The Bad Ones

by Stylo Fantome

  He looked surprised again.

  “How was I supposed to know that’s what was going on?” he demanded.

  “Maybe by asking me? Instead of just running up and beating on any guy who’s standing too close to me!” she snapped. “We’re supposed to have trust, right? I didn’t see any this afternoon.”

  “Don’t talk to me about trust, Dulcie, when you can’t even figure out how you really feel about me.”

  Ouch.

  “I know how I feel about you,” she whispered.

  “You sure about that?” he challenged her. She took a deep breath.

  “Matt knows,” she barreled ahead with her plans.

  “Knows what?”

  “Everything.”

  “What, that we’re fucking? Dulcie, the entire town knows. We’re banned from the theatre because of that blowjob the other night. It’s not a secret,” he assured her. She shook her head.

  “He knows everything.”

  That extra little emphasis on the word made all the difference, and she watched as clarity washed over his face.

  “Ah. Does he. And how did he figure out our little secret?” Con’s voice was so soft, it was hard to hear from how far away he was sitting.

  “He saw us last week. He watched us while we were at the tracks, when we were on your car,” she explained.

  “He watched us have sex?” Con checked, and she burst out laughing.

  “Well, yeah, but he also saw what we were looking at, then he went down there and found the body,” she spelled it out for him.

  “I don’t care. That disgusting little twat watched me fuck you. I’m going to rip his head off,” he informed her, and it wasn’t just a passing threat made in anger. She watched him clench his fists, saw the muscles in his arms bunch and come together, his biceps straining against his t-shirt sleeves.

  “You can’t do that,” she sighed.

  “Why the fuck not!?”

  “Because it’ll just be one more problem. We were able to bury the last one, but not Matt. He has friends, people he’ll have talked to about us. He can’t just disappear, they’ll know we had something to do with it,” she pointed out. “On top of that, Jared is a problem.”

  “I told you, we hashed it out. I have him convinced I’m some love-struck puppy that’s scared of losing you to him. He went home with an ego two sizes bigger than when we’d started drinking,” Con chuckled.

  “I doubt that,” she grumbled.

  “What?”

  “He thinks you’re this … bad influence on me. He’s been saying it since we had dinner, he yelled it at me when I had my breakdown. That’s what he was saying in the car. He thinks you’re some crazy possessive psycho boyfriend. Even if you got rid of Matt, and even if we managed to make it look like an accident, we still have a problem,” she broke it down for him.

  “I don’t think I’d really classify Jared as a problem,” he laughed. She let out a shout and banged her hand on the table.

  “I’m fucking serious, Con! We’re sitting here calmly discussing killing someone! Is that how it’s always going to be? Just waiting for someone else to realize how fucked up we are, and then killing them, too!?” she yelled at him.

  “You knew what you were getting into!” he yelled back at her. “You knew this is what I am, what we are! Don’t fucking act naive! You delivered that final blow, little girl, not me. You wanted to destroy their house, and you wanted to end that marriage. So do not paint me out to be the monster in this story. Your claws are just as bloody as mine.”

  Dulcie jumped out of her chair, sending it flying over backwards. She went to stride out of the room, but Con was quicker. He stood up and moved in front of her, blocking her exit and penning her in by the wall.

  “So I’m the bad guy!?” she screamed, slapping him in the chest. “Does that make you feel less like a psycho, Con? Fine. FINE. I’m the fucking bad guy! I did it all!”

  “I didn’t say that!” he was shouting in her face, trying to grab hold of her wrists.

  “I’m just this awful fucking thing who kills people and just drags you along with me!” she kept yelling, tears streaming down her face.

  “No one is saying that, Dulcie. Why are you doing this? I thought we were in this together,” he reminded her.

  “Well, we’re not,” she said boldly, wiping at her face.

  “What the fuck did you just say to me!?”

  “We’re just two fucking crazy people, making each other crazier,” she told him.

