name. She had fucked a record executive or two in her day, and tried to keep up on current events. She recognized the name, couldn't place the group. "Okay, doll, the diner is just over here," she pointed, crossing the street toward the blinking neon sign. "It's not the cleanest place in the city, but serves a mean cup of joe." Joe. Chris registered the earlier arguement with Joey, screaming at him loudly, telling him he was a no good motherfucker for sticking his nose where it didn't belong, bringing the younger singer to near tears with a hard shove. He didn't mean to yell at Joey, for Joey was only trying to help, knowing the full circumstances of the breakup and subsequent suicide attempt. Dammit, why had she cut herself, why? Over him? It was insane. He was nothing, and always thought her the strong one in the relationship. But he realized through Joey's declaration, that he was the one who'd held all the cards, captured and kept his girlfriend's heart in his hands, and when he squeezed too hard, it had dissolved right there. Caroline opened the door and escorted Chris in. "Whyn't you go and clean up?" she asked, pointing to the men's room door. Chris merely nodded and stumbled off. As soon as he was gone, Jamina let out a squeal. "Oh my motherfucking god!" she gushed, clawing Caroline's arm. "He's one of those singers, in one of them bands. He's fucking famous!" Caroline eyed the younger girl. "Calm down!" she scolded, pulling her lace gloves off her hands. She'd been around the block since the tender age of 13, and constantly hovered over Jamina, protecting her best she could from the rapidly growing danger on the streets. "Are you sure?" Her blue eyes were sharp with experience, and she knew if her friend was right, this could be a much bigger 'roll' than originally anticipated. "I'm pretty sure," Jamina answered, fluffing her hair out a bit. "You know 'Mogul'?" Mogul was her code name for the bigwig music industry exec she fucked regularly. "Well, he gets off on these boyband singers. Totally screams out their names and pretends it's them sucking his dick." She let out a laugh. "I'm betting my pearls it's him." "Girl, you ain't got pearls," Caroline replied, pushing Jamina into a booth with ripped plastic seats. "Whatever, it's him. I dunno from which group, but that name rang a bell." The waitress approached. "Whacha girls want tonight?" "Three coffees," Caroline said, checking her small bag for the drug, the one that would send Chris crashing into a world of oblivion and submission, dragging him to the underworld while they piliaged his life. "Then this boy's got some bucks." Jamina nodded. "Yup. Maybe we can get off the streets for a good chunk of time." Her 19 year old eyes shone with anicipation. "That would be good Caroline, real good." Caroline nodded as the coffees were put down. Once the waitress was away, she took the drug back out and dropped it into Chris' coffee. "He's back," Jamina hissed, and Caroline tucked her bottle away. ************************************************************************************************** Chris didn't feel well, suddenly. His vision tunnelled, and his steps were heavy, wobbly and unsure. He clutched onto Jamina for support. "I don't feel good," he stammered, picking his head up and staring into the night sky. The streetlights blurred before him, each one growing a halo of light as he passed them. Jamina smiled at him. "Wanna come to my place? Lie down a bit?" Chris didn't know. He thought maybe this was a bad idea. Although they had been so comforting at the diner, and listened to him intently as he spilled his whole story, even laughing when they couldn't recall which group he was in. "N Sync," he said proudly, cringing at the thought of being in any other group. "We hadda big hit last year. Bye Bye Bye, yup, that was us." He realized, of course, a couple of street walkers wouldn't necessarily know that. They lived in the underbelly of society where eating was much more important than knowing what the top 10 was. But they'd let him chatter on and on, spill his world to them, the insensitive way he'd dumped his girlfriend, the harshness with which he refused her phone calls, the day he'd had his lawyer draft a letter to her removing her from his clothing line, the hysterical phone call from her mother claiming he was the cause of her suicide attempt, even the fight with Joey over the whole thing. Then the oddest sensation had taken over his body and was assaulting him with a droopy and ill feeling. He allowed Jamina to bring him to her place, not caring anymore, just wanting to lie down and sleep this horrible feeling off. He slumped against Caroline as Jamina opened the door, trying to focus on their faces. From far away, he thought he heard them discussing him, talking about money and 'rolling him' and a wave af dread washed over him. Something was very