#The St Valentine's Day Murder

[outofcontextmonsterhunters]

[pilgrim1975]

'Spike' O'Donnell, first victim of the legendary 'Chicago Typewriter.'

It is September 25, 1925. On the corner of Sixty-Third and Western, one of the city’s most notorious gangsters is chatting casually with a local police officer. This is not unusual, cops and robbers often know each other professionally and/or personally. What is unusual is the car heading toward him. It arrives fast, screeches to a halt and the door opens. “Hello, Spike!” The words sound…

[danielarlngton]

A Huguenot, on St. Bartholomew's Day, Refusing to Shield Himself from Danger by Wearing the Roman Catholic Badge (1851–52) is the full, exhibited title of a painting by John Everett Millais, and was produced at the height of his Pre-Raphaelite period. It was accompanied, at the Royal Academy of Arts in London in 1852, with a long quote reading: "When the clock of the Palais de Justice shall sound upon the great bell, at daybreak, then each good Catholic must bind a strip of white linen round his arm, and place a fair white cross in his cap. —The order of the Duke of Guise."

It depicts a pair of young lovers and is given a dramatic twist because the woman, who is Catholic, is attempting to get her beloved, who is Protestant, to wear the white armband declaring allegiance to Catholicism. The young man firmly pulls off the armband at the same time that he gently embraces his lover, and stares into her pleading eyes. The incident refers to the St. Bartholomew's Day massacre on August 24, 1572, when around 3,000 French Protestants (Huguenots) were murdered in Paris, with around 20,000 massacred across the rest of France. A small number of Protestants escaped from the city through subterfuge by wearing white armbands. Millais had initially planned simply to depict lovers in a less dire predicament, but supposedly had been persuaded by his Pre-Raphaelite colleague William Holman Hunt that the subject was too trite. After seeing Giacomo Meyerbeer's opera Les Huguenots of 1836 at Covent Garden, which tells the story of the massacre, Millais adapted the painting to refer to the event. In the opera, Valentine attempts unsuccessfully to get her lover Raoul to wear the armband. The choice of a pro-Protestant subject was also significant because the Pre-Raphaelites had previously been attacked for their alleged sympathies to the Oxford Movement and to Catholicism. Millais painted the majority of the background near Ewell in Surrey in the late summer and autumn of 1851, while he and Hunt were living at Worcester Park Farm. It was from a brick wall adjoining an orchard. Some of the flowers depicted in the scene may have been chosen because of the contemporary interest in the so-called language of flowers. The blue Canterbury Bells at the left, for example, can stand for faith and constancy. Returning to London after the weather turned too cold to work out-of-doors in November, he painted in the figures: the face of the man was from that of Millais's family friend Arthur Lemprière, and the woman was posed for by Anne Ryan. The painting was exhibited with Ophelia and his portrait of Mrs. Coventry Patmore (Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge) at the Royal Academy of Arts in 1852, and helped to change attitudes towards the Pre-Raphaelites. Tom Taylor wrote an extremely positive review in Punch. It was produced as a reproductive print by the dealer D. White and engraved in mezzotint by Thomas Oldham Barlow in 1856. This became Millais's first major popular success in this medium, and the artist went on to produce a number of other paintings on similar subjects to serve a growing middle class market for engravings. These include The Order of Release, 1746 (Tate, London), The Proscribed Royalist, 1651 (Lord Lloyd-Webber Collection), and The Black Brunswicker (Lady Lever Art Gallery, Port Sunlight). All were successfully engraved. There are smaller watercolor versions of the picture in The Higgins Art Gallery, Bedford, the Fogg Art Museum, Harvard University, and a reduced oil replica in the Lord Lloyd-Webber Collection, all by Millais.

[choicesficwriterscreations]

CFWC F/AotW - Feb 11 - 17, 2024

✒️= Fanfic | 📱= Text Fics/Edits | 🎨 = Fanart Ⓜ️ = Mature Content 18+ | 🔥 = Explicit/NSFW 18+ 🏳️‍🌈 = LGBTQIA | 💘 Valentine's Day 🔹Submitted by creator

AMERICAS MOST ELIGIBLE

Derek Taylor x F!MC Fanart 🎨by @lilyoffandoms for @tveitertotwrites

BLADES OF LIGHT AND SHADOW

Aerin Valleros x F!MC Fanart 🎨by @erixadraws

Happy Valentine's Day 🎨💘 | Aerin Valleros x f!human!mc - @artbyalz

Maiele Nightbloom Fanart 🎨🔹| BOLAS elf!MC by @storyofmychoices for @lilyoffandoms

Mal Volari x F!MC Fanart 🎨💘🔹by @cammarada (C: @storyofmychoices)

A Whitetower Festival of Friendship & Love ✒️🔹| Mal Volari x MC - @dutifullynuttywitch

Woven Threads and Winding Roads ✒️🔹| Tyril Starfury x f!human!mc - @aria-ashryver for @thosehallowedhalls

BLOODBOUND

By Any Other Name ✒️💘🏳️‍🌈🔹| Kamilah Sayeed x F!MC - @thosehallowedhalls for @vampirkit

First Birthday ✒️| Adrian Raines x f!MC - @mynotsohealthyobsession

CRIMES OF PASSION

CoP Full F/AotW List Week Ending Feb. 17, 2024

THE CURSED HEART

Kieran x MC Fanart 🎨🔹by @gaiuskamilah for @lilyoffandoms

DESIRE AND DECORUM

Whimsical Walks and Poetic Talks ✒️🎨🔹| Ernest Sinclaire x F!MC - @storyofmychoices for @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

DISTANT SHORES

Distant Shores: An Alternate Path ✒️🔹| f!Charlie Smith x M!MC - @korgbelmont

THE FRESHMAN SERIES

Happy Valentine's, Hater ✒️💘| TFS MC - @choicesmc

Zig Ortega x F!MC Fanart 🎨🔹by @/artsbymena (C: @choiceswithmika)

HIGH SCHOOL STORY

Aiden Zhou Fanart 🎨 by @lilyoffandoms for @cadybear420

Rolling on Forward ✒️🏳️‍🌈 🔹| Aiden Zhou x NB!MC - @cadybear420

HOLLYWOOD U

Cafe Whispers & Scone Kisses ✒️🏳️‍🌈🔹| Addison Sinclair x F!MC - @storyofmychoices

IT LIVES IN THE WOODS

A New Chapter: A Valentine's Day Special ✒️💘 🔹| Stacy Green x M!MC - @korgbelmont

LAWS OF ATTRACTION

Dancing Queen ✒️🏳️‍🌈🔹| Original Characters - @aces-and-angels

Date Night🎨🏳️‍🌈💘 🔹| Gabe Ricci x M!MC - @choicesmc

Guess Where Magnus is From 🎨| Original Characters - @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

LOA OCs Fanart 🎨🏳️‍🌈by @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

That Place ✒️🏳️‍🌈Beau McGraw, Wind (NB!MC) - @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

The Tarmin Awdernviel Gala 🎨🏳️‍🌈| Multiple Characters by @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

Wind Fanart 🎨🏳️‍🌈🔹| LOA NB!MC - @storyofmychoices for @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

MURDER AT HOMECOMING

Let Me Be Your Valentine, St. Valentine ✒️🎨🏳️‍🌈 💘 🔹| Donovan Navarro x/& NB!MC - @aallotarenunelma

OPEN HEART

Open Heart F/AotW Full Listing Week Ending Feb. 17, 2024

PERFECT MATCH

Sloane Washington Fanart 🎨by @sazanes

Sloane Washington Pajamas 🎨 by @sazanes

Sloane Washington Valentine's Day 🎨 by @sazanes

Sloane Washington x F!Hayden Young Fanart 🎨🏳️‍🌈by @sazanes

Women in STEM/Girl Power! 🎨| Sloane Washington - @cassiopeaicorvus

Written in the Stars 🎨| Sloane Washington - @cassiopeaicorvus

Written in the Stars: Queen Star 🎨| Slaone Washington - @sazanes

THE ROYAL ROMANCE

Cordonian Karaoke: Hana Take 3✒️🏳️‍🌈🔹| Hana Lee x MC, Drake Walker x MC - @angelasscribbles

Goodbyes Are the Hardest ✒️| Liam Rys x MC - @silvermillenniumqueenneptune

Marabelle: The Game of Kings ✒️💘🔹| Liam Rys x F!MC - @tessa-liam

My Lonely Valentine: The Agreement ✒️💘Ⓜ️ 🔥🔹| Liam Rys x MC - @angelasscribbles

Round Robin Chapter 1: Welcome ✒️🔹- @angelasscribbles

WISHFUL THINKING

Anna Koishi x F!MC Fanart 🎨🏳️‍🌈 by @lilyoffandoms for @noesapphic

[thatchronicfeeling]

It has come to my attention that it's Period Drama Appreciation Week 2023. I love period dramas and grew up watching them. They have been a formative part of my life and I'm now too disabled to watch video. Even gifs are too difficult for my brain to process. It is also Bi Visibility Week and I'm posting this on Bisexual Visibility Day. Since I can't safely post a pile of gifs, here is a list celebrating actors/characters/moments from period dramas that have been significant to my bisexuality. [Yes, this is a big list. I am missing out on watching and re-watching A Lot of awesome period dramas and I hate it. This list is helping me reclaim a bit of joy. Also I've probably forgotten some favourites and may update this.]

Lori Petty in A League of Their Own

Jodhi May in any period drama

Mary Wickes in any period drama

Freddy Honeychurch in A Room with a View

Anne Hathaway playing cricket in that rust-coloured dress in Becoming Jane

Esther Summerson (disabled heroine!) & Allan Woodcourt in Bleak House

the freshly-painted yellow cabin door swinging shut with the names 'Calam & Katie' painted on it in Calamity Jane

the sequence where Doris Day sings 'Secret Love' in Calamity Jane

Michelle in Derry Girls (and James too, a wee bit)

George Eliot & Lenore in Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party

the moment where Emma and Mr Knightley start dancing together and it feels like you're inside the music in Emma

Polly Waker's haircut in The Enchanted April

Matthias Schoenaerts in Far From the Madding Crowd

Idgie & Ruth in Fried Green Tomatoes

Suranne Jones in Gentleman Jack

recognising Marian Lister as a bisexual who hasn't realised it yet in Gentleman Jack

Mary Agnes McNue in Godless

Bel & Freddie in The Hour

June Allyson leaping over a hedge (or is it a fence?) as Jo March in Little Women

the Patricia Rozema adaptation of Mansfield Park

the whole sequence where Judy Garland strides onto the neighbours' porch to sock The Boy Next Door in the jaw in Meet Me in St Louis

Katie the cook in Meet Me in St Louis

the moment where Benedick braces his arm against a doorframe in a desperate panic to stop Beatrice from going to eat Claudio's heart in the marketplace in Much Ado About Nothing

Denzel Washington in Much Ado About Nothing

Mr Thornton's hands (ok, and also his face) in North & South

tomboy Doris Day in On Moonlight Bay

Valentine in Parade's End

all of Portrait of a Lady on Fire

Papi in Pose

Lizzy Bennet declaring that she would never marry someone she did not love in Pride & Prejudice

Mr Darcy diving into a pond in Pride & Prejudice

both Angel and Joanne in Rent (the 2008 broadway version)

Martha the maid in The Secret Garden

Lelia Walker in Self-Made

swashbuckling Margaret Dashwood in Sense & Sensibility

the dance sequences in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers

the whole Thomas Kent situation in Shakespeare in Love

Maria (when she is not a nun) in The Sound of Music

Kitty Butler onstage in Tipping the Velvet

Annie and Janette and Jacques and Linh in Treme

Audra McDonald and Anne Hathaway and Raúl Esparza in that promotional photo for Twelfth Night

Julie Andrews and her male co-star singing a version of 'Home on the Range' with the line 'and the deer and the antelope are gay' in Victor/Victoria

Justine Waddell in Wives & Daughters

[myhauntedsalem]

The Haunting of Al Capone

At the height of the Prohibition era an incident of gangland violence stands out above all the rest—the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. These murders that took place in February of 1929 where especially brutal—even for the time. This bloody violence in Chicago resulted in two distinct hauntings. One at the location where the murders took place and one that plagued the man responsible, Al Capone at the end of his life.

In the 1920s violent gang shootings in Chicago were not uncommon as warring fractions battled for control of the cities various lucrative bootlegging, speakeasy, gambling and prostitution operations. Alphonse Capone, a rising gangster who ruled Chicago’s south side and George “Bugs” Moran who controlled the north side where two of the most powerful gangland leaders in 1929. Capone, ever ambitious, decided to hit Moran where it hurt so he could eliminate his only competition.

Moran operated out of a garage, S-M-C Cartage Company on North Clark Street. Capone who had this garage under surveillance for weeks arranged for a man, who Moran trusted, to call and tell him to expect a shipment of bootlegged whiskey on the morning of February 14. On this date, seven of Moran’s men where inside the garage as what appeared to be a police car drove up. Five men, three in uniforms and two in plains clothes got out of this car and entered the garage. Ironically, Moran who was late that morning spotted this “police” car and he and one of his men ducked inside a nearby coffee shop.

Meanwhile, in the garage the fake cops had informed Moran’s men that they were there for a raid. They ordered these seven to stand facing a wall and to place their hands above their heads. These men thinking they were caught did as they were told. Capone’s thugs then pulled out Thompson machine guns and shotguns and brutally shot them in the head, chest and stomach, killing them.

The bullets they used had been brushed with garlic—a superstition that it was said ensured death. These fake officers then led out their two buddies dressed in plain clothes at gunpoint in order to make it look like they had made arrests. They got in their car and drove off unchallenged. A passerby discovered the slaughtered men inside when he heard a German shepherd owned by one of the murdered men, crying pitifully inside. One man was found barely alive—he had fourteen bullets in him. He was rushed to the hospital where he refused to say who had shot him. He died shortly afterward.

At the time of the massacre Capone was in Florida. Both he and Moran accused each other of the killings. The identities of Capone’s five hit men have never been definitely established. No charges were ever filed against Capone for this massacre. This violence did succeed in breaking apart Moran’s north side operations. But ironically Capone was never to reap the rewards of this power grab for these brutal murders caused a major public outcry. Federal agents headed by Elliot Ness—the Untouchables—were brought in to crack down on crime in Chicago.

The bloodstained garage where the massacre occurred was torn down in 1967 for an urban renewal project. Before the building was torn down countless witnesses heard screams, sobbing, and moaning sounds coming from inside. Today what remains of the site is a grassy area with five trees. It is said that dogs that pass by the area whine, bark and snarl at something unseen.

Capone and one of his men were arrested in Philadelphia in 1929. They were charged with carrying concealed weapons. Capone was sentenced to one year in prison. When he was released he returned to Chicago but he found the city now was much less tolerant of crime. In 1934 he was nabbed for tax evasion and sent to Alcatraz prison. Finding himself beaten by guards and evading threats on his life from fellow prisoners he spent most of his time in isolation. It is said he played a banjo his wife sent him and wept for all that he had lost.

Suffering from the advanced stages of syphilis his guards reported that they heard him pleading with someone in his cell. It appears that the ghost of James Clark, one of the men killed in the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre was haunting him. He claimed that Clark would not let him alone. He was often found in his cell babbling and crying about this ghost that tormented him. At the time he was released one of his mobster compatriots stated Capone was, “nuttier than a fruitcake”. In 1947 Capone died of a brain hemorrhage caused by syphilis.

[beardedmrbean]

A nurse allegedly murdered by her Oregon neighbor just two weeks after getting married had plans to move out to be with her long-distance husband in Washington state, her family shared. 

Police recovered the remains of Melissa Jubane, 32, on Friday evening after a three-day search that ended in the arrest of her 27-year-old neighbor, Bryce Johnathan Schubert, who was charged with second-degree murder. 