  “You think I’m crazy. You think we’re crazy, that what’s going on between us is crazy,” he double and triple checked, his voice getting loud again.

  “I do, now get away from me.”

  “Don’t talk to me like that.”

  “Get your fucking hands off me!” she shouted, trying to push him away.

  “I touch you whenever I want,” he growled as he put a hand on her chest, holding her in place.

  “You don’t own me!” she shrieked. Rage finally boiled over and Con lost it. He began beating his fist into the wall next to her head. She screamed and covered her face.

  “Don’t you ever fucking say that to me! Of course I fucking own you!”

  She felt like she was going to have a heart attack. Was this fear? She didn’t care for it one bit.

  You need to do this, for both of you. Be strong.

  Dulcie broke free and ran for the door, but of course she didn’t make it. She had a hand on the knob when Con grabbed her from behind and spun her around.

  “Stop! Let me go! Let me go!” she was yelling and hitting at him.

  “That’s what you want, isn’t it? You’re hurting, so you want me to hurt,” his voice was loud in her ear.

  “I want you to let me go,” she snapped, and she slapped him across the face. She was shocked when right after, he emulated the move and slapped himself.

  “Is this what you want!?” he shouted, hitting himself again. “You think I don’t feel pain?” Another hit. “I told you I’d bleed for you.” He kept hitting himself, over and over. “Why can’t you trust me? If you want me to hurt, then fine. Fucking fine, Dulcie. I’ll hurt for you. I’ll bleed for you. All you have to do is ask.”

  He went to hit himself again, and she couldn’t take it. She broke. She grabbed his wrist and held on, preventing him from moving. Then she fell forward, gasping for air as she let her forehead rest against his chest.

  “That’s the problem,” she whispered, watching her tears fall onto his shirt. “I don’t want you to bleed.”

  He abruptly walked away from her and she almost fell over, so much of her weight had been resting against him. She watched as he staggered back into the dining room. He collapsed into his chair and put his head in his hands.

  Now was her chance. He’d seen right through her – she had wanted him to hurt. She’d been cruel and she’d said things that weren’t true, because she’d wanted him to be upset. Maybe if she hurt him bad enough, he’d leave her, and then he’d be safe from the crazy darkness that swirled between them. He’d gotten out once, for three whole years. He could do it again.

  She couldn’t go through with it, though. Couldn’t stand to see him in any kind of pain. It caused her pain. They were connected. For better or for worse, now. By more than some unmarked grave in a ditch. By destiny, or fate. By some evil power. There would be no getting away from each other.

  She moved into the dining room as well, sitting at a chair about halfway down the table. They sat in silence, both breathing heavy from their exertions. Finally, after about five minutes, Con sat upright.

  “You’re not the bad guy in this story,” he whispered.

  “I know. I know that’s not what you were saying.”

  “And neither am I,” he continued.

  “I know.”

  “We are,” he said, finally looking right at her. “Both of us. We’re the bad ones. Together.”

  She nodded.

  “Together.”

  “
And we’ll figure this out, together. But Dulcie, you have to trust me,” he urged her. She nodded again.

  “I know. I do. I was just scared for you. I don’t want anything to happen to you,” she tried to explain.

  “Nothing will happen to me, as long as we’re together, okay? You made me promise to never leave. It works both ways, you know – don’t you get it? You own me, too. I’m a part of you, you can’t just push me away when you get scared.”

  Okay, now Dulcie was pretty sure she’d never stop crying. He looked heartbroken, and it killed her to know she’d caused him to feel that way.

  “I’m sorry,” she gasped for air. “I’m so sorry.”

  He slowly reached forward and grabbed the corner of the table cloth. It was pristine white, with a gold border all around it. Gorgeous. He pulled until it started to move, and then he kept going. Dragged the whole thing down the length of the table, sending all the expensive fine china crashing to the floor. She sat there till he was finished, till everything was in a pile on the ground.

  “Come here.”

