Let your lack of action
be on your conscience.
— The Guilt
Ever since I'd made a copy of Doug's keys, I'd been going back to his house. Once a week. A quick in and out. Only when he was at work. Never on the same day. Never at the same time.
Each time I was there, I'd take one of the books off his bookshelf and flip it, so the name on the spine faced the other way. Next time I was there, I'd put it back and flip another. Did he notice?
I started putting lemon juice on his shirts. Just a little. It was invisible once it dried, but he irons on Sundays. Tell me you didn't just think, "How would she know that?" You know how I know. His iron would make it stain brown.
I bought packs of the same playing cards I found at his house. I replaced various cards with doubles of others. So subtle, he'd never notice until it was too late, but he'd think he fucked up somehow. That's an easy way to wreck a guy's poker night.
I made sure the batteries in his remotes were always dead.
One time... OK, three times... I hid lipstick in his washer. Bright red. Purple. Green. Little slivers of lipstick were easy to hide. I thought about doing the dryer too, but that's over the top, even for me.
And why the fuck does green lipstick even exist?
I'll tell you why: Because you can use it to stain a guy's laundry green.
I couldn't find blue lipstick, so I mixed dye into his laundry detergent. Same color. He'd never notice. Hell, he probably washed his clothes in more of it, thinking he could wash it out.
I never messed with anything in his kitchen. I was saving that for last. For the end.
Doug's end.
Fuck it. I was already two bodies down. Steve and Boogie. I didn't do the deed either time, but I caused it. Hell, I ordered the hit on Steve so I could rob him with no consequences.
As I drove away from his house that night, in his car, with his money, I knew the road I was on. I knew who was behind the wheel. And I liked it.
It's a powerful thing to look a man in the eye, knowing you're the reason he's going to be put down, and be able to say, "I brought you back a strawberry shake. Hopefully, it'll make you feel better," while knowing he would soon feel nothing.
Three years ago, Douglas Clark tried to date rape me, and I let him off the hook.
No, no no. He was wrong, but so was I. I could have ended it there and then, but I wasn't strong enough. I didn't know then what I know now.
I know I've got what it takes, but I'm not there yet.
Do it once, it's a thing you did.
Do it twice, it's a thing you do.
Do it more than that, it becomes what you are.
I accept that. But lucky for Doug, I wasn't ready. Not quite. Saying it out loud with Claire was only a test. I needed to hear it from my own mouth, to see how it felt.
It felt wrong, which meant I wasn't ready. But it also felt right.
Right and wrong are two sides of a coin. I flipped a quarter five times, telling myself, "Head goes down, Doug goes down." Motherfucker landed heads-up every time.
I wasn't ready.
Let me tell you something. There are people you lie to, and people you don't, OK? I don't give a shit about you, but I have no reason to lie to you. So right now, you and me... Let's get real.
If you knew you could end someone. Someone specific. Someone who did you wrong and gave you cause. Would you do it?
"Of course not," you say.
You lie, and that's fine.
Lie to yourself, if that's what it takes to fall asleep at night, but let your lack of action be on your conscience. I am running out of patience with mine.
For now, my patience would have to wait.
Only for now.
Editor's Note:
All of above is terrible. We do not condone any of it.