wrong. ************************************************************************************************** Chris woke with a start, the sunlight streaming into his eyes. He blinked a few times, trying to wipe the fuzz that clouded his head. He was unsure where he was, or why his arms hurt and ankles ached violently. A girl stood over him. The girl from the night before, he recalled that much. She looked different now, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, no make up on and her hair pulled neatly back in a ponytail. Hell, she could have passed for any number of girls he met on a day to day basis. "What's going on?" he asked, closing his eyes again. He fully expected a wake up call to jolt him, drag him from this haze he was stuck in. A dull throb drummed behind his temples, and his stomach rolled with nasuea. "Caroline, he's up," Jamina called, sitting cross legged on the bed next to him. Chris' eyes flew open. He couldn't feel his hands, or his feet, and shivered in the cold. Yanking his arms, he realized they were bound somehow, tied above his body firmly. "Fuck," he groaned, staring down at the bottom of the bed, his feet bare and bound with thick rope. "What are you doing?" he muttered, wanting to scream but it wouldn't come out. Jamina smiled at him. "You're going to do some good now, buddy." Chris looked at her with wide eyes, his body trembling uncontrollably. "What do you mean?" he stuttered, pulling his knees up in a failed attempt to release his feet. Pain ripped up his calf, causing him to stop the movement. Caroline appeared on the other side of him, she too dressed down, flashing his wallet in front of his eyes. "Money, man. It's all about the mean green." She held up the small wad of bills he'd had on him. "Take it," he gasped. "Take it and let me go. You can have all of it." He sniffled loudly, and said a silent prayer. "Oh we plan to," Caroline said simply, "but you're going to get us more." She glanced at Jamina. "A lot more, okay? A lot more and you can go back to being the world class piece of shit you are." Chris' brown eyes fell. He deserved this, he reasoned, for putting his girlfriend through such hell. He deserved this and more. "Fine," he conceeded, "just get these fucking ties off me." "Not just yet," Caroline replied. "First we need to establish some rules here. We don't want millions mind you. That would bring too much attention. We just feel for womankind you owe us some. You destroyed one woman's life, so you make up for it helping us. Maybe in the process you learn a lesson." Jamina bit her lip. She didn't think this guy was all that bad. Sure, he fucked his girlfriend's life up, but isn't that what guys do? That's what every guy she knew outside john's did to her. That's why she was a lesbian. That's why she stayed with Caroline who was a woman and watched over her. No male pimps for her. Chris felt waves of anger rise inside his body. "You fucking cunts!" he screamed, unable to control his sudden temper. "You fucking bitches. You have no idea what I did or didn't do. I'll give you whatever you want just let me up!" He was wild, thrashing about until the bed shook against the wall. "Shut up," Caroline spat, landing a solid punch in his unprotcted gut. "Just shut the fuck up. We got neighbors. They call the cops, and I swear to God, I'll kill you. I'll slit your motherfucking wrists just like your girlfriend did, only I'll let you die." Chris recoiled from the punch, and the words. He grew silent, his eyes hardening with contempt. He had no room for regret right now. His body screamed for release and outrage. How dare these two do this to him? How? ************************************************************************************************** "Okay, Jamina, you know what bank to go to right?" Caroline passed the ATM card over to her, Chris' pin number written neatly on her palm. Jamina nodded, her nerves twisted unforgivingly. She wasn't sure this was such a great idea anymore. What if she got caught? Didn't ATM's have those cameras recording people and shit. The disguise wasn't that good. "Caroline, are you sure? I mean, maybe we shoud take him with us and make him get the money out. Then we could let him go afterwards." Her hands shook as she clutched the plastic in her sweaty palm. "Stop being a baby, Mina. Just go. You're disguised enough. Take out the maximum allowed. Should be around a grand or so. Then head to the ATM one block down and withdraw another maximim amount before the first transaction goes through. Got it?" From the bedroom, they tried to ignore Chris' foul mouth, spewing vulagrity after vulgarity at them. Caroline rubbed her temples. "And hurry the fuck back because I swear I'll kill him just for not shutting up." Jamina nodded, glancing in the mirror at the red wig she wore. Placing huge Jackie O sunglasses on, she headed out. "Come right back," Caroline reminded her. "You fucking bitch. I need to