  Dulcie stood up and moved onto the table. Then she crawled down the length of it until she was kneeling right in front of him. He stared at her for a second, his eyes so big and blue. So huge, she almost fell into them. She took a deep breath.

  “I’m not scared of you,” she assured him. He slowly stood up, then pressed his hands against either side of her face.

  “Liar,” he whispered. She shook her head.

  “No. I’m scared of myself,” she breathed.

  “Don’t be scared,” he said, then he leaned in and kissed a tear away. “Don’t ever be scared. It kills me. From now on, tell me whenever you’re scared, and I’ll take away your fears. Tell me when you’re hurting, and I’ll bleed for you.”

  He’s so goddamn beautiful. Shines so bright, I can’t even see him.

  She gasped into his mouth as it covered hers. Raised up onto her knees so she could hold onto him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and swept her off the table. The moment her feet hit the ground, he reached under her dress and pulled her underwear down. She stepped out of them as he moved back and sat in his chair again. She followed suit, swinging a leg over his lap and lowering herself.

  “We can’t stay here anymore,” she breathed into his ear.

  “I know.”

  “It’s not going to be easy. There’s so many things we’ll have to do …” she let her voice trail off. She felt his hands moving between them, unbuckling his belt and shoving at his pants.

  “I know. We’ll get through it. We just have to trust each other,” he reminded her, then pushed on her hips. She lifted herself up and could feel him under her, all burning heat and sinewy hard.

  “I trust you,” she moaned as she slid down his length. He undid the top buttons on her dress, enough so he could reach inside the material and kiss along her cleavage.

  “Not yet, you don’t,” he informed her. She shook her head.

  “No, I do, I -”

  “It’s okay,” he whispered, lifting his head and kissing her on the lips. “Some day you will. Some day, you’ll really love me, and if it’s even half as much as I love you, we’ll set the world on fire.”

  Dulcie had never realized beauty could hurt, and she sobbed as he began moving under her. Thrusting up inside her. She clung to his shoulders and cried into his neck, sitting still while he worked away. She couldn’t give anything in return.

  Just my heart.

  He stood up, shocking her a little, but he didn’t break their connection as he held her in his arms. He was gentle as he laid her on the table, careful as he moved them so they were stretched out together. God, who knew Constantine could be so gentle? He unbuttoned the rest of her dress, pulled apart the belt at the middle, and she was finally completely naked. How she always wanted to be when she was around him.

  After he’d disposed of his own shirt, he laid down on top of her. She hooked her legs around his and followed his movements. His hips drew back, then pumped forward at an angle, striking places so deep, he was beyond moving her soul.

  “I don’t want this to ever end,” she moaned, rubbing her hands down his back.

  “It doesn’t have to,” he sighed, moving his hips faster. She worked hers back against him, building up a friction that was threatening to melt her from top to bottom.

  “Together … the two of us … forever,” she was gasping again. One of his hands slid down her body and pressed over her breast.

  “You promised,” he said, and she felt his teeth along the side of her neck. He bit down so hard, she shrieked.

  “Con, please, I can’t … you … I … I’m …”

  “Please,” he groaned, and she felt his hand on the side of her face. “Please, look at me.”

  “Yes.”

  Sex was such a ferocious act between them. Sweet and gentle weren’t things that existed between wild beasts. But they did that night. She’d never been so aware of him, had never felt him so deeply. She stared into his eyes as the orgasm took over her body. Didn’t stop looking even as she cried out and bit down into her bottom lip so hard she drew blood. Kept looking as his hips pumped faster and faster till they finally hitched in tight against hers, not moving again. Only when he dropped his head to her shoulder did she let her eyes close, and she concentrated on feeling him as he pulsed and throbbed inside her.

  Don’t say it. Not yet. Not till you know for sure.

  “I love you,” he was fighting for breath. “I love you so goddamn much, I would tear apart this whole world for you.”

  Dulcie opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling.

  “I know, Constantine. I know.”