The newlywed was reported missing on Wednesday after failing to show up to her morning shift at St. Vincent Hospital in southwest Portland. Her co-workers requested a wellness check on her, but police didn’t find any signs of her at her apartment. 

Jubane married Bryan Llantero, of Hawaii, on the island of Honolulu on Aug. 24 and had just returned to Oregon before she vanished.

The newlyweds first met in Hawaii and dated for over a decade, flying back and forth to see each other. Llantero had last heard from his new wife the morning she went missing, according to KHON. 

Jubane would stay in her Oregon apartment because of its proximity to her workplace while Llantero stayed in Washington state with Melissa’s family, her mother-in-law, Imelda Llantero, told the local news station.

But after tying the knot, Jubane planned to look for a job in Washington so she could live with her new husband, Imelda Llantero said.

Since her alleged murder, family members have taken to social media to advocate for justice and preserve her memory.

Jax Marquez, one of Jubane’s cousins, has turned to dedicating parts of her social media to her, including changing her profile picture to read “Justice for #melissajubane.”

“She has the sweetest soul in the world and I wanted to be able to create a space for those that had any interactions with her, those that knew her, had really close relationships with her, just anybody that has sweet memories of her,” Marquez said in a post on Instagram. 

Jubane’s father also expressed his heartbreak online.

“I’m in so much pain right now for you my daughter Melissa Jubane. As promised by the Beaverton Police Authorities to us, your justice will be done soon,” Valentin Jubane, Melissa’s father, wrote in a post on Facebook. 

“I have trust in our God The Almighty and His only son our Lord God Jesus Christ. You are loved by so many good people around the world.”

Another one of Melissa’s cousins, Onilobes Allan, urged politicians to protect potential victims from bad actors. 

“[…] our government need[s] to protect [people like Melissa] so we can have a chance to live in peace and have happiness in the world but unfortunately got taken advantage and was killed by someone that is very evil. I’m asking the government to make laws that protect good citizens,” he wrote in a post on Facebook. 

[horrorgirlspoll]

HERE WE HAVE IT: THE BRACKET

as polls are being posted, this will be updated with links to each match up!

SIDE A

Heather Mason (Silent Hill 3) vs. Vanessa/Vanny (Five Nights at Freddy's: Security Breach)

Frankenhooker/Elizabeth (Frankenhooker 1990) vs. Muffy St. John (April Fool's Day 1986)

Ellen Ripley (Alien) vs. Nancy Thompson (A Nightmare on Elm Street 1984)

Jessica Locke (Marble Hornets) vs. Momo (like, the internet hoax)

Nikola Orsinov (The Magnus Archives) vs. Kristen Parker (A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors)

Adelaide Wilson (Us 2019) vs. Jennifer Check (Jennifer's Body 2009)

Georgie Barker (The Magnus Archives) vs. Michelle (10 Cloverfield Lane)

Tiffany Valentine (Child's Play) vs. Thomasin (The Witch/The VVitch 2015)

SIDE B

Yuri (Doki Doki Literature Club) vs. Julie Kostenko (Dead by Daylight)

Sidney Prescott (Scream) vs. Amanda Young (Saw)

Uzi (Murder Drones) vs. Iris Thompson (SCP Foundation)

Sally Applegate (Meet the Applegates 1990) vs. Janice Starlin (The Wasp Woman 1959)

Jill Valentine (Resident Evil) vs. Lisa Garland (Silent Hill)

Joan Leaven (Cube 1997) vs. Mary Lou Maloney (Hello Mary Lou: Prom Night II 1987)

Pearl (Pearl 2022) vs. Lexy Cross (Child's Play)

Justine (Raw 2016) vs. Kirsty Cotton (Hellraiser)

[bookgeekgrrl]

My media this week (28 Apr - 4 May 2024)

📚 STUFF I READ 📚

😍 Bound by Contract (BootsnBlossoms & Kryptaria) - 135K, 00Q00 - pt 2 of The Marketplace AU with Bond & Q figuring out how their relationship works for them and how Alec fits all while doing semi-canonical spy shit. Such a huge fan of this series.

😍 Out of the Dead Lands (orphan_account) - "Someone is building machines that look and act like people. Meanwhile, the Winter Soldier tries to be Bucky Barnes." - 62K, stucky, very angsty with a happy ending, robots, identity porn (of a sort) - SO GOOD! (thank you, unknown author, for orphaning your work instead of deleting it.)

💖💖 +207K of shorter fic so shout out to these I really loved 💖💖

February (xoxobuckybarnes) - MCU: stucky, 5K - Steve and Bucky celebrate Valentine's Day in Wakanda

if the bad times are coming let 'em come (suzukiblu) - MCU: shrinkyclinks, 9K - accidental interdimensional swap puts still recovering WS into 1940s with pre-serum Steve

Maybe Our Kind Don't Fit Round Here (Rainne) - MCU: shrunkyclunks, 5K - companion fic to above - 1940s pre-war Bucky with modern Steve

📺 STUFF I WATCHED 📺

Um, Actually - s1, e21-32

Royal Pains - s8, e1-8

Ghosts (US) - s3, e10

The Brokenwood Mysteries - s10, e1

D20: Fantasy High: Junior Year - "The Name" (s21, e17)

D20: Adventuring Party - "Five Years in the Making" (s16, e17)

Dead Boy Detectives - s1, e4-8

🎧 PODCASTS 🎧

⭐ Lost Notes - S1 Ep. 1: Louie Louie: The Strange Journey of the Dirtiest Song Never Written

Dinner’s on Me - Niecy Nash-Betts

Under the Influence - Ham on Wry: Sandwich Board Advertising

Under the Influence - Cars Are The Stars: Automobile Brands in Hollywood

⭐ Lost Notes - The True Story of ‘Tainted Love’

Worlds Beyond Number: Fireside - [One Shot] SPACE CRAM: Reasonable Hoop Dreams - "The Menlo County Summer League 3X3"

Pop Culture Happy Hour - Dead Boy Detectives

Homophilia - LOL LOL OMG LOL with Steve Yockey

WikiHole - Virginia (with Lauren Lapkus, Naomi Ekperigin and Mary Holland)

Switched on Pop - Best of 2024 so far: hip hop feuds, Hozier’s pop surprise and espresso shots

Pop Culture Happy Hour - Summer Guide

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Old Cahawba

Wild Card - Jenny Slate turns fear inside out

It's Been a Minute - How Chicago's Black press shaped America

Consider This - Judi Dench reflects on a career built around Shakespeare

Shedunnit - The Murder on the Links

Vibe Check - Every Girl Has A Good Gay

⭐ 99% Invisible #580 - Mr Yuk

Today, Explained - One Flu Over The Cowcow’s Nest

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Checking Into Hotel Imperial with Deborah Cohen

Pop Culture Happy Hour - The Idea Of You

Throughline - The 4th Amendment: Search and Seizure

⭐ If Books Could Kill - "Going Infinite": Michael Lewis Takes On Sam Bankman-Fried

⭐ You Are Good - My Own Private Idaho w. Cecil Baldwin

Dear Prudence - My Brother Is a Budding Alex Jones. Help!

⭐ Endless Thread - Episodes We Love: Doom Jelly

Pop Culture Happy Hour - The Fall Guy And What's Making Us Happy

Re: Dracula - May 3: Your Friend, Dracula

It's Been a Minute - An inside look at the campus protests; plus, Israel at Eurovision

Armchair Expert - Chris Pine

Re: Dracula - May 4: The Eve of St. George's Day

Today, Explained - The tourist tax

Welcome to Night Vale #247 - Rerun

🎶 MUSIC 🎶

The Who

Dua Lipa

Back to the Yacht

Endless R&B Throwbacks

Hozier

[morbidmemories]

Lawrence king

15-year-old Lawrence Fobes King lived a troubled life after being adopted and then mistreated at a young age.

By the time he hit middle school, he was finally living happily in a foster group home where he felt free enough to let the world know he was gay. Though many adults and teens close to him warned of the dangers of being so open about his sexuality, this, in no way, deterred young Larry from showing the world, unapologetically, who he was. At the same time, you have a 14-year-old boy named Brandon Mclnerney who's also lived a very difficult life with an extremely abusive father as his mother struggled with drug addiction and was unable to remove her son from the volatile situation. In a very unfortunate and sad way, these two troubled teens' lives crossed paths in what would lead to a deadly conclusion.

Larry and Brandon both attended E.O. Green Junior High School in Oxnard, California in 2008. Larry was very much ignored up until he came out as gay and began to cross dress at school. It's safe to say that most teachers there did not approve. Based on statements made, Larry was still allowed to dress in the manner in which he chose. Then, in February of 2008, Larry began telling his friends about how attractive he found Brandon. This angered Brandon, who plotted to have Brandon jumped, but those efforts never proved fruitful. One day, as Brandon stood on the basketball court surrounded by friends, little Larry approached with a full face of makeup and high heels to ask Brandon to be his valentine. It's unclear if Larry truly wanted Brandon as his valentine or had set out to embarrass his fellow student for the rejection Brandon had strongly expressed. No matter what the reason, this sent Brandon into a rage as he had expressed his frustration with school staff previously and felt Larry was being allowed to sexually harass him. On other occasions, Larry would holler out to Brandon as they passed each other in the halls, things like "I love you baby," all while other students made fun of Bandon for the teasing. While the thought of this is troubling, it in no way excuses the decisions Brandon made from then on.

On February 12th, 2018, Brandon left home for school armed with a 22 calibre revolver with the thought of shooting Larry. Once he sat down in the computer lab with Larry and the rest of the class, Brandon admits to having second thoughts. That was until Larry loudly expressed that he would now be referred to as Letocia. It was then that Brandon stood up and fired two shots into the back of Larry's head. Brandon then fled the scene and was apprehended a couple blocks from the school.

Larry was still alive and was transported to St. John's

Regional Medical Center where he was taken into surgery. He was declared brain dead on February 13 but kept on life support for two days before passing away.

While there was lots of controversy over whether or not Brandon should be charged as an adult, the prosecution made the decision that he would be tried as such. While most saw Larry as the victim in this, many others, including teachers and Larry's adoptive father, expressed sympathy for Brandon as they felt he was being sexually harassed. School staff were informed on numerous occasions that Larry was following boys into the bathroom but were told to take no action. Hundreds of students at the school even signed a petition pleading for Brandon to be tried in juvenile court. Nevertheless, by early July of 2011, the trial was well underway and Brandon was facing a life sentence being tried as an adult.

Ultimately, the trial ended in a deadlocked jury with seven jurors voting guilty of voluntary manslaughter and five others deciding on first or second degree murder. Before long, six jurors were rallying in Brandon's defence after saying they in no way supported this 14-year-old being tried as an adult. They even went on to raise money for his defence as the DA's office announced they would be retrying the case. That trial would never come because on November 21, 2011, Mclnerney was offered a plea deal in which he pleaded guilty to second-degree murder, voluntary manslaughter, and use of a firearm. He was sentenced to serve 21 years.

[meanstreetspodcasts]

BONUS - Romance Gone Wrong

In this bonus podcast episode, a collection of characters makes the St. Valentine's Day massacre look like a picnic. We'll hear five Suspense stories about romances gone wrong with husbands and wives at each other's throats. Peter Lorre plots to get rid of an unfaithful wife in "Till Death Do Us Part" (originally aired on CBS on December 15, 1942), and even though his wife isn't real, Edward G. Robinson still winds up accused of her murder in "My Wife Geraldine" (originally aired on CBS on March 1, 1945). Robert Young's wife vanishes into the night in "You'll Never See Me Again" (originally aired on CBS on September 5, 1946) and Kirk Douglas plans to bump off his wife instead of sharing an inheritance in "Community Property" (originally aired on CBS on April 10, 1947). Finally, Joan Fontaine is a Mrs. planning to do away with her Mr. in "The Lovebirds" (originally aired on CBS on March 3, 1949).

Check out this episode!

[thetoxicvault]

GIRLSCHOOL

The School Report 1978-2008 (2023)

HNE Recordings Ltd - HNEBOX161

Great Brittain / London / U.K. 🇬🇧

If you was lucky enough to have pre-ordered early you may have got a autographed card (sadly enough, i was not).

• In-depth box set, delving right back to the band’s pub rock roots right up until the present.

• A celebration of Girlschool’s 40 plus years of rocking the globe, kicking off with their independently released 45 ‘Take It All Away’ b/w ‘It Could Be Better’.

Formed at school in the mid-70s, when friends Kim McAuliffe on guitar and bassist Enid Williams joined forces as Painted Lady, Girlschool formed in 1978, swept up as part of the New Wave Of British Heavy Metal movement that also gave us Iron Maiden, Def Leppard and Saxon, recruiting lead guitarist Kelly Johnson and drummer Denise Dufort in April 1978.

Debut LP ‘Demolition’ made it into the UK Top 30 in 1980, and the girls even found time while recording their follow up album ‘Hit And Run’ (1981) with producer Vic Maile, to record the ‘St Valentines Day Massacre’ EP with label mates Motörhead as HeadGirl.1982’s ‘Wildlife’ EP would be Enid’s last outing with Girlschool for a while, as she was replaced on bass by Gil Weston for ‘Screaming Blue Murder’ (1982).

Their fourth album, ‘Play Dirty’ (1983), was issued in the States on Mercury Records, who also picked up the option to release their fifth, ‘Running Wild’ (1985). The first album to be released without Kelly Johnson, it saw founder members Kim McAulliffe and Denise Dufort joined by Gil Weston, Jackie Bodimead (lead vocals, keyboards) and Cris Bonacci (guitar).

A new deal with GWR saw albums ‘Nightmare At Maple Cross’ (1986) and ‘Take A Bite’ (1988), by which time the bass slot had been filled by former Rock Goddess Tracey Lamb. Their eighth studio album, the self-titled ‘Girlschool’ came out in 1992 and 2002’s ‘21st Anniversary – Not That Innocent’ marked the beginning of a more prolific time for the band, as they would follow it up with ‘Believe’ (2004), ‘Legacy’ (2008).

CD 4 features many rare B-Sides and non-album cuts, as well as demos dating from 1978 up to 2002 and CD5 boasts an ultra rare live recording from the pre-Girlschool Painted Lady.

This five disc set comes with an extended essay from NWOBHM expert John Tucker, and features plenty of pages of rare photos and sought after memorabilia.

Box Set Credits

Release Coordination : Hugh Gilmour & Steve Hammonds

with special thanks to Giles Lavery

Liner Notes & Compilation : John Tucker

Mastering Andy Pearce & Matt Wortham at Wired Masters

Design & Artwork Gilmour Design, London

Demolition Girls (1979-1983)

1-1 Take It All Away (A-side)

1-2 It Could Be Better (B-side)

1-3 Emergency

1-4 Nothing To Lose

1-5 Demolition Boys

1-6 Not For Sale

1-7 Take It All Away

1-8 Breakdown

1-9 Race With The Devil

1-10 Yeah Right

1-11 Please Don’t Touch (with Motörhead)

1-12 Hit And Run

1-13 The Hunter

1-14 (I’m Your) Victim

1-15 Watch Your Step

1-16 C’mon Let’s Go

1-17 Tush

1-18 Don’t Call It Love (Wildlife EP)

1-19 Screaming Blue Murder

1-20 It Turns Your Head Around

1-23 You Got Me

1-22 Take It From Me

1-23 1-2-3-4 Rock And Roll

Playing Dirty (1983-1988)

2-1 20th Century Boy

2-2 Play Dirty

2-3 Running For Cover

2-4 High & Dry

2-5 Going Under

2-6 Burning In The Heat

2-7 Nowhere To Run

2-8 Are You Ready?