piss!" Chris screamed out, banging against the wall again. Caroline gritted her teeth and pulled her stash of coke out, chopping out a line and sniffing it quickly. She needed to block his voice out of her head, desperately. "Hello? I'm gonna make a motherfucking mess on your bed, bitch. You gonna like that?" "Shut up!" she yelled back, adding one more line for good measure. "Fuck you," he spat back at her. She stormed into the room and stared at him, the man with the red face and deep bags under hateful eyes. "Shut up, now," she said again through gritted teeth. "I swear to God, Chris, I will slice you up. I killed a john once, and I can kill again. I have no regrets, unlike you." The words rang through Chris' head loudly. Regrets. Causing pain. Blood. "Fucking kill me then," he said evenly. "Take my life. Take my goddamn money. And I'll see you in hell." He was too tired for this. His body ached so much, and he wanted to cry, sob all his pain out in the form of tears. But tears would show weakness, and he didn't want her to think she had that much power. Quickly, Caroline reached into the nightstand drawer, pulling out a steel blade, Jamina's coke blade. She climbed onto Chris' chest, straddling him, her eyes void of emotion. "I'll kill you," she whispered, holding the blade to his wrist. "I'll slit you and watch you bleed bright red blood, and I'll think of your poor girlfriend who was lucky to survive. If I cut you, Chris, you will die, make no mistakes about it." He froze under her, begging his body to remain still. He could feel the cold metal pressed against his skin and held his breath. Christ, he didn't want to die, not really. He wanted to go home now, or wake up in his own bed, or just fall asleep and disappear from this horrific scene. Caroline was intrigued by his stillness, by his suddenly boyish looks. The hardness from earlier was gone, replaced by a lost face, a man who'd seen too much for his age. Suddenly, she wanted to cut him, to feel the blade sink into his fear and watch him sink into pain and unconsiousness. Without warning, she pressed down, gazing into his brown eyes as she did so. Chris screamed out in agony. He looked up to see a small trail of crimson liquid run down his arm in sickeningly slow motion. His mind swirled out of control as he became conscious of the fact he may die in this room, have his life ended not by choice, not peacefully, but rather ripped from him, extinguished by a stoned hooker stealing his money. Caroline felt sedated, happy. She dug deeper, facinated by the blood, absorbed with the dread she found in the eyes looking back at her. "How's it feel, man? How's it feel to be on the brink of death?" "Please," he cried, and his tears did flow now, flowed for his family who would have to endure life without answers, without him, with yet another sickening statistic in the USA. That's all he would be. "I have a family, friends. I don't want to die yet." "Should have thought about that when you were calling me a cunt," she said lowly, her eyes now vacant. She felt him buck under her and slashed him in the arm instinctively. "Cunt, bitch, whore, hmm, what else did you say? Fuck, a lot of that word." Chris recomposed himself, pushing his sobs back. He had to think. His mind filled with images of his life, cliche as it was, he understood that he was tetering dangerously close to having his life snuffed out. "I'm sorry," he tried, wiggling frantically under her. "I really am." She took the blade and trailed down his chest, watching as a delicate line of blood emerged. Her fingers traced designs in it. Chris forced his body up with a grunt. "Get off me," he shrieked. Caroline pursed her lips and dug the blade deep into his other wrist with a laugh. "Die," she said with a grin. "Bleed your blood and fall away now." Chris fainted, unable to comprehend what was going on. ************************************************************************************************** He dreamed of angels and clouds, doves and wings, of ice cream and summertime, sold out shows and childhood friends. .....male, late twenties, suicide attempt.... ......hey, isn't this the guy from N Sync, my kid loves them... .....such a shame, fame at too young an age.... ....what do you think made him do it..... .....who knows, celebrities and their drugs, too spoiled... .....i heard his girlfriend tried the same thing a few days ago.... .....his group is on their way with the family.... ......may be a wasted trip, there's no pulse.... "No" Chris hollered, "I'm here. I'm not dead yet." .....well, call me a liar, we got a pulse on him... ....let's move him, come on.... From his body high above, Chris felt a sharp pull, his soul being dragged back down. That's when the real pain started, the bodily pain that made any emotional pain disappear. .....he's cut up bad.... .....man, i'd like to know what happened.... ...we may never know... |