  25

  “Sometimes, I feel like colors are too bright. I can’t look at them, they hurt my eyes. That’s why I used to only draw, only paint, in black. It’s the only safe color. When I was in high school, it was my favorite color. Something I could hide behind. Later it was red. Still is. Crimson, scarlet, burgundy, maroon, all of them. So beautiful on paper. So lovely on my fingertips.

  “For years, I felt like I wanted to scream. That’s it. Just stand and scream. And scream and scream and scream. If I could’ve just screamed all day, every day, maybe I could scream all the crazy out. I never cared, you know. About where I came from, about the trailer park, about my mom, about Matt. None of it ever bothered me because I could just hide in my blacks and reds and block it all out. No, what bothered me was the fucked up thoughts I would have.

  “Crazy people have it easy – they don’t know they’re crazy. Being fully aware of how fucked up you are? That’s the worst. Looking at your mom and wondering if you were strong enough to drag her dead body under the trailer, so you could leave her to rot, and knowing that’s not normal, that’s the worst. Knowing something is wrong with you, but not wanting to change even then. I spent hours wondering what was wrong with me. So many moments outside the counselor’s office, trying to talk myself into going inside.

  “But self-preservation is strong, and my brand of crazy has it in spades. I was holding out for something better, anyway. For greatness. If I just bided my time and drew my pictures and held my tongue, it would all pay off. I just had to believe, I had to have faith.

  “And god delivered unto me a beautiful boy. With big blues eyes and pearly white teeth, and a body so fucking fantastic, I still can’t believe I get to touch it. Talk about a reward for enduring a shitty childhood. How could this be for real? The Constantine Masters, the belle of the ball, the toast of the town, and he was made just for me! Oh yes, I fucking believe in the power of prayer, you don’t even know the half of it.

  “Before then, I thought you were bad. And not like ‘oh, look at that bad boy over there, he’s so hot’, but like bad. Like more fucked up than two of me put together. Like maybe if god was really good, you’d be worse than me, and then my crazy would pale in comparison. It was easy to pretend for so long. Till now. Your shoulders are so big and broad, so tough and strong.
You could carry that burden, I figured. You could be the bad one.

  “I gotta hand it to you, though, you actually are as smart as everyone says you are. You saw right through me, even before I could see myself. You saw through the blacks and the reds and you saw this beautiful horror, these terrifying dreams, and you just loved them. You knew me. You pinned me down and you ripped me open and you showed me things inside me that I didn’t even know were there. Whole new levels of sex and love and depravity, the likes of which the waking world isn’t ready for. And you held them up in front of my face, yet I still refused to look. I’ve had my eyes closed for so long. Why did it take me so long to open them?”

  The silence lasted long enough that Dulcie finally glanced over her shoulder. Con was sitting on the floor, looking up at her. He had a beer in one hand and he sipped at it. He was only wearing a pair of pants, no shirt, and his arms were filthy, coated in dirt clear up to his elbows. He had his knees bent and his feet flat on the floor. They were covered in mud, too.

  “That it?” he asked, then took another drink. She turned away from him again.

  “I guess so.”

  “So many words, Dulcie,” he sighed. “All because you can’t say three little ones.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Keep ripping things out, keep showing them to me,” she whispered, then she lifted her paint brush and pushed it in a broad stroke across the wall. Thick, black paint followed in its wake. Left over paint from when Mr. Masters had his shed painted. Dulcie had found it in the garage.

  “Is it done?” Con asked, when she stepped back to look over her work.

  “It’ll never be done,” she replied, tilting her head to the side. There was only one light in the room. She’d ripped the shade off it, but it hadn’t helped much. Since they’d tossed all the room’s furniture out back, she’d had to set the lamp on the floor. She could only clearly see her artwork from one angle.

  “Is it done for now?” he corrected his question, and she listened as he climbed to his feet.

  “For now,” she sighed, dropping the paint brush. He moved behind her and she shivered. She was only wearing his t-shirt.

  “Fucking fantastic body, huh?” he grunted, his breath hot on her ear.