2-9 Let Me Go

2-10 Running Wild

2-11 Love Is A Lie

2-12 Nasty Nasty

2-13 Back For More

2-14 All Day All Night

2-15 You’ve Got Me (Under Your Spell)

2-16 Let’s Go Crazy

2-17 Play With Fire

2-18 Head Over Heels

2-19 Action

2-20 Love At First Bite

2-21 Too Hot To Handle

Still Not That Innocent (1992-2015)

3-1 My Ambition

3-2 Can’t Say No

3-3 Can’t Do That

3-4 Take Me I’m Yours

3-5 Innocent

3-6 Knife

3-7 Coming Your Way

3-8 Mad Mad Sister

3-9 Let’s Get Hard

3-10 Secret

3-11 You Say

3-12 Passion

3-13 Other Side

3-14 I Spy (Dio/Iommi Mix)

3-15 Legend

3-16 Metropolis

I Told You So – Singles, B-Sides (1980-1983)

4-1 Furniture Fire (B-side)

4-2 Nothing To Lose (7″ edit)

4-3 Bomber (St Valentine’s Day)

4-4 Emergency (St Valentine’s Day)

4-5 Tonight (B-side)

4-6 Demolition Boys (Live B-side)

4-7 Tonight (Live B-side)

4-8 Wildlife

4-9 Don’t Stop

4-10 Tush

4-11 Don’t Call It Love

4-12 1-2-3-4 Rock And Roll (ext ver)

4-13 Like It Like That (B-side)

Demos (1978-2002)

4-14 Let’s Spend The Night Together

4-15 Just Don’t Care

4-16 Nothing To Lose

4-17 Baby Doll

4-18 Not For Sale

4-19 Running Wild

4-20 Love Is A Lie

4-21 I Told You So

4-22 Have A Nice Day

4-23 London

The Pre-School Years – Painted Lady Live (1978)

5-1 I Wanted To Boogie

5-2 Be My Lover

5-3 Smoke On The Water

5-4 King of The Blues

5-5 Sometime World

5-6 Rub It In

5-7 I Saw You Standing There

5-8 All Along The Watchtower

5-9 Paper Plane

5-10 Johnny B. Goode

5-11 Shoot Shoot

5-12 How Can I Tell You

5-13 Can’t Get Enough

5-14 All Right Now

5-15 Knocking On Heaven’s Door

5-16 Gimme Some Loving

5-17 Honky Tonk Women

5-18 Change’s Coming

5-19 Hey Joe

5-20 You Keep Me Hanging On

Credits

Bass Guitar – Bernice Cartwright, Jackie Carrera

Bass Guitar, Backing Vocals – Gil Weston, Tracey Lamb

Bass Guitar, Lead Vocals – Enid Williams

Drums – Denise Dufort, Tina Gayle, Val Lloyd

Keyboards, Lead Vocals – Jackie Bodimead

Lead Guitar – Cris Bonacci, Deirdre Cartwright, Kathy Valentine

Lead Guitar, Backing Vocals – Jackie Chambers

Lead Guitar, Lead Vocals – Kelly Johnson

Rhythm Guitar, Lead Vocals – Kim McAuliffe

[choicesficwriterscreations]

CFWC LGBTQIA Masterlist Feb (2/2)

✒️ = Fanfic | 📱= Text Fics/Edits | 🎨= Fanart Ⓜ️ = Mature Content 18+ | 🔥 = Explicit/NSFW 18+ 🏳️‍🌈 = LGBTQIA | 💘 = Valentine's Day

LAWS OF ATTRACTION

Bad Liar ✒️Ⓜ️🏳️‍🌈| Marcus Sharpe x M!OC, Other OCs - @saibug1022

But I'm tired 🎨🏳️‍🌈| Martin Vanderweil x NB!MC - @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

Chillin in Central Park 🎨🏳️‍🌈 | NB!MC, F!OC, M!OC by @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

Come Morning Light ✒️🏳️‍🌈| Marcus Sharpe x M!OC; M!OC & NB!MC - @saibug1022

Dancing Queen ✒️🏳️‍🌈🔹| Original Characters - @aces-and-angels

Date Night🎨🏳️‍🌈💘 🔹| Gabe Ricci x M!MC - @choicesmc

Don't Let This Be the Last Time ✒️🔹| LOA MC - @choicesmc

Guess Where Magnus is From 🎨| Original Characters - @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

How Magnus Became Partner ✒️🏳️‍🌈| Gabe Rick, M!OC, NB!MC - @aces-and-angels

LOA OCs Fanart 🎨🏳️‍🌈by @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

Morning Commute 1: Rain 🎨🏳️‍🌈| LOA NB!MC - @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

Morning Commute 2: Enid🎨🏳️‍🌈| LOA F!OC - @oh-so-youre-a-nerd (@aces-and-angels OC)

Morning Commute 3: Magnus 🎨🏳️‍🌈| LOA M!OC - @oh-shoot-posts (@saibug1022 OC)

A New Start ✒️🏳️‍🌈| M!OC, NB!MC - @saibug1022

Pick Your Fighter Lawyer 🎨🏳️‍🌈| NB!MC, F!OC, M!OC - @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

That Place ✒️🏳️‍🌈

The Tarmin Awdernviel Gala 🎨🏳️‍🌈| Multiple Characters by @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

Wind Fanart 🎨🏳️‍🌈🔹| LOA NB!MC - @storyofmychoices for @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

MURDER AT HOMECOMING

Let Me Be Your Valentine, St. Valentine ✒️🎨🏳️‍🌈 💘 🔹| Donovan Navarro x/& NB!MC - @aallotarenunelma

OPEN HEART

Any Other Day ✒️🎨🏳️‍🌈💘🔹| F!MC x F!OC - art by @callmebeem fic by @jerzwriter

A Beast on a Chain ✒️🏳️‍🌈| Bryce Lahela x M!MC - @mydemonsdrivealimo

Conversation Hearts ✒️🏳️‍🌈🔹| Bryce Lahela x M!MC - @mydemonsdrivealimo

lipstick, quick wit, and a dirty mouth 🎨🏳️‍🌈🔹| OH M!MC - @mydemonsdrivealimo

Positive Reaction ✒️🏳️‍🌈🔹| Casey MacTavish (F!MC) x Jessica Phillips (F!OC) - @jerzwriter

Rafael Aveiro, Vincent Valentine (M!MC), Bryce Lahela Fanart 🎨🏳️‍🌈 - by @hydn-jpg (C: @griffinsboyfriend)

Valentine's Day Fanart 🎨💘🏳️‍🌈| Bryce Lahela x M!MC - @lilyoffandoms for @mydemonsdrivealimo

when you really love something, then it loves you back, in whatever way it has to love ✒️💘🏳️‍🌈🔹| Bryce Lahela x M!MC - @mydemonsdrivealimo

PERFECT MATCH

Sloane Washington x F!Hayden Young Fanart 🎨🏳️‍🌈by @sazanes

THE ROYAL ROMANCE

Cordonian Karaoke: Hana Take 3✒️🏳️‍🌈🔹| Hana Lee x MC, Drake Walker x MC - @angelasscribbles

WAKE THE DEAD

Three of Hearts ✒️🏳️‍🌈🔹| Eli Sipes x Zoe Rivera (F!MC) x Troy Hassan - @jerzwriter

WISHFUL THINKING

Anna Koishi x F!MC Fanart 🎨🏳️‍🌈 by @lilyoffandoms for @noesapphic

CFWC LGBTQIA Feb 2024 - Part 1

[lovedrunkheadcanons]

SFW: Fluff, cuteness, comfort, interracial relationship, protective Satoru, established relationship, marriage, husband+wife, love conquers all.

⚠️WARNINGS: History, racial discrimination, racial slurs, mentions of racism, race relations, interracial marriage, foreigners, Imperialist Japan, isolationism, comfort women, Lucie Blackman, the Rape of Nanjing, rape, murder, sexual exploitation.

Prequel: Gojo Takes a Wife (also on AO3).

Footnotes on AO3

“They are disgusting.”

…

“All she wants from you is a green card.”

…

“You sellout. You married a white dog.”

…

“Wouldn't you rather date someone of your own race?”

…

Satoru took his time reading the insults underneath the enlarged black and white photographs, snorting at one couple’s caption, “Let me know if you need a bigger dick.” The portrait showed an asian man and a white woman holding hands, their faces unsmiling. How absurd. Only an insecure loser with a tiny penis would say something that stupid. He then looked to his right to see another photograph of a white woman wearing a sari next to her husband, maybe Indian or Bangladeshi, with their young son. “I hope he is born with a turban on,” it read “I hope he is born with STD's.” Okay, that one had him cringing. Yikes.

Donna Pinckley was an American photographer whose work mainly focused on racial issues within the American South. Her most famous project “Sticks and Stones” had garnered worldwide attention and had officially made its Japanese debut in Tokyo. In each photograph she would have an interracial couple stand in the center and underneath would have them write disparaging comments they had received from someone in real life. “I want the viewer to look at the portrait first and then look down and see the writing,” Pinckley explained. “I want them to see how beautiful and how much they love each other first.”

Kumari and Ichiro had already toured the gallery earlier that week and had told Hannah all about it, insisting she go. So for the last few days his wife had been begging him to take her. “It’s important we see it, Satoru,” were her exact words. “Please?”

Important? Well, how could he argue with that? Happy wife, happy life, right? He decided to take her on St. Valentine's Day, fittingly enough, but apparently he wasn’t the only one.

Satoru looked around the gallery to see the many newcomers; an Iranian man linked arm-in-arm with a Korean women, speaking to her in a mix between English and Persian; A Chinese woman and her Vietnamese girlfriend snapping a cute pic together on a bench near the drinking fountain; An elderly Japanese husband lovingly zipping his French wife’s coat, her hands painfully bent with arthritis, before they both journeyed back outside in the cold. All of them had come to see Pinckley’s work. Perhaps as a mark of solidarity.

As it were, Japan was a largely homogenous country, meaning most people formed friendships, worked together with, and married other Japanese. In Tokyo the chances of running into a foreigner were higher than most, but slim. Satoru could recall on multiple occasions when he’d been mistaken for a foreigner, with his striking blue eyes and snow white hair. That’s usually how people envisioned gaijin; someone of Caucasian or European descent; fair skin, blue eyes, light colored hair. Anyone a shade darker, a kokujin, might (but very seldom) be met with suspicion or open hostility. The subject made Satoru curious and not long after he was married, he had begun reading about gaijin baseball players and what it was like playing in Japan during the 80’s and early 90’s.

Their experiences were not always positive.

Leron Lee was a gifted baseball prodigy from sunny Sacramento, California. Shortly after high school, he was scouted by the St. Louis Cardinals, later making his Major League debut with the Redbirds at age 21. Things seemed great at the start. The Major Leagues were seen as the epitome of baseball, except Lee was confronted with an unexpected problem. He kept getting traded and the coaches continuously benched him. Why? Because there was always someone better, faster, or stronger to place in the starting lineup, and as a result Lee had gotten kicked to the curb. It reached the point where he was receiving little to no playing time, and make no mistake, Lee wanted to play. So he took a gamble, and after eight seasons playing baseball in the U.S, 29 year old Lee grabbed his passport and boarded a plane for Kawasaki, Japan to join the Lotte Orions’ organization.

His debut season in 1977 as an Orion was met with huge success, leading the entire league with 34 home runs and 109 RBIs, but Lee would soon face a second problem. The Nippon Professional Baseball league did not want their star player to be a black man, so as to maintain the “Japaneseness” of the league, as they put it. After winning the batting title in 1980. “Only five people in the Lotte organization congratulated me, “ Lee would go on to say. “The following spring when they gave me my silver bat for being the batting champion, they did it in the clubhouse. No presentation at home plate in front of the fans. They just handed it to me. They seemed ashamed.” This, and the hurl of racial epithets the drunken crowds would fling at him whenever Lee struck out or made a bad play. Any sense of complaining was taken as a show of weakness. In all his years donning the Orion’s uniform, Lee would receive no brand endorsements and had to pay for his own equipment out of pocket. Nevermind that he was one of the few gaijin players who bothered to master the Japanese language while taking considerable salary cuts. Not even his white teammates did that.

It wasn’t all bad of course. Despite these setbacks, Lee liked living in Japan and had no regrets about moving there. He even invited his younger brother to play in the NPB for a short time. (It’s worth noting that Lee also married outside his race; a Japanese woman who once served as his translator. They would go on to have two children together, both girls).

Since his retirement in 1987, a lot had changed in the NPB and how they treated their gaijin players, but that same attitude couldn't be said about Japan’s views on foreigners as a whole (at least not yet).

In 2000, the disappearance and horrendous murder of Lucie Blackman would make front page news on practically every Japanese outlet, and the world, bringing down one of the country’s most infamous serial rapists in the process. Lucie Blackman, an English national and former flight attendant, arrived in Tokyo during the summer of 2000. To make a little extra money, she and a friend each got gigs working as hostesses for a Roppongi nightclub, a job that was similar to a modern day geisha, albeit with less elegance, but less degrading than stripping (or prostitution for that matter, which is still illegal). Many foreign women, most traveling on tourist visas, would take hostessing jobs. Ostensibly, they were hired to entice men inside the club and have them order as many rounds as possible. This also provided a not so subtle way for Japanese men to strike conversation and interact with foreign women, especially white women. A natural blonde with long legs and blue eyes, Lucie Blackman exotic beauty surely wetted many men’s appetites and caught the attention of unwanted admirers. One of whom would be her rapist and killer.

Under the law, it was illegal to work in Japan with only a tourist visa, leaving many foreign women vulnerable to exploitation and blackmail. Such was the case with Lucie Blackman, and because she was a foreigner, her disappearance wasn’t taken seriously at first, but when the British Embassy got word, the story caused a considerable uproar back home in England. Where is Lucie? Who could've done this? Why aren’t the Japanese authorities doing more? Is she even alive?

It wouldn’t be until the following year, February 9, 2001, that her body was recovered. Autopsy showed that Lucie had been drugged and repeatedly raped, before being viciously murdered. Once dead, her body had been hacked to pieces and left inside a cave encased in concrete. Obara Joji, a wealthy businessman, and frequent visitor of many foreign-filled nightclubs, was charged of rape and manslaughter and sentenced to life imprisonment. However, despite swaths of evidence, prosecutors could not prove without a reasonable doubt that Obara was Lucie’s killer. Investigators would later find that not only had Obara likely raped Lucie Blackman, but possibly more than a hundred other foreign women for almost a decade without being caught. All of them, hostesses. Most of them, white.

Lucie’s tragic murder brought to light many atrocities involving foreign women and the Japanese hostess industry. However, the real questions on everyone’s mind were these: Why was her disappearance not taken seriously from the beginning? And how did a man, who had been arrested previously on charges of sexual assault, manage to get away with drugging and rapping innocent women for nearly ten years? Satoru didn’t have an answer. Thankfully, progress was being made. “Human trafficking” was now part of the Japanese lexicon and most people were very welcoming of foreigners regardless of race or nationality, especially ones like Hannah who knew the language and were respectful of the culture, but every now and then you’d encounter some right-wing kook who believed every outlandish conspiracy the Sankei Shimbun wrote, and brought it upon themselves to ruin life for everybody. Satoru wouldn’t forget the day he witnessed that reality for himself, and not at the hands of the jujutsu elite.

It was November, 2015. Hannah wanted to go for a late breakfast in Tokyo, and between teaching and missions, Satoru greatly favored the idea. It had been a while since he had spent time with his wife. So, he chose a restaurant neither of them had visited before, but unbeknownst to them, the restaurant was run by a certain…group of people.

“Sorry, your girlfriend can’t come in here.”

