memories of Pen’s face after she stepped out of Eric’s room one night. Memories of her sad smile as she ushered me back to bed.
It was my fault that we came here, a place arguably worse than home.
I had no idea how bad Eric Kushner was, no fucking idea.
“I want to kill him,” I say, looking up at Oscar. He doesn’t seem surprised. Instead, he unzips his pants and my eyes go wide. If he seriously thinks something sexual is happening between us in this disgusting hellhole of a room, I may very well take the knife that’s still clutched in my hands and cut his dick off.
So … the reason nothing sexual could happen between you is because of the setting, Bernie? And not because he hates you, and you hate him?
Hate sex is pretty amazing though, right?
Instead of propositioning me, Oscar turns and pisses all over the wall. You wouldn’t think someone could look arrogant or sexy taking a piss, but somehow, in his suit and tattoos, he does. His obvious disrespect and hatred for Eric doesn’t hurt either.
My eyes find his fingers, holding his cock, and it’s impossible to miss the tattoos on it.
An inked cock. A pierced cock.
Huh.
When he’s finished, Oscar fixes his pants, and then retreats to the attached restroom to wash his hands.
“Let’s burn it down,” I say, after shoving to my feet and stumbling over to the doorway. At this point, I’d gladly do just that—with both Eric and his father inside—and then fuck Oscar in the ashes. It takes me a minute to realize the significance of that thought. Not the burning Eric and his dad alive part, but the fucking Oscar part.
“In good time, Bernadette,” he tells me, lathering his hands up with careful efficiency and then drying them on a nearby hand towel. “In good time.”
Oscar turns back toward me, studying me like he's never seen me before, and then proceeds to breeze past me and down the hall. I wander after him, lost in a daze. As I walk, I break things. A vase, a framed picture, a stabbed oil painting. I don't steal anything though. I want Eric to know that the motive here wasn't theft. Besides, I don't want anything from this place. Every item in here is tainted goods.
We hit up every room, and as we go, Oscar collects a few things here and there.
Once we're done, we head right back out the front door, and I watch as Oscar locks the house up tight. Instead of getting on the bike however, he opens one of the saddlebags and pulls out two cans of red spray paint. Across the street, one of the neighbors is mowing their lawn and watching us curiously.
“Leave a message,” Oscar tells me, nodding his head and shaking up the cans in his hands before passing one over to me. I take it from him, studying the color printed on the label. Violently Red. Appropriate. “Something that'll make him think twice about reporting the break-in.”
It only takes me a second to figure it out.
I take the top off the can and hand it over to Oscar, stepping up to the pristine white of the garage door and starting on the first word. He waits patiently behind me, watching as I leave my dark mark in the heart of suburbia.
“Hey!” the neighbor calls, moving across the street, his overalls covered in grass. “What the hell are you kids doing? Knock that off.” Oscar reaches into his jacket and pulls out his revolver, drawing the hammer back before pointing it at the man. He glances lazily in his direction.
“Be quiet and bear witness,” he tells him as the man's eyes go wide. I finish off the first can and trade Oscar for the full one. When I'm finished, I step back to examine my handiwork. “Read it aloud for us,” Oscar muses, tilting his head to one side.
“I …” the man starts, his voice quivering. As soon as we're done here, he's going to call the cops, most definitely. Guess that puts a bit of a wrench into our plans. I decide I don't give a shit. “I … I fuck …” the man continues, choking on the awful words.
“I'm getting impatient,” Oscar purrs, pushing the gun against the side of the man's head. “Say it.”
“Kids,” the man chokes out, falling to his knees in the grass. Oscar puts the gun away and nods briskly.
“Before you call the police, think about me coming back