Satoru’s eyes narrowed at the wrinkly old man guarding the entrance. “She’s not my girlfriend, gramps. Mind telling me why my wife can’t come in?”

The man drew a puff from his cigarette and tapped on a sign placed near the doorway.

NO FOREIGNERS ALLOWED.

Satoru’s glare worsened. “What if she’s not a foreigner?”

The old man gave a chortling laugh and spat at the ground. “If she wasn’t born here, she’s a foreigner. Plain and simple.”

That riled Satoru’s anger.

“The hell? How is that even legal?”

“Hey, twerp. Don’t look at me,” the man said, showing him his hands. “I just do what I’m told. It’s not my job to make the rules. Only follow them.”

“What did you just call me, old man?”

Satoru took a threatening step forward, heatedly removing his glasses to reveal his glacial blue eyes.

Hannah, wishing to avoid conflict, quickly grabbed Satoru’s arm and got between him and the old man, bowing deeply.

“Please excuse my husband’s rudeness and for informing us of the rules. We will take our leave now. Have a nice day.”

Her Japanese was flawless as she said it. No accent or mispronunciation to be had. Absolute perfection. Even the old man seemed visibly impressed, but didn’t dare voice it out loud and breathed out another puff from his cigarette.

Satoru was still fuming about it as they walked hand in hand down the street.

“‘No foreigners allowed?’ That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard. Why has no one notified their representative? If it were me, I would’ve taught that guy a lesson or phoned a lawyer. How’re you not mad?”

“He was simply doing his job, Satoru. I’m sure he’s not like that outside of work.”

Satoru abruptly stopped walking and tugged his wife’s hand, pulling her to him so they were facing each other. He hadn’t put his glasses back on.

“That’s not an excuse, Hannah.” He veered her off to the side and cupped her flushed cheeks, speaking tenderly. “The sun and moon cannot light up a crooked hole. This is your home — Heck, you voted in the election for cryin’ out loud, and your Japanese is better than most. You’re not an outsider.” His forehead connected to hers, tracing her lips with his thumb. “Not to me.”

Gojo Hannah offered him a sad smile. The kind that said, ‘I sympathize with you wholeheartedly, but I’ll say nothing more on the matter.’ With deft fingers, she reached up to rewrap the tartan red scarf around his neck - a birthday present she had gifted him last year - and stood on her tippy toes to give him a reassuring kiss.

“Come on then, you big sod, let’s go to Jade5. I remember how much we liked their pancakes.”

Hannah was willing to forgive and forget the whole encounter ever happened.

Satoru, not so much.

That was the only time his wife had ever been denied access somewhere for being a foreigner, but the Six Eyes wielder was no fool. He knew his country was not a garden full of cherry trees. The old isolationist mindset had not vanished off these shores. While it may not have profited off a global slave trade, or segregated whites from blacks, Japan was not without sins. She had committed heinous crimes in the past. Ask the Koreans how their women were treated in the midst of Japanese occupation. Or the Chinese when the Imperial Army laid siege upon Nanjing. Their contempt wasn't without justifiable cause. And with that came national and ethnic animosity on both sides. Still, to this day.

Satoru had learned much since becoming a married man. Although, that didn’t make him ‘colorblind’ of the situation. Colorblind, he thought. What a half-baked idea. While it was likely drawn from good intent, Satoru saw nothing wrong with pointing out someone’s physical characteristics. It only became an issue when it was used as a vehicle for discrimination. Hannah was English-European. She had auburn hair, hazel eyes, fair skin, and a faint dusting of freckles. She was clearly foreign, anyone with eyes could see that, but it didn’t prompt Satoru to go up to people and say, “Sorry, folks. This is a decoy. I leave my Japanese wife at home to do the cleaning.” No. Hannah was his wife, his one and only. If people didn’t like it, then that was their problem. And to be perfectly clear, most held zero qualms about their relationship. They had more prescient matters on their minds like global warming, the suicide rate, or the aging population.

Having enough of his musings, Satoru stopped skimming the rows of photographs and looked around the art gallery for his wife. He saw her standing down the hall in front of a portrait; a white man and his Japanese fiance.

“They're like us, Satoru,” she said as he came to join her.

“Yeah.” He wrapped an arm around his bride and held her close. “They sure are.”

Those idiots could cast their sticks and stones all they liked.

Their love was stronger than their hate.

[nuri148]

💝CLARITY VALENTINE'S SPECIAL! 💝

We don't celebrate Valentine's day in this household (we do St. George's day, which is the local traditional lover's celebration before VD was imposed by greedy merchants and pervasive foreign media), but this plot bunny popped into my head a while ago so I went ahead and wrote it.

The scene takes place within my fic Clarity's universe; it assumes the reader is familiar with the setting and the characters, so be warned that if you haven't read the main story, you'll miss things.

Also, while there are still several chapters of Clarity to be written, the following fic takes place AFTER the planned ending, so if you don't want to be spoiled as to whether will-they-or-won't-they, hit the back button now. (yes that was rethorical).

And now, without further ado and by popular demand...

❤💜❤💜❤💜LoveLapsang Souchong

♥💜❤💜❤💜

(1380 words)

It is a cold February day; Levi’s out running errands when he notices something odd. Bakeries offer heart-shaped, red glazed biscuits and heart-sprinkled cakes; confectioners are rife with heart-shaped chocolates and chocolate boxes; stationers boast pink and red garlands, silk paper cupids and gold heart-shaped confetti over flowery cards; florists are bursting with blood red roses; jewelers display heart-shaped pendants and earrings, rubies, engagement rings, diamonds that last forever. Every shop, restaurant and cafe is decked with those gaudy decorations. Even the bank and the post office. It’s like smallpox, but with hearts.

It’s as perplexing as it is disgusting.

And who the fuck is Valentine?

To add insult to injury, the moment he goes back into his tea shop, his safe haven, he spots Lucy wearing a pink cardigan with little red hearts in it. The clash with her ginger  hair is paramount.

Her smile fades as she sees the murderous look Levi’s giving her. He ignores her question whether he’s alright and sits on one of the bar stools, leaning on the counter as though he were a patron.

“What the fuck’s with all them fucking hearts?”

Lucy puts on her perfect host smile.

“It’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow!” she says, signaling to her ghastly cardigan with the same hand gesture she uses to show the biscuit selection to clients.

“Last I checked, it was Saturday.”

Realization hits her.

“Oh, God, you have no idea what Valentine’s is.”

“And I’m not sure I wanna know, though I guess I’m about to find out.”

Fairly enough, this is the first year the foreign holiday is being celebrated in Paradis. As the island opened up to the rest of the world over the years, and people has learned about other countries, so has arrived the knowledge of their customs and celebrations. Some are similar, like New Year; others are different. And among these, some, like Valentine’s, have slowly been gaining interest among the islanders. Lucy explains the story of the day with her usual cheerfulness.

“… a day to celebrate Love! and not just romantic love, no, LOVE in all its manifestations. A day to tell your lover, your best friends, all your favourite people, just how much they mean to you,” she concludes.

Levi is not amused.

“Utterly revolting.”

Lucy sighs loudly in frustration. “Why. Enlighten me,” she defies, hands akimbo.

“Tch. Corny as fuck. Why would I force any of that tacky heart shit on my loved ones? You don’t need a special day to show your affection.”

“I’ll concede that the Aesthetics of it may not be to everyone’s taste, but maybe you should consider giving your girlfriend something, you know, just in case. It doesn’t need to have hearts in it.”

“See?” he points with his missing fingers. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. Guilt-tripping people into consumism. Mikasa knows I don’t give a flying fuck about this kind of schemes. Besides, I just gave her a birthday present.”

Lucy looks sceptical, tilts her head and returns to work.

“If you change your mind,” she says, “I can share some ideas for the shop."

“Over my dead body,” he mumbles, then walks into the back office.

The door opens and Mikasa and Emma step in. Levi comes out on hearing the greetings; Mikasa blows him a kiss as she hangs her coat and hat on the rack and rushes to the bathroom. Emma tries to take out her coat without releasing her school bag, fumbles a lot, her blonde locks get all tussled and the coat ends up on the wrong side and into the umbrella stand.

“Leeevi!” she calls to him, more excitedly than usual.

“What’s the hurry that you mess your clothes like that? Your mother’s gonna have something to say …” Emma’s not listening; she’s laid her briefcase on the closest bar stool and is picking something from inside it.

“Here! For you!” she says, handing Levi a … card? He takes it, naturally.

“’The fuck is this?”

Her little face is glowing. “A valentine! We made them at school.”

Levi looks at the card, made of plain construction paper. The cover is a colourful pencil drawing of a heart-shaped teacup with its saucer and a heart-shaped cookie on the side. From the cup hangs a tea-bag string, and the label says “Lovesang Souchong”. On the top, two hearts, one red and one pink, and the phrase “Happy Valentine’s Day!” in purple letters.

He opens it, reads it.

He stands still, eyes fixed on the squiggly words of the five-year-old brat. He swallows.

“Thanks.” His voice comes out barely a whisper.

“Do you like it?” Emma asks, all smiles, and hugs his waist. Levi lays the card on the bar to hug her back.

“Yeah,” he mutters. Emma lets go of him and takes a look at the shop.

“Aren’t you going to do any Valentine Day’s specials?”

Levi hesitates for a moment.

“Er … We were just discussing that with Lucy. Lucy?”

Lucy’s face is contorted in an unfathomable expression: she’s been doing such an abysmal job at pretending not to be completely engrossed in the exchange that’s just taken place.

“Yes, I was thinking we could highlight the red berries tea, and the baker left a list of the themed biscuits he’ll be making, too.” While Lucy makes her speech, Mikasa has come back and perches on a stool, listening with interest. “He showed me a sample of a new cake; it’s called red velvet and it’s not cheap, but it’s absolutely to die for. As for decorations …”

“Is this about Valentine’s Day?” Mikasa asks. The others answer in the affirmative. She looks at Levi. “I thought you wouldn’t care about this kind of things.”

His ears go red.

“Well … every other shop in town is doing something, we can’t be any less, right?”

Mikasa nods appraisingly, glances at Lucy, who mirrors the appreciation while very discreetly gesturing to the valentine now lying on the corner of the bar. Mikasa gets up.

“Can we get that cake Lucy just said?” Emma has the perfect puppy eyes; not that she needs them.

“Sure,” Levi says, ruffling her hair. “Ginger, you take care of everything.”

“Emma, is this how you hang your coat?” her mother says, pointing to the umbrella stand. The little one goes to put it properly and Mikasa walks to the bar.

“What’s this?” She picks up the card.

“From Minimin,” he says, averting his eyes like he don’t care.

“I’m going to do my homework.” Emma leaves through the house door.

“May I?” Mikasa asks gently. He shrugs.

There are no customers at the moment; the only sound is Lucy placing the baked goods order on the telephone.

Mikasa opens the card and reads. Her lips curl slowly in a blissful smile. She gives the card back to Levi; his fingers graze hers as he takes it and their gazes cross. The tenderness in Mikasa’s eyes is sweeter than all the heart-shaped chocolates, softer than all the rose petals, brighter than all the diamonds.

She gives him a blink-and-you'll-miss-it kiss on the cheek and gets inside the house.

Levi takes a deep breath, goes to the till and hands Lucy some money to go buy decorations. "Just don’t go overboard with it,” he pleads. She acknowledges the instructions, thankfully quieter than her usual self, and leaves.

Now alone, Levi looks at the card again. Then, he rummages in the cupboard beneath the till for supplies. He wraps the card with a piece of cellophane, securing it tautly with sellotape. Next, he pins it to the wall, right beneath the framed picture of the tea shop Emma gave him months ago.

He contemplates the humble art display, sipping the tea Lucy brewed before leaving.

The smoky woodiness filling his throat is the perfect counter balance to the sickly-sweet profusion of romantic imagery. And yet, there’s something titillating in that bouquet; a sense of intimacy … Levi imagines himself cuddling with Mikasa by the fire, under a pile of blankets, in a secluded cabin, oblivious to the raging winter outside.

Lovesang Souchong, the damn brat wrote on that card. There’s an idea for a holiday special. His mouth quirks into a sardonic smile.

“Fucking Valentine.”

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

[casicroaks]

Tiffany Valentine has two things in her mind: love and murder. The origins of the brains behind the infamous Lakeshore Strangler and the string of broken hearts she left along her way to Chicago, interwoven with the development of the tempestuous relationship between her and a certain Charles Lee Ray.

CHAPTER 4

[ CHAPTER 1 // CHAPTER 2 // CHAPTER 3 // CHAPTER 4 // CHAPTER 5 // CHAPTER 6 // CHAPTER 7 // CHAPTER 8 // CHAPTER 9 // CHAPTER 10 // CHAPTER 11 // CHAPTER 12 // CHAPTER 13 // CHAPTER 14 // CHAPTER 15 // CHAPTER 16 ]

NEW JERSEY, 1984

At the beauty parlor, being a Tuesday morning, we didn’t have much work. That day it was the turn of Shelley and Annie to clean up, so in the meantime I guarded the reception desk and entertained myself by rearranging the nail polish boxes. They were all different colors, with red being the most common: dozens of shades of red, with names like Dressed to the Wines and St Petersburgundy. I sorted them, taking moments to linger on the color, wondering which one would be the closest to that of the blood Chucky and I had spilled a few nights ago. I crossed my legs tight. None were close enough, not with how it looked under those yellow lights at the hotel room, that made it both deep and bright; the perfect red –the one you think of when you think of the color red. I looked away from the nail polishes and out the window, at the blurry faces of the passersby. I pressed my thighs together, feeling just a little strain. I twirled my hair, pretending to play with it, just to get my hand closer to my neck, my collar, brushing my fingers against it as casually as I could. But I had to be careful not to be too obvious. How well I was doing, I really couldn’t tell for sure. I knew that my pulse was rising, and my face was flushing…

I blurted an excuse to anyone who cared and rushed to the bathroom. When I locked the door, let out a sigh and sat on the toilet, I finally closed my eyes and allowed myself to freely think back to that amazing time at the hotel.

I had never done this before. Not during work hours, at least. But I couldn’t help myself. I leaned my head back and pictured his hand going down to my crotch, feeling me over my panties, and I let out a hoarse moan. Still with my eyes closed I unbuttoned my blouse and hurried to do what he did, feeling the nub of my nipple already hard. I squeezed it between two fingers, just like he did, gasping and moaning as quiet as I could, wishing he just went ahead and kissed me already, as if he was really there with me. In a matter of seconds, I shoved my other hand under my panties and, pressing my knees together, became more and more excited. It was so easy to remember what he had done to me and how—

Lazily, half wondering, I stood up, still with my eyes closed, imagining his hands, the weight of his body, the warmth of his breath against my cheek. I grabbed one of my tits and pressed myself against the wall of the bathroom, shivering at the cold touch of the pink tiles. My other hand –his other hand –kept working my clit –and I arched my back, opening my mouth –drowning any noise before it could come out –rocking my hips against the hard-pressing fingers. It was so easy to imagine him. It was easy to picture it all with my eyes closed, my forehead against the tiles, my breathing becoming hitched and gritting my teeth as hard as I could to not say his name out loud, since the walls of the bathroom were pretty thin and the girls would most likely hear me if I even allowed myself to be half as loud as I was back then—

I came quickly. I shuddered as I dropped back on the toilet, taking a moment to catch my breath. A grin curled my lips. I hadn’t been able to get myself off that nicely in quite a while. There was that peace I loved so much, that quiet delight after the climax, in which everything seemed to be alright with the world.

I fixed my makeup and my hair, hoping that little bit of release would keep me going for the rest of the day, and, hopefully, there would be no suspicions on what I had just done in the workplace’s bathroom.

The place was still empty, the neon scissors on the walls blinking like they always did, the pastel colors of the walls looking washed-out. But I, I was happy, I was in love, the world was a beautiful place, and when a song I liked came up on the speakers, I let out a little honest-to-God happy squeal, startling my coworkers.

“Jesus, Tiffany, it’s just a song…” Shelley, the eldest of us, told me with a frown.

“I didn’t know you were such a big fan of The Go-Go’s!” Annie laughed.

“The voice of reason is one I left so far behind,” I sang along to the radio, bopping along to the rhythm, as if I hadn’t heard them at all. “I’ve waited so long, so long to play this part—”

Honestly, the other girls at the beauty parlor would’ve been blind to not notice the sudden change in my mood. I had been in a downward spiral for the last few months or so. I had become so glum and detached as of late, and now… Now I was singing and dancing with a broom as I swept the chopped hair off the linoleum floor.

“Don’t you sound different?” Annie said with a frown. “I could swear your voice was different last week…”

“She might have a sore throat, what with this cold weather—”

“Oh, no, ma’am –this is my voice through and through,” I said proudly. No longer would I try to disguise it. If someone had a problem with it, well, that was their problem, not mine. “It’s what I actually sound like. And to hell with who finds it annoying!”

“What’s come up with you, ginger?” Molly said while I waltzed by her. “You sick or something?”

“Maybe, who knows…” I hummed.

“She’s gone mad, methinks,” Shelley commented, sharpening the scissors.

“Maybe so—”

“Come on, spit it out!” Molly insisted, hitting my arm with a rag she used to wipe the mirrors. “What happened? Did you win the lottery?”

“Did you find a new job?” Annie laughed. “Oh, we’ll miss you so much…”

“At least someone’ll make it out of here—”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” I said, leaving the broom against the wall and giving a little twirl. “I… I met a guy.”

Those were the magic words. The three of them gasped and immediately gathered around me. I giggled like a little kid, avoiding them, jumping onto one of the styling chairs and pretending to preen my hair.

“You did!?”

“You don’t say!”

“When?”

“Where?”

I giggled, spinning around in the styling chair, basking in the attention. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly…”

“Save it, Tiffany, we don’t need you to keep us on edge,” Shelley insisted. “We hadn’t had any good gossip since Mrs Muggiano got that nose job!”

“Spit it out!”

“Alright, alright!” I laughed, taking a moment to calm down and also to build suspense. “… I met him at the club last Friday,” I finally said, though I wasn’t totally sure it had been that specific day. “We didn’t dance or anything –we, like, got right to the point—”

“Bet you did—” Molly giggled with a sly smile.

“Did you go to his place?” Shelley asked.

“Was it a nice place?” Annie asked, opening her eyes wide. “Or was it, you know, just… Your average caveman’s dwelling?”

“No, we went to this… Uh, this hotel…” I said, leaning my head on my hand, smiling wider by the second as I remembered it all.

“Ooh!”

“And… Um…” My smile slipped away. It finally hit me I couldn’t exactly share all the nitty gritty details. “… Well, we…”

“… You what?” Shelley frowned, growing impatient. “You wouldn’t be this high up if it was just a random weekend screw. C’mon, tell us!”

I shook my head. “I… I can’t really describe it. It was…” I bit my lip, smiling again, trying to find the words. “… It was what I was needing. It was special. It was… As if everything had led up for us to meet at that point.”

There was a silence. The girls exchanged looks. There was a new song playing on the radio, one appropriately less upbeat and more soulful.

“Damn…”

“Hm—”

“Alright, Cinderella. What’s he like?” Annie asked, leaning forward, drumming her long acrylics against the counter. “What’s his name?”

“Charles,” I smiled with a little sigh, not really to her or to any of the girls –but to myself, just to say his name out loud again. “… Chucky.”

“Chucky?” Shelley repeated.

“Huh…”

“How old?”

“I couldn’t tell… Maybe a year or two older than me, I guess,” I shrugged. Truthfully, I wouldn’t be able to guess even if I tried. He could be anywhere between twenty and forty. “Wasn’t thinking about that at all—”

“Is he real handsome?” Annie asked with a big grin. “Like, a Don Johnson type?”

I turned to her, just to check if she was joking. Judging by her eager smile, she did not. I laughed out loud. “Shit, no –not by a long shot…”

“Well then, more like a Tony Danza?”

I just kept on laughing. “No, he’s… He’s handsome in his own particular way.”

“So, ugly,” Shelley said with a sigh and a nod. “Got it.”

“At least that means no girl’ll try to steal him away from you!” Molly laughed.

“What else? You’re not telling enough, Tiffany!”

“Well, after the hotel, we went to my place…” I admitted. I wondered if it was weird for me to share the fact that I had been the one to invite him home instead of the other way around. “And then, we had burgers.”

“Huh. Kind of a weird succession of events—”

“Couldn’t he take you somewhere nicer than burgers?” Molly asked.

“Did he pay for them?”

“Or is he broke?”

“What does that matter?” I replied, becoming annoyed. “I don’t think he is… But even if he was, don’t you get it? I’m in love.”

Shelley let out a long, deep sigh, having lost interest. Maybe I just wasn’t sharing enough to keep her attention. “Sure. Let’s just see how long this lasts, Tiffany. Don’t declare it love yet.”

“But it is!” I said, standing up and following her around. “I swear, I… I have felt like this before, this feeling –like an explosion in my chest –like a burst of energy, of being struck by lightning –of being unable to stand still –like I could do anything in the world…” I laughed again, feeling my cheeks becoming blushed. “… It’s love. I know it. I swear on it.”

Shelley wasn’t listening to me anymore, busy as she was now by the window display of wigs. Annie gave me a little hand squeeze.

“It’s great you feel so good about it, Tiffany…” she said kindly. Annie was the closest to my age, and she was the friendliest of the bunch. “Just, try to keep your expectations realistic, y’know, honey?”

“What d’you mean?”

“Well,” Molly said while she filed her pinky nail. “You might feel this amazing way, but maybe, maybe he just…  Doesn’t feel that way?” she shrugged. “You know how guys can be. They’re terrified of commitment.”

“And besides, you said you’ve been in love before,” Shelley said between teeth. “So you know how that can turn out.”

I frowned. “But –it wasn’t like that –at all!” I cried. What was so hard to understand? “No, this… This was special. It was love… I felt it. And I know he felt it too.”

Molly and Annie exchanged a skeptical look and went back to work, or to at least pretend to be working. I plopped back onto the styling chair and stayed there, like a forgotten doll, dangling my legs, more than a bit angry that they wouldn’t take my word for it. Anyway, I should have known they wouldn’t get it. I didn’t like sharing stuff about my family, and I didn’t have much more to myself besides that, apart from failed relationships. So, they didn’t know that much about me, mostly because a lot about me has to do with my ‘little accidents’ I didn’t like to think of them like that, really, because I never felt I did it on accident: every time, I had felt in complete control. Still, I did feel a bit of shame about most of them, even after all that time. Not really regret (all of them except for one were completely justified) but shame in the sense of feeling like I had done something bad, like filing nails back and forth or wearing rubber hair ties. I knew it was silly, since what was done was done, the past was the past and there was no use crying over spilled blood… But I don’t know; if I had to guess, there was some of that old Catholic guilt creeping back up at the most inappropriate moments.

As soon as I got home, I checked my voicemail. I did it before taking off my shoes, before dropping my coat, before closing the door. I had some advertising for a perfume and for a pest control company. I had a message from my mother. I had none from him.

Well, Chucky was probably busy, I told myself. I even laughed a bit at myself for being so eager. What a turnoff, I thought. I had to behave myself next time we met, otherwise he’d believe I was crazy. I thought about what my last partner had told me: sometimes, it had to be said, I could be a bit too much. Too demanding, too needy, too eager, even, yes… But it was just the way I had to show affection. Was that so wrong? And, besides, all my partners had liked being the center of my attention… At first, at least. They all eventually lost interest in me, while I stayed as in love as during the first date. And I wasn’t stupid –I could see when I was being ditched. I had plenty of experience now. By that point I already knew when to split before I was left and before it would become too painful to bear.

But that wasn’t what had happened with Chucky. Our actual relationship hadn’t even truly begun… Had it? I just knew that what we had was special. I knew it. How often do two killers find each other? It had to be some extraordinary, statistically unlikely coincidence. It had to be fate. And, apart from simply meeting –we had amazing chemistry, the sort you can’t force into existing by any means. It was as if sparks had flown all around us when we learned who the other was. Kindred spirits. Someone cut from the same cloth. In my whole life I had never had something like that happen to me. It had to be worth something, then, right?

What mattered was, did he feel it too?

Wednesday, and a bit more activity at the beauty salon. My thoughts came and went, going from focusing on my job to wondering if I should get home a little earlier just in case I managed to catch the phone call. Usually, I can manage to set my attention on the tasks at hand because there’s money on the line, and because the job is more or less easy and almost automatic to me, in a sense; but now I was having trouble listening to the customers’ requests, having to be told twice what they came for, and, what was worse, taking far too long on one single task instead of managing to finish the base coats of all the nails as quick as possible to get on with the first color coat. Luckily, at about three, a pack of teenage girls came to get ready for a party, which made enough of a hubbub at the beauty salon for my coworkers’ attention to be elsewhere, as well. While Shelley and Molly got to hair and color, Annie and I worker on the girls’ nails. She basically did four of them while I worked much slower, managing only two. The second girl who came by me appeared to be the oldest of the group, and had just had her hair thoroughly highlighted, teased and curled before she laid her hands on my little table.

“So, I don’t know, I think I wasn’t being unfair. I was just being honest, and shouldn’t people be more honest?” the girl said, chewing bubblegum as if her life depended on her jaws never standing still. She had been talking for about ten minutes, and I was barely on the first coat of nail polish. She didn’t seem to realize how slow I was working, but I definitely did. “I mean, it’s not my fault if Kylie just decides she wants to do whatever and not follow the basic code of conduct. Like, you are just not allowed to date your best friend’s ex! It’s just an absolutely shitty thing to do to someone, you know!?”

I nodded. “Definitely…” But then I just had to open my big mouth. “Wait, didn’t you say Gina was your best friend—?”

“Anyways, Kylie didn’t apologize, which she totally should have,” she sighed, leaning back in her chair, tensing her hands. I decided it was for the best that she didn’t hear me. “And it’s a bitch to see her fuck up her social life in this way, not only because of Joey, of course, but because she’s already on thin ice with the rest of the guys. I mean, everyone knows she’s a complete slut, but we’re okay with it, you know? But now that she’s after Joey, I mean, there are limits. I told her that she shouldn’t go home with him after that party, but like always, Kylie does what Kylie wants, and to hell with whatever her friends tell her.”

She huffed, blowing a strand of her hair aside. I finally finished that first coat and immediately got to the next. The girl gave me an intrigued glance.

“You’re a quiet one, huh?”

I chuckled. “Sorry… I don’t know where my mind is.” I did know. It was in a hotel room a few nights ago.

“I mean, you don’t gotta say anything, I just needed to get all this off my chest,” she grinned, gritting her teeth, the pink gum squeezed between the incisors like a severed tongue. “God, I’m so pissed! I hope you can understand why I did what I did. Like, okay, I did lose my cool, but she’s not dead or anything, she didn’t get that hurt, and like, who doesn’t do something a little crazy every once in a while, right?”

I stifled another laugh. “I totally get it.”

“I’m Dawn, by the way,” the girl said. I had a feeling she had already told me this, but most of the time clients just throw a bunch of names and events at you and don’t really expect you to fully and completely keep up –though they do appreciate it, in my experience. “Tina said this place’s really bitching, and it is, you know? Good music. Hard to find places with good music.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Do you think what I did was wrong?” she asked me, now in a lower voice, leaning forward as I began the last coat. “Like, what I did was kinda crazy, but I’m not, like, actually crazy, right? Like, Kylie didn’t break anything. It’s fine. Right?”

I took a deep breath, and I nodded. “Listen, sweetface, I get it. And I’m not gonna judge you for what you did, it was completely understandable! Hey –Dawn… Listen,” I said, leaving the nail polish for a second, looking up into the girl’s eyes, turning dead serious for a second. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. You pushed Kylie down the stairs –so what? Now she knows not to mess with you.”

Dawn smiled, resuming her gum-chewing. “Right? Wanna see her trying to get on with my exes now…”

“I mean,” I shrugged, and continued with my work. “Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do to stop some bitch from being a pest—”

“Exactly!” she exclaimed, using her free hand to gesture dramatically. “Now, if you can tell that to Tina and Gina…”

“Because you gotta make them afraid, make them wish they never crossed you in the first place.”

“Definitely. Because otherwise, how’re they gonna respect you?”

“Exactly, exactly…”

“How’re they gonna know that they just can’t fuck with you?”

“I mean, if I hadn’t beaten Peggy Buckman to eight stitches and a reconstructive nose surgery, how else would I have gotten her to stop fucking with me in the fourth grade?” I chuckled as I applied the last coat to her pinky. “You know?”

Dawn frowned, opening her eyes wide. “What?”

Before I could repeat myself, Shelley passed by and told Dawn about some group discount she just made up. I shot her a look, wondering if I had said something wrong, and by the look she gave me back, I just did. I cleaned my station and helped Annie to sweep the piles of home-bleached hair off the floor while Molly ran the girls’ final check. By the time we closed for the day I was almost running away from Shelley, who I knew was just about to give me a stern talking to for doing such a shitty job.

I went directly back to my apartment, hoping that there would be some good news to cheer me up. But there were no new messages waiting for me at home. I checked the phone, just in case, to make sure it was working. Despite having her number, I never called Annie or Molly or any of my coworkers, but I considered calling them to ask them how much time it had to pass before someone called them back, generally speaking. Were there politeness rules or something I hadn’t heard about before? I just wasn’t super used to dating, and these sorts of details were never my forte. If I liked someone, I just told them. I’ve always tried to be as honest and direct as I can.

For dinner I had leftovers and Addams Family reruns. I ate my reheated meatloaf next to the phone, and after I was done, I considered washing the dishes, but decided to redo my toenails instead, and when that was done, I considered taking matters into my own hands, combing the phonebook and finding Chucky’s number, but when I opened it and saw the amount of Charles there were in New Jersey, and thought that there weren’t that many as I had thought and that it was only a quarter to nine, I decided I was going nuts. Just two days! I had to be patient. I have always had problems with being patient, but now I had to reign it in and really find a way to keep it together. I thought about washing the dishes again. I didn’t. Instead, I changed into my nightdress and slippers, took the TV to the bedroom, forced myself not to take the telephone too, and fell asleep while watching some early-morning news of a woman’s dead body found three weeks after her passing, forgotten in her New Brunswick apartment, half eaten by her twelve cats.

Thursday, and after work Annie convinced me to go to the mall together. I liked my coworkers, I really did, but I never had it easy making friends. All in all, though, I was thankful Annie made the effort. Being a couple years younger than me and a much less jaded person overall, she gave me some much-needed shot of energy that cloudy afternoon, dragging me along the familiar Hackensack streets to the brightly-lit, towering building that, coming along someone else, might just surprise me for once. Indeed, Annie took me to some shops I had not even stepped foot on. And, accompanying the sense of adventure, she kept telling me her thoughts on what aspects of myself could use a change.

“Your problem, Tiffany, is just that your energy is all wrong. You gotta be more positive, y’know? You’re too… Too dark, too pessimistic. Look at you! Always in black… What are you, a goth?” she snorted. “And I know that there’s a bright shiny happy camper deep inside you. I see her when you laugh, when you joke around… Don’t you wanna be happy, Tiffany?”

“Of course I do…”

“Well then, do something about it! You gotta shift your outlook! I mean, the hair was a great first step!” Annie said, and I smiled. Of course she would say that –she was the one who did the color. “I still remember how you were when you broke up with that mystery person of yours… But the hair isn’t enough! Oh, God,” she said, laying a hand on her chest, suddenly breathless. “… I didn’t think I would ever say that.”

I laughed. She grinned, proud of herself, and picked a sweater she had been eyeing ever since we stepped into the store.

“Look here, don’t you think this would look wonderful on you? Brighter colors, brighter makeup… Try to get a little wilder –have fun –enjoy life!”

“I don’t know, Annie. I just like black. It goes with everything, you know.”

“Yeah, but…” She made a vague hand gesture along with a grimace. “You got to step out of your comfort zone. You’re always in the shadows—”

“I do wear red a lot!” I pointed out, pointing at my hair, my lipstick, my nails, my shoes.

“Well, that’s another region of your comfort zone,” she sighed, handing me even more clothing hangers. “Try something that doesn’t have either red or black in it, and see how that changes your whole perspective!”

I wanted to protest, but I knew that Annie was probably right. I disappeared behind the changing room curtain and came out a new person altogether, covered in dusty pastels. I twirled in front of the mirror and tried to smile. Big chunky cowl-necked sweater, long skirt, and sensible belt. The businesswoman set clashed violently with my hair and makeup. It was as if someone had swapped the head of a display mannequin.

“I don’t know, Annie…”

“Put some attitude on it, Tiffany!” she insisted, fixing the cowl. “If you hunch yourself like that, of course you’re not gonna rock it…”

I posed with the biggest grin I could manage. Still, I looked like a confused freak.

“… Alright, I admit, this is not the look for you,” she admitted, and went back to find some new things for me to try.

There was a loud laugh which called my attention. The place was crawling with teenagers. After the whirlwind of a friend group we had the day before at the beauty salon, even seeing someone of high school age was enough to make me feel like a grandmother. The whole big shapeless cozy outfit I had on didn’t help. It felt like I was being smothered by cashmere and fleece.

“Now, isn’t this divine?” Annie said, popping out in a matter of minutes, handing me a bunch of high-necked blouses and colorful pants. “I don’t know if it’s actual honest-to-God silk, but I bet you’d look great in blue—”

“But look at that price!” I exclaimed while staring at the tag. “I’m not gonna spend half my pay on embroidered silk—”

“Alright, but just –try it on, even if you’re not gonna buy it,” she said. “We just need to find your new style. Then we can worry about budgeting.”

I sighed and went back to the changing room. At Annie’s request, I tried funky polka-dot-print dresses, orange sweaters, pink coats, yellow button-up shirts (my most dreaded), pleated skirts with varied patterns, and silk blouses in every color of the rainbow except red and black, all of them too expensive for me to even enjoy the feel of. As much as I wanted to go along with her ideas and find something new, it was more than obvious that I didn’t know how to coordinate colors, and with the rule against blacks and red I was absolutely lost. Annie tried to help me as best she could. It didn’t do much to combat my growing frustration.

“But you see, if you accessorize—”

“You just don’t admit defeat, huh, Annie?” I joked after I changed back into my normal clothes, aching for a smoke. “You’ve been so patient, sweetface… But it’s hopeless. I just don’t feel comfortable in all of that.”

“I think you’re just denying yourself the chance to enjoy change,” she said, crossing her arms. “… I’m gonna drop you an honesty bomb, so brace yourself.”

I giggled, and embraced myself, preparing for impact. Annie looked at me up and down, taking a deep breath.

“… I think you kinda sorta dress like… And I mean this in the best way possible… Like a little bit of a slut.”

“Annie!”

“I warned you! But –hey, Tiffany –listen, a slut, like, in a Pat Benatar, rock-star way… Provocative, y’know what I mean?” she said as we stepped out of the store. “You’re all tight tops, tight little skirts…”

“I like how I dress.”

“Yeah, I know, honey,” Annie said tiredly. “But you wear the same even in winter, and when it’s not low necklines, it’s minidresses, and… Y’know, people will talk. People will have an opinion of you before they meet you.”

I frowned. “What d’you mean?”

“I mean,” Annie talked slower, more carefully. “That… I know that you’re not into casual stuff, that what you’ve been doing lately, going to clubs, to bars, and… Well, sleeping around… It isn’t how you usually are. But, if you dress for the job you want—”

“You think I wanna be a slut?”

“No, no… What I mean is, maybe this guy you met got that impression from you,” she finally admitted. “Maybe he just doesn’t think you wanted a commitment, and that’s why he’s not been calling.”

I turned away from her and walked faster. I didn’t want to hear it.

“Come on, Tiffany, you must have considered that—!”

“No, because you just don’t know what went on. It wasn’t like that at all!”

“I’m trying to help you!” she cried, following me. “I mean, you can dress like whatever you want, but you can’t stop people from judging! I’m just trying to make sure you know what sorta message you’re putting out…!”

I stopped and pinched the bridge of my nose, trying my best not to smudge my makeup. Annie stopped beside me, leaned against my arm, and patted my back. I let her.

“Listen, when I was about sixteen, seventeen, I dressed super provocatively,” she told me softly. “All my friends had boyfriends, and I was the runt of the litter, and I was getting desperate… And I reaped what I sowed.”

I thought of something my mother had told me once. ‘You can smell it on girls who sell it’. I didn’t want to be that. But I knew who I was, and I knew what I did. Just because I dressed a certain way –that didn’t mean shit.

“The attention of the boys I attracted wasn’t… Let’s say, they weren’t gentlemen. I mean, we were all a bunch of kids, but, like… You know what I mean,” she said with a little laugh. “And I spent some pretty shitty time just sucking it up and thinking that it was just what I deserved, when really… We deserve good guys. Don’t you think so?”

I looked up into Annie’s brown eyes. She was right. I had gone through a slew of bad relationships… But could I really chalk it up to the way I dressed? I liked how I looked when I looked in the mirror. I liked my body well enough, and the clothes I dressed it in. I’ve always refused to wear something that didn’t represent me and what I thought was cute or cool or sexy. Did I really need to change that much about myself, to find someone who would take me for who I was?

“Of course I do. But…” I shrugged with a sigh. “I am who I am.”

Annie patted my back once more. “Alright, Tiffany. It’s a process, anyways. Rome wasn’t built in a day, after all.”

I smiled. “Yeah.”

“C’mon, let’s have something to eat at the food court and call it a day.”

We were going that way, hurrying up the escalator to the top floor, when we bumped into a couple of guys in their late teens, maybe early twenties. Annie, ever the sweetest, smiled and bowed her head in an apology.

“Oops! Sorry, didn’t see where I was going there—”

I was about to tell her she had nothing to apologize for (they had clearly been the ones who hadn’t been paying attention to where they were going) but as soon as we got to have some mediocre pizza, the better, I thought.

“No worries,” one of them, the tallest, said as he turned to me. “Hey, uh… Can I ask you something?”

I frowned. “Me?”

“Yeah…” he said, giving me a long glance. “… How much you charge?”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah. How much for, let’s say, a BJ?” he grinned, staring down my top.

“You fucking pig,” I muttered, grabbing Annie and hurrying away from the two guys, the other of which was now laughing between snorts. “Drop dead, asshole.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing—”

“Did he—?”

“Nothing, Annie, drop it,” I said, raising my voice, pulling her arm harder and dropping on one of the plastic chairs at the food court.

She had to drop it, because otherwise I would keep thinking of the switchblade I had stored in my bag for self-defense, and how much I wanted to sink that blade into the guy’s neck, and maybe bust his friend’s kneecaps for good measure. That sort of sudden bloodthirst would pop up now and then, like an itch I had forgotten about, but I hadn’t actually considered going through with it for quite a while. Just to calm myself down a bit, I opened my bag, slipped my hand in and grasped the cool metal of the switchblade, making sure it was there. Annie shot me a strange look, but went off to order the pizzas. I turned to where the two guys were standing. One of them, the shorter one, looked back at me and grinned again; I just glared at him stone-faced, in my best impression of my mother’s. I opened the switchblade barely a little bit inside my bag, feeling the sharp blade scraping gently against my nails. It didn’t do much to calm me further. I kept thinking of ways I could fake an apology and persuade both of them into the ladies’ toilets, and get one to a stall and gut him nice and quick, and then invite the other one and gut him and really get the party going, and maybe even just slash the first one’s throat so he couldn’t scream and have him watch as I killed his friend, so he saw what happened when you fucked with a stranger without their consent. Something like that at a toilet stall in a mall couldn’t take very long, otherwise I’d be found, but even something quick like that could be so fun…

“What are you thinking about?” Annie asked me when she came back to the table with the two pizza slices.

“… Tomato sauce,” I said quietly, watching the tasty-looking cheese melting off the cardboard plate.

We ate in silence. If Chucky had come along with me, I thought, then he would have backed me up. He would have kept guard at the toilets’ door. He would have encouraged me to have fun.

Back at my apartment, after giving Annie a quick hug and a kiss to her cheek. No new messages. I had forgotten to ask Annie about the possible phone etiquette rules. It had been three days now. That was time enough to begin to worry. I told myself that most likely Chucky had some night job or something, and that he’d probably make his phone calls around midnight. I should just go to bed and surely by breakfast time tomorrow morning I’d have a nice little surprise in the shape of a blinking red light in my voicemail. But, as it often was the case, I couldn’t sleep. I glanced at the pile of dirty dishes that kept humming my name. I still had the words of Annie ringing in my ears, though, so I raided my closet to find exactly where it was that my style had stagnated. I tried on dresses I hadn’t worn since nineteen-seventy-nine that still fit me nicely, a huge collection of big red leather belts I had forgotten about and blissfully rediscovered, a leopard-print wrap dress I remembered loving when I first bought it but had grown bored of quickly afterwards and which now I fell in love again with, and a few sweaters I had thought I had thrown away in a bout of fury after my last breakup, but fortunately hadn’t. Even with my tired eyes, my messy hair, I couldn’t deny how happy I looked and how brightly I smiled when putting these on, especially after the fiasco that was that afternoon’s mall trip. One of these sweaters, black (of course) with red and glittery broken hearts all over, the one I had stupidly mourned for a week after barely looking for it among my moving boxes, I combined it with my favorite red leather skirt and the black knee-high boots. I had finally found a way to make them work in a way I liked, and the sweater was late-fall-appropriate. I thought, this would be a great outfit for a second date.

I fell asleep, in a red lace-up dress and black faux-leather gloves, at some point in the next morning after trying every single combination in my closet. Half asleep I managed to drag myself to the answering machine –no new messages.

Friday, and a pre-scheduled appointment with one of my favorite customers, Connie. She was about my age, maybe a little older, and always had her nails done first thing on Friday afternoons. She had a cushy job as a secretary to some big company, a yuppie boyfriend of eleven months and was the proud aunt of a two-year old. Reminded me of Arlene, somehow without it being too painful. Maybe it was in the way she just seemed to like me without judgement. Maybe it was just because she literally kept me at an arm’s distance.

“Tiffany, dear!” she cried when she saw me, shaking her hands. “Oh, just look at that sweater! Broken any hearts lately?”

“Not exactly,” I laughed, accepting her kiss on the cheek, kissing her cheek right back. “How’s your mother? How’s baby Nino?”

“Just as bouncing and strapping as always,” she said, sitting down and stretching her fingers for me to start right away. “He’s actually saying full sentences now –in baby talk, of course –but, like, it’s a big thing! Tony’s already filming his every move like he’s being prison-watched.”

I smiled and nodded, filing Connie’s perfectly groomed and cared-for nails. Sometimes I thought about family life, about doing like her sister and just marrying the first decent guy she came across, clinging to him as if it was the opportunity of a lifetime. It wasn’t a subject that came up very often, but Molly and Annie, all three of us in our mid-twenties, were already pretty aware of the fact that our biological clock was ticking away. We were still young, of course, but time passed quick when you have a repetitive nine-to-five in a beauty parlor, especially when you have had it for almost three whole years and almost nothing had changed, not the neon signs, nor the linoleum floors, nor the lilac walls, nor the pink tiles in the bathroom. Not even the customers.

“And Kenny’s up for that big promotion now, he’s dancing for joy,” she smiled, proud of her man. “He’s gonna be made partner of the firm, and he’s gonna have a lot of people working under him now.”

“That sounds real important,” I said, rounding her nail’s barely-there edges. “But does he still have time for dates and stuff, with how busy he’s now?” I remembered Connie having some trouble with that last week.

Her smile faltered. I wondered if I had said something wrong again. I just hoped Shelley hadn’t heard me fuck up once more.

“Well… Alright, I’m gonna be honest with you, Tiffany baby, since I know you won’t tell a soul,” she said, leaning forward towards me, speaking in whispers. “I… Dammit, this is hard to say… I found some… Some stuff.”

I waited with bated breath for her to continue. It had to be said, when someone successful, who seemed to have it all figured out like Connie, was having relationship troubles, it was the juiciest vein of gossip one could find this side of the river.

“Some… Incriminating stuff,” she said, now gritting her teeth. “You know I go to night school to finish my high school studies, right? Well, it’s, you know, the sort of thing that makes you think, hm, this could open an opportunity for an unfaithful partner to, you know, do infidelities in… So he always tells me where he’s been, and he’s been such a great sport about it, always patient, always understanding… And nothing about it has changed, nothing about his alibies, but…” Connie bit her lip, getting some of her wonderful pink lip-gloss on her teeth. “… I found this… This ripped set of stockings in the trash of our bathroom. And this Kleenex with… With lipstick marks, of a color I don’t have…”

I let out a gasp. “No…!”

“And I never wear these cheap nylon stockings, ever since I was a teen,” Connie continued. “And… You know, Kenny and I have been for almost a whole year together, now, and it’s… It’s… I mean, how long could have this been going on? And, most importantly, how long can this go on?”

“Connie… If he’s cheating on you, you have to dump him,” I said with a frown. It was the obvious thing.

“Yeah, I know, but, like… It’s Kenny. It’s not some summer romance, it’s Kenny. He’s been there with me when my Nana died. He’s like family now. He was the best man at Tony’s wedding –hell, we’ve been discussing marriage. And now it turns out he’s having someone else in our apartment?”

“Dump him,” I repeated, filing harder. “Dump his sorry ass. He’s a dipshit, Connie, if he can’t see a good thing in front of him.”

“Alright, but you don’t seem to understand, Tiffany dear –it’s not that easy,” she said, now on the verge of tears. “He’s just… He’s like a part of me, now. I can’t just dump him. He means a lot to me, so that’s why… That’s why…”

She began sobbing. I took out a box of tissues from under my tools, set for these sorts of situations.

“Thank you… I know you understand, right? I remember you told me about you having a breakup with some guy some months ago…”

“Yeah, it’s been almost a year now, or so,” I said quietly. At first, having someone like Connie willing to listen to my blabbering felt good, but after a couple of weeks I realized how uncomfortable it was to have some stranger know so much about me. I wondered if she ever talked about my problems with her well-off, married friends. I much preferred for us to keep this dynamic of me being a makeshift nail therapist.

“So you know, it’s not easy at all…”

“I know, Connie. But it’s for the best.”

“Yeah, I know,” she sniffed, gently pinching her nose and dabbing the corner of the tissue on her eyes. “That’s… That’s the curse of a long-term relationship, I guess. You know someone so well, you love them so much, and then they do shit like this…”

There was a silence in which I thought that Connie might have wanted me to join in and commiserate, maybe share some story about my previous relationship. I couldn’t, though. I was furious on her behalf, of course, but the only thing I could tell her was to rip the Band-Aid before the wound started to fester.

“You’re lucky, Tiffany, to be single, really,” she said with a smile and a teary sigh. “To still be free and, just, be single and ready to mingle… Have fun, sleep around, have no strings to tie you down.”

I smiled back and sighed. There was probably something in my reaction that tipped me off, though. Connie leaned down again, noticing my sudden change in mood.

“What is it, Tiffany dear?”

“It’s nothing, just that…” I weighted the pros and cons of telling her my problem. In comparison, it was like a mountain to a molehill. But maybe I just needed someone with Connie’s sort of experience to really help me see things in another perspective. I knew Connie shared my views on love, and that she valued these types of strong connections, after all. “… I met someone last week, someone I’m really hooked on, and I gave him my number, and… And he just hasn’t called yet,” I said with a little shrug. Saying it out loud, it really sounded like nothing. “It’s really stupid, I know…”

“No, it’s not stupid at all!” Connie said, sitting on the edge of her chair. “You say you were hooked on this guy… You’ve been grieving your past relationship for a while now, going to the club, doing these things… But never before you had this happen to you, right?”

“No…”

“So, I guess it really made an impression on you,” she said softly. “And of course you’re sad, this guy could be the one you’re meant to be with for the rest of your life, and… He’s just not seeing it yet. But if he could…”

“Exactly…!”

“Do you know where he lives?” she asked me.

“Ridgefield Avenue,” I said quickly. “By the S46 Bridge.”

“Have you tried going there, pretend you were just passing by?”

“I have thought about it—”

“But you’re afraid you might come across as desperate, right?”

I chuckled. Connie just knew me pretty well already.

“Maybe he’ll go back to that club you met at,” she suggested. “Maybe you can confront him there.”

I nodded silently. That was wishful thinking… But it was an option. As long as he wasn’t actively avoiding me…

“God, but –don’t worry about me,” I said with a laugh when Shelley passed us by. “What are you gonna do, now, Connie? About Kenny and his whole deal?”

“I guess I’ll have a word with him. I got to try to save this relationship, it means too much for me to just… I wish I could just dump him,” she muttered. “But I can’t. Not at this point. I have to try to forgive and forget.”

I didn’t agree, but I could try to understand. Me, I couldn’t forgive and forget for shit. If I was in Connie’s stylish shoes, I would just slaughter the bastard. But I couldn’t exactly tell her that… I didn’t quite know how she would take it.

She thanked me for the lovely work on her nails, kissed me goodbye and left. After that, the afternoon passed slowly. There was little to nothing to keep my mind off Chucky and off how, with every day that went by, the chances of him reaching out to me became fewer and fewer.

“I was never left before,” I realized and said out loud of a sudden, as we were closing shop. Annie and Molly turned around to look at me.

“Huh?”

“What’re you talking about, girl?”

“Chucky and me, I… He hasn’t called, and… I have never been left by a boy before.”

We all remained silent and still in the middle of the cold windy street.

“You only met the guy once, right?” Shelley argued. “Hard to say that he left you if there wasn’t an actual relationship there in the first place—”

Annie and Molly, angels that they were, shushed her.

“Aw, Tiffany… You’ll have best luck next time.”

“But I really thought… Thought he might just be…” I whimpered, now on the edge of tears. “You girls don’t know the half of it, it was… It really was…”

Annie gave me a hug, and Molly patted my back. Shelley just walked away, apparently not having heard me at all.

Once I got off work I went to the laundromat for the weekly load. Among the pile I had the underwear I had barely had on during our time together, the nightdress I had worn the morning after, and his white and red-splattered shirt… I separated and set it to wash, and sat on the bench and watched the fabrics swirling around among soap bubbles and pink water, diluted blood. I knew myself, I knew I would have a hard time forgiving and forgetting. I did understand Connie’s problem. Yeah, mine wasn’t as terrible, but it sure did feel so.

I went to the grocery store too, thinking that maybe a nice home cooked meal could be a welcome distraction. Once I was back home, I made the effort not to check my voicemail straightaway –but God, I’m weak, and as soon as I left the dry laundry bag on the floor and the paper bags with the groceries on the counter, I basically leapt to the phone to see if I had anything. Just ads.

I cooked some chicken Alfredo pasta for dinner, and had a lot of ice cream, as if I was going through a breakup, too. More dirty dishes to pile up.

Saturday, and I was home alone, like every Saturday. It was a rainy, stormy day, which didn’t do much to lift my mood. It was the fifth day, and I was finally becoming certain that Chucky wouldn’t call.

I felt pathetic, waiting by the phone, for what felt like hours. Nobody called, not even for a wrong number, nor for a prank call. I asked myself, did I write my own number wrong? Did he misread something? Did he forget about me? Did he do this with other girls, show them a good time, kill someone together, then ditch them? Was I stupid for thinking I was special? That what had happened then between us was special?

A bath, that surely would make me feel better, I told myself. But I spent God-knows-how-long examining myself naked in the bathroom mirror, searching all the little traces of the encounter in my body. The bruises on my thighs were already fading, and most were gone completely. A couple hickeys I had treasured were barely-visible shades on my neck. And it had been a while since a couple bite marks had disappeared altogether. Once I got myself into the warm water, I knew that, by the time I got out, I would be a little cleaner, and a little emptier of all the evidence of one of the best times in my life.

Maybe that was for the best, though, I thought, scrubbing hard in a sudden bout of anger. Wash it all away, just like in the laundromat the day before. Have a clean slate. No more blood, no more wounds, no more swelling. I was gonna be flawless, pretty and stylish, and ready to go out to the club and repeat the same stuff I’ve been doing ever since my last breakup. Shit, that sounded awful. That sounded like I had no other choice. But really, what else could I do?

I could see the red telephone, sitting pretty in the living room, right from the bathtub through the open bathroom door. Silent, still. I wondered if the wire would be long enough to bring it along with me to the bath. I wondered what would happen if it got wet.

I tried to forget. I wanted to. But I had his damn shirt, now pure white and spotless, and couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. I had the lingering sting of when he had gripped my leg and the memory of when he had gasped my name on the edge of climaxing. All of it was just in my head, though. But it all felt so fresh in there. I had his eyes and his smile seared into my brain. I had been so certain it was love… So convinced of it… But I was wrong, it seemed. I was wrong once more. When would I be right?

Fuck him, I told myself. Fuck him, fuck it, serves me well for getting my hopes up. Little lovesick idiot. I was so, so angry at myself that I somehow forced myself to finally wash all the dirty dishes that had been piling up in my sink in one sitting. Anger really is a productive emotion. I even got to paint that one doll with the cracks. Just after work one evening I passed by a craft store and spend a month’s paycheck on thin brushes and little jars of glue and paint. I didn’t do the best job, admittedly: the color wasn’t quite the right one, so it just looked like it had a lot of peach-colored scars slashing its face. Still, I convinced myself that it was good enough. It wasn’t, but I needed to believe it was.

Even as I tried my best to forget Chucky, I was fully ready to bump into him. To take the bus to the other side of the river to Ridgefield Avenue. To see him and call his name and for him to take me. I couldn’t share this with the girls at the beauty parlor, because I knew they would tell me to just forget about him and find someone new. They just couldn’t understand. Who else could I kill someone with? Who else would see me blood splattered and find me beautiful? Who could possibly be enough now that I had seen the face of someone who saw me as I was, and loved me? With him there was no shame. No fear. We were wretched and godless and we belonged together.

Fuck, I wanted to kill someone with him so badly. I had a taste of blood spilled by two and I wanted more.

I didn’t eat that Saturday. I went straight to bed and cried myself to sleep. Before I dozed off, I remember wondering if he still had that little cut I left him under his lip.

Next day, I bought myself a new dress. As Annie and Molly had told me, I went all out, splurged on it, and even if I wasn’t sure I had any good occasion to wear it, it was about having it available. If I felt good in it, then I could wear it anywhere, even to the drugstore for cigarettes.

After a couple of hours going back and forth in the mall, I found exactly what I was looking for. A cute red number, with this fun angular asymmetric top, a little peplum under a big bow and a black short pencil skirt attached that almost made it look like it was actually two pieces. The red top alone could have been worn pretty nicely with some tights; maybe, when I had the time, I could find a way to detach the red top from the skirt and have two pieces for the price of one. The saleswoman, eager to close the deal, told me it was a semiformal garment, a cocktail dress or something of the sort. Well, I could have cocktails at a bar, right?

It did cost a pretty penny, but I didn’t care. I knew that it would look fantastic with my black boots, and it matched quite nicely with my hair. Red was my color, after all. And Annie had been right, and I was sort of sick and tired of dressing all in black like an old mourning lady. I was gonna get back into the dating pool, hopefully get a bit drunk as well. Maybe, even, have the chance to kill someone in a discrete, careful way. Or not. Hell, I had gotten so worried about covering my tracks, it never crossed my mind to try to have fun and be a little reckless for once. People went missing all the time. And what were the chances of me getting caught by just one little crime?

Before heading out I had a shot of my birthday tequila. It burned my throat, it made my throat dry up, it hit me like a punch to the nose. I grinned, sniffing as if I had just had a line of blow. That would have been pretty good too, I thought. Surely at the club there would be some way to find some. Fuck it, I thought, having another gulp. I had my pretty new dress on, I had glitter on my face, some money left to spend and a switchblade in my bag. If I was gonna get wasted, I was gonna go all out.

The evening welcomed me back with cold winds and that strange orange light that there is just before the sun sets completely on the horizon. I could see a few stars already. I walked to the corner of the street, about to cross to the next block, from where there was three blocks to the club, and I wondered if I should try a new place –somewhere I wasn’t a regular of –maybe somewhere with different music, with a different scene… But then I stopped right in my tracks, and all my current thoughts dissolved in the similarly steady and disordered roaring of the crowd.

I saw him across the street. I recognized him immediately –the black hair, the black suit pants and jacket, the black sunglasses… Only thing missing was the white shirt and black tie. In their place, he was wearing my Black Sabbath tee.

“Hey! Chucky!” I called out, waving my arms, bouncing in place. “It’s me!”

With how loud I was shouting it would have been a miracle for him not to hear me over the street noise. He turned to me with a jolt. After a second, though, he took off his sunglasses and smiled, giving me a wave in return. I waited, rocking back and forth in my heels, as he crossed the street towards me.

“Hi,” he said with a half-smile, taking the cigarette off his mouth.

“Hi.”

Chucky looked around, sighing quietly. “… So, how’s it been?”

“Well… Same old, same old,” I said, now quietly.

He offered me his cigarette, and I accepted it gladly, making sure to mark it with my lipstick. He smiled at me, maybe realizing what I was doing. I gazed into his big blue eyes for a moment while I took a drag, and then looked down at his lips. Small, just barely hidden by the shadow of stubble, was the little cut. If being eager was a turnoff… Hell, I couldn’t even try to feign disinterest.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

He chuckled and scratched his chin. “I … I threw away that receipt with your number,” he admitted. “Thought it was just an old receipt…”

“Oh—!”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “A bit of a dumbass moment.”

“Oh…”

“But I sort of remembered where your apartment was, so… Here I am.”

I smiled. “I’m glad you came back.”

“I’m glad I caught you.”

I smiled even wider. I hoped that was enough to tell him just how incredibly happy I was to see him again.

“Were you going anywhere?” he asked.

“Well… Since I thought you had ditched me, I decided it would be a good idea to go back to the club, find someone else…” I shrugged and made a hand gesture. I could have lied, but I really didn’t want to. And besides, it wouldn’t have been easy to explain why I was dressed up to hit the convenience store. “You know, a bit of a dumbass moment. Happens to anyone.”

He laughed, and I laughed along. His face lit up when he laughed, I noticed.

Shit, I really had it bad.

“Are you busy right now?” I asked him.

“Uh, no, not currently.”

“So, um… Would you like to go out?”

“Out? Sure…” he smiled. “And do what?”

I thought about it for a moment. “… Anything, really. I’m up for whatever. What would you like to do?”

“I was thinking to go to the movies tonight. There’s one I’ve been meaning to see… You can tag along, if you’d like.”

“Funny, I’ve been wanting to go to the movies too,” I said with a smirk. ‘Tag along’, as if we weren’t about to go on a proper movie date. “Let me guess… Nightmare On Elm Street?”

“You’ve been wanting to watch that one too?” he asked, beaming, suddenly very clearly excited. “What’re we waiting for, then?”

I giggled, getting cozy in my jacket, walking along him. I tried my best to only turn to him every once in a while, to only steal little glances. It was a joy to see him do the same. Chucky looked exactly as I remembered him; it had only been five days, after all. Of course he looked the same. Even if it had felt like much longer, it really had been only five days or so. All because of a stupid misunderstanding with that receipt. I should have written it in some proper piece of paper back at home. I should have done something else… But it didn’t matter, not anymore. I was over the moon. The lights around us, the cars, the window displays, the lampposts, everything that was suddenly turned on to greet the night, it all seemed like stars shining around us.

“Remind me what the movie’s about,” I said, pushing my hair off my face so I could see his better.

“A guy who kills people in their dreams,” Chucky said after a few seconds. “D’you have dreams? In the literal sense, I mean.”

I shook my head. “No, not really. Got to say, I barely sleep at all.”

“Huh,” he said, turning his head to the side. “Haven’t heard of people not having dreams… Too busy?”

“Maybe,” I said. It wasn’t like I never dreamed –more like I barely remembered them once I woke up –and I just really didn’t remember having dreamt in quite some time. “Too much noise in my head.”

Chucky nodded thoughtfully, as if he understood. I wondered if he really did. I wondered if it ever happened to him, those moments when everything was too much, and you just could focus on one thing –‘tunnel vision’, I had to assume it was. Every time I tried to explain it to someone they were just stumped. I had a feeling Chucky wouldn’t.

“Wait,” he said, and we stopped for a moment. He gave me a quick look up and down. I held my breath. Did I drop some tequila on myself? Did a bird shit on me on precisely this very night? “… You sure you wanna go dressed like that?”

I frowned and put a hand on my chest, pretending having been personally, deeply offended. “Why? Is there any problem with it?”

He laughed. “C’mon, I didn’t mean it like that—!”

“It’s my new best dress,” I declared, pushing my shoulders back, showing it off as best I could under my jacket. “If it’s good enough for the club, it’s good enough for the movies.”

“Alright,” he said, still chuckling, with a shrug. “Your choice.”

He still did love to laugh. I looked at him for a moment, wondering what he was thinking about. “What, do I seem overdressed for you?”

Chucky shook his head and grinned. “You look great, Tiff.”

He remembered my name. I barely managed to hold back a little squeal.

“So,” he began saying, lighting a cigarette. “What kind of work d’you do?”

“It’s not hard to guess.”

He raised his eyebrows, but seemed quite game for it. “Well… I bet you’re a TV star.”

I chuckled as I fluffed my hair a bit. “Flatterer.”

“An usherette?”

“Closer…”

“A maid?”

I stopped right where I was and shot him a glare. “You think a dress this pretty could be afforded on a maid’s salary?”

“Alright, alright… A waitress, then.”

“No, wrong again,” I sighed, kind of disappointed. I’d assume a killer would be a bit more of an insightful person. Then again, I might have seen one too many episodes of Murder, She Wrote. “Beauty salon assistant—”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” he cried, now as if he had been deeply offended. “You should have given me at least two more chances to guess.”

I laughed. There was a silence then, a bit of an awkward one. I guess that when you first meet someone in the circumstances we had met, behaving like an average couple on a night out felt a bit strange. I thought maybe it was just me being paranoid, being a try-hard, being nervous for nothing.

“What’s your line of work?” I asked him to try and break the quietness. “Or is that suit more for show than anything else?”

Chucky looked down at his tie, as if he had forgotten how he had dressed up, and shrugged. “It is mostly for show… People respect a man in a suit,” he said simply, taking a drag of the cigarette and passing it to me.

“Huh,” I muttered, and took a puff. It did make some sort of sense, I assumed. “… Doesn’t that come into conflict with that hippie hair, though?” I said, pointing at his head with the cigarette.

“Ah, but you see –I like to keep people guessing,” he said proudly.

“Bet you do,” I laughed, and handed back the cigarette. “Gotta say, my tee looks good on you.”

“Right?” he grinned. “Was gonna ask you if I could keep it.”

“You can,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “But you gotta get me a new one.”

“Deal,” he said with a nod.

The next silence was a bit more comfortable. I looked up at the night sky, now fully dark. We were soon halfway between my apartment and the club before we turned in one corner and went a separate way. I had barely a memory of where the closest movie theater was, but I trusted Chucky to know where we were going.

“So… You like going to the movies?” I asked.

He scoffed. “Who doesn’t?”

“An ex of mine. Didn’t care about coming along with me to the cinema.”

“What a dick!” he exclaimed, sounding genuinely pissed. “Well, his loss.”

“We broke up five months ago,” I said quietly. A few seconds passed before I turned to look back at him, trying to see what his reaction was. But there was nothing in his face (no pity, no surprise, no anything) that could tell me what was going through Chucky’s mind. Only big blue eyes, a furrowed brow and the cigarette between his teeth. “When was the last time you dated someone? I mean actual dating, not a one-night-stand.”

“What, am I that rusty…?” he laughed, opening his arms as if defending himself. I laughed along. I guess both of us were a bit on edge. A few seconds passed, though, before he finished his thought. “… Hey, don’t ask me about that sort of stuff. Okay, Tiff?”

“What sort of stuff?”

“Old stuff. Stuff that doesn’t matter anymore,” he said with a wave of his hand. “You know that saying, ‘live for today’, ‘carpal diorama’—?”

“Carpe diem.”

“Yeah, exactly. I live for today.”

“So you don’t get scared?” I asked.

“Never,” he declared haughtily, raising his chin up high. “… Scared of what?”

“Of how things may turn out.”

He frowned. “You mean, like, cops and shit?”

I shrugged. “Yeah… Partly.”

“Partly?”

I didn’t answer. I just bit my lip, hoping it didn’t stain my teeth. He gave me a glance.

“… You sure ask a lot of questions.”

“Well,” I said, letting out a deep sigh. “You… You intrigue me, Chucky.”

He smiled, but said nothing to this. I knew at this point in my life how some guys liked to keep this sort of air of mystery to themselves. This was our second actual date, so I would let it slide. After all, we were just getting to know each other, in a non-biblical sense. And I would probably be keeping some secrets of my own.

“Can I ask you something else?” I asked him after a few seconds of silence. “Promise it’s not about your secret anguished past or whatever…”

“… Sure,” Chucky finally said. Once more, he was pretty good at hiding it, but I could sense the tension. He tried so hard to seem cool, it was difficult not to notice when that mask slipped even a little bit. “I can’t promise I’ll answer, though.”

I nodded. That was fair. “Do you believe in fate, Chucky?”

He shrugged for a moment, before making a grimace and shaking his head. “Not a big fan of someone else making my choices for me.”

“I think fate had it that you threw away that receipt with my number on it,” I declared. “And it was you, though, who chose to come by my street anyway.”

“… Wait,” he frowned. “Then what is it? Fate, or just… Shit that happens?”

This time I didn’t answer. Mostly, because I didn’t think it mattered much. I had his attention now, though, which did amuse me quite a bit. Chucky waited for a while to see if I said anything about it, but finally he realized I wasn’t gonna say much more. Truly, I was more interested in which of the two he thought was more likely.

“… Well, here goes nothing,” he said with a tired sigh. “You religious, Tiff?”

I laughed. “No, not at all,” I gestured at the cross pendant necklace dangling from my neck. “You mean because of this?”

“Huh, hadn’t even noticed it,” he joked. “No, I mean… You believe in God, and stuff?”

“I mean…” I took a deep breath. I hadn’t given the issue much thought lately. “… I was raised religious, but not super religious, you get what I mean? And… I don’t know. I think God exists, but he doesn’t care about us. I think that whether he exists or not doesn’t matter much, because what can you even do about it?”

“And what about heaven and hell, the afterlife, all that stuff?” he asked me. “You believe in that?”

I shrugged. “I think that when we die, we die. We might be forever tortured, we might go to a happy place, or we might just stop existing at all. In whatever case, it’s just death. I guess what I mean is…” I took a drag of the cigarette. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.”

Chucky seemed satisfied with that response.

“And what about you?” I asked him, pushing some of his hair back so I could see his face. I was delighted to notice he leaned against my hand, quite comfortable with my touch. “Are you religious, Chucky?”

 He seemed particularly satisfied with that question. I was guessing he had wanted me to ask him for a while, to have an excuse to sound off. “God is a killer,” Chucky started with this heavy-sounding declaration. “He may make some pretty things, He may create everything in sight –but boy, does He love to destroy. He doesn’t do it for any particular reason, obviously. I think he just has fun with it. He does it because he can. He enjoys it.”

While he pontificated about this, I simply nodded. I was about to ask him if he had that whole speech prepared for everyone who even brought up the subject. Thinking it over, though, I guessed this might be something Chucky thought was too serious to joke about. “Life must mean little to him,” I finally concluded, hoping I didn’t sound too disinterested.

Chucky nodded with an understanding smile. “Well, you can’t have one without the other, you know.”

He was right on that, at least. Maybe I was just burnt out on the whole religion thing from when I had to study for my Communion, or maybe I simply didn’t care enough to pretend to want to listen more about it. Whatever the case, I felt Chucky hoped for me to continue the conversation on that lane, but I couldn’t think of any questions to make for him to keep the ball rolling.

“I would have never thought of you as a religious person,” I told him, genuinely surprised.

“I’m really not,” he laughed. “But… Well, I guess a man needs something to believe in.”

We finally arrived to the movie theater. I gave Chucky my three dollars and he got to kindly ask the nice old gentleman at the box office for two tickets to the next showing of Nightmare On Elm Street. I watched the deal while twirling a strand of hair around my finger. He seemed to know the guy. He referred to him by his first name, even joked around a bit. The old man shot me a quick look and a smile, and I smiled back, silently scanning their conversation in case any of them mentioned something about a girlfriend or a date, either past or current. I imagined Chucky coming to this cinema pretty often, probably not always on his own. I wondered if he ever killed with friends, or if he was some sort of loner. I wondered if he had brought Blonde here before.

“… Hey, Tiff. You want popcorn?”

I snapped out of my thoughts. “Uh… Sure. Um—” I checked inside my little bag for some more leftover change.

“It’s on me,” he winked. “Don’t worry about it.”

I grinned. “Thanks, sweetface.”

While he got to it, I leaned back against one of the nearby columns, taking another drag of my cigarette, thinking about how I hadn’t gone to watch a movie with a partner in ages. Last time was in a crummy little place in New York, if memory served. What had been it? Jaws? Supervixens?

I was wondering this when I noticed the next guy in line for the ticket window. A balding guy in glasses, with dirty jeans and a surprisingly clean white tee under a puke-green, itchy-looking cardigan. He had been staring at me. I glared at him out of the corner of my eye and brought my cigarette to my mouth. Chucky was taking his sweet time. And the guy was still staring at me. I avoided looking back at him for as long as I could, until Chucky finally said goodbye to the old man and we both went to get our popcorn. Then, when we both passed right past him, I realized the guy was still staring, straight at my legs. I looked up at him and almost gave him a piece of my mind –but then thought it over –and decided that it could be a recipe for disaster: if Chucky heard me, then he might just decide to get into a fight with the guy, and knowing what I knew about him things could escalate pretty quickly. And, if the situation got bloody, then we might have to leave the cinema before security was called. And we had both already paid for our tickets, and I really wanted to watch the movie.

So I bit my tongue, still feeling the guy’s eyes glued to my legs.

The cinema wasn’t empty by any stretch of the word; but it was, apparently, a pretty early showing (early for a horror movie, that is), so it wasn’t as full as it usually was. It had been a couple of weeks since the movie had been out in theaters, so maybe that was also the reason Chucky and I were able to choose our seats pretty freely.

We made our way to a row that was quite empty, close enough to the big screen to have the gore bursting right in front of us but far enough in one corner to not be annoyed by any bored teens throwing popcorn around. He sat on the right seat and I sat on the left one; there wasn’t much room, but we kept almost glued to the other. It was pretty cold in the room, and most people still had their coats and jackets on. I pulled down the hem of my skirt a bit. I was still thinking about the guy with the glasses leering at me. Couldn’t he even have the decency to not do that when I was on a goddamn date?

“Are you cold?”

“No, I’m alright,” I said as the lights turned off and the movie began.

Chucky tossed some popcorn in the air and managed to catch it with his tongue, even in the dark. I picked a fistful and crossed my legs to at least keep one of them warm. The two of us were bunched so close together, though, I almost accidentally kicked the popcorn bag off his hands.

He shot me a little frown and got comfortable in his seat, spreading his arms and legs over the already limited space I had. “You don’t need to cross your legs, you know,” he told me, stuffing more popcorn into his mouth.

I huffed. “And you don’t need to spread yours wide open.”

He scoffed. “Well, you’re gonna pierce my knee with those heels of yours—!”

“Don’t be such a baby—!”

“Shh!” a woman on the upper row shushed us.

Chucky slowly turned around to face this woman. Even by the little light coming from the screen I could see he was growing angrier by the second. “Shh!” he shushed her back, adding a middle finger for emphasis. “Fucking bitch…”

And as if this had somehow summoned him, the guy with the glasses marched on towards me, through our almost empty row of seats, until he finally sat right next to me.

“Ah, now that’s just peachy…” I quietly groaned to myself, covering my face.

“What? What is it?”

I pointed at the guy with a cock of the head. I tried to focus on the movie. It wasn’t easy at all –especially with the fucker still, for some reason, deciding he just had to pay three whole dollars not to have a good time at the movie theater but staring at some random woman’s legs in a dark room. Bet he could have done that somewhere else for less.

“He was also there in line at the box office,” I told Chucky in an angry whisper.

He shot the guy a glare. His eyes seemed to glow for a moment, lit up by the bright blue light of the screen. I felt Chucky’s arm circling my waist, pulling me closer to him. He didn’t seem to mind anymore that my heel was gonna make a hole in the knee of his pants.

“You really just can’t enjoy a movie in peace nowadays,” he muttered, low enough for me to hear.

I sighed quietly and leaned against his shoulder, and he leaned his head against mine. At least having him along made it feel like it was worth it. Soon enough I managed to forget about the guy sitting on my left and focused on sharing that time with the one on my right. We shared the popcorn on his lap until there were only candied kernels left. The movie got pretty boring after the first kill, but I didn’t mind much. I had watched worse.

There was this bathtub scene that was pretty great, though. It was tense, it was scary, and unexpectedly wasn’t bloody at all. We saw the hand coming from between Nancy’s legs, ready to pounce. I grinned, grabbing Chucky's arm, slowly pressing my nails harder into it in anticipation. His hand on my waist pulled me tighter. And, just as the danger seemed to have passed, an obvious misdirect, and that something was gonna surprise her…

The guy on my left grabbed my leg just as Nancy was pulled under the water.

I jumped and gasped and, for a tasteless joke, he left his hand on my thigh for a second too long. I turned to the guy with the glasses, furious, and slapped his hand. He laughed this stupid wheeze of a laugh, too low to call any attention to itself.

“What’s your fucking problem, man?” I snapped at him. He just kept laughing.

“Shh!” shushed us the bitch in the upper row.

 “Hey,” Chucky called in a whisper. I leaned in closer. “Just in case I get too into it to notice –give me a heads up when Four Eyes besides you leaves to the boys’ room, will you?”

I turned to him and gave him a curious glance. “Sure.”

Just when I focused back on the movie I realized what he had meant. I smiled to myself, thinking of how nice it was of him, to offer to off the guy for me. Still, if Chucky took matters to the men’s restroom, that would mean it would be more difficult for me to join in. And I really, really needed that release. So, I made my decision. I decided it was worth running that little risk.

More than an hour in, when Nancy’s cute boyfriend was eaten by his bed, I got my chance. While the audience was distracted by the burst of blood I took out the switchblade from my bag. I checked that the attention of the man on the left of me was square on the screen. And, when the screaming in the cinema was in full swing –I stabbed Four Eyes in the stomach –and before he could react –I stabbed him again, and again, and again, and again, my hand quickly getting into the rhythm, the speed and strength of my right arm being enough to make the little knife work wonders, blood blooming out of his white shirt like a big bright red carnation. It overflowed, drenching his clothes, splattering all over his popcorn. I let out a little laugh. He had the funniest face as he died. Eyes popping out of their sockets and pressing against the glass, tongue lolling from between the crooked teeth and the thin twitchy lips, his face growing paler and swollen. I had expected him to scream, but he only let out the tiniest gasps and wheezes. He did shake one hand furiously. I think he wanted me to stop. As if I could. As if I wanted to.

It was over too soon. Four Eyes kept jerking for a little while longer, but he wasn’t gonna make it to the credits, that was for sure. I stopped only when movie got quiet enough for someone to be able to hear me if I went on. It was just then, with my knife absolutely covered in hot, thick, sticky blood, my hand trembling slightly from the effort, that I remembered to breathe.

I opened my little bag and dropped the switchblade in there. Turning around to do this, I realized Chucky had seen it all. He was staring at me with his big blue eyes, his attention nowhere near the movie. I smiled. Since there was somehow still some popcorn left in it, I picked the bag from Four Eyes’ lap, had some, and offered it to my date. He smiled back.

At some point he had taken his arm off my waist, but there it was again, pulling me to him. I smiled, pressing my forehead against his, leaning a hand against his chest. I could feel Chucky’s heartbeat going crazy. I couldn’t see his face, but I didn’t need to. I just closed my eyes, and kissed him back. His other hand grabbed my thigh, just like before. I pulled him by the neck, closer, into a deeper kiss. We were sitting so close to one another now, I was practically sitting on his leg. I opened my mouth, inviting him in, and he took it quite gladly. We had forgotten all about the movie by that point.

I had been thinking of a kiss like that for the last five days. After our reunion, though, I had been quietly worrying in the back of my head about me building it up in my mind, remembering it better than it really was.

Well, I hadn’t. It really was the sort of kiss that knocked the air right out of you.

“What took you so damn long?” I asked him in a breathless gasp, once we finally separated for a moment.

He chuckled against my lips. “God, I missed you.”

I moved back, surprised at his words. Chucky’s brow furrowed in confusion, lit by the red and blue police lights on the screen. I could see the thoughts running behind his eyes and through his head, wondering if he had said the wrong thing, if he had been too vulnerable too soon. I smiled. I was enchanted by my own capacity to read him now, as if I had always known him.

“That’s all I wanted to hear,” I whispered quietly, lovingly, running a hand through his hair.

There was something almost thrilling about now not being hidden and locked away in a hotel room anymore, only by the ordinary darkness of a cinema. We were surrounded by people who didn’t have a clue. Nobody there knew we were aggressively making out while kids were getting killed on screen. Nobody there knew my face was dirty with the blood of a guy I had just killed beside me in that very room. Nobody there could even imagine the joy of being back in the arms of the only person in my life so far that had understood me so fully and perfectly.

“Did you have a good time at the movies, Tiff?” Chucky asked me with a big goofy smile, once we got out into the bright lights of the movie theater hall, immediately after the credits began rolling. I turned to him, and realized with a laugh why a couple people were giving us rather weird looks. His face and neck were all almost cartoonishly covered with my deep red lipstick, both in smeared smudges and in perfectly stamped kiss marks.

Just as I noticed this there was a chilling scream coming from inside the room we were just coming out. Some people were startled, some ran back inside, wondering what all that ruckus was about. Chucky and I knew, though.

I grinned right back at him. “I can’t wait to see it again.”