Junkfood Noir

Chapter 7, “What Is and What Can Never Be”

“Tell me a thought.”

Misty’s little girl voice in the dark. Gamble couldn’t see her but could feel her hot breath on the back of his neck as her naked body spooned his own.

“Hmm?” Gamble mumbled, trying not to flinch every time her long soft fingers traced the faded inkwork on his back.

“A thought. Tell me one.”

Flinch.

He was thinking about another lifetime. One where he hadn’t been forced to come to this fucked up town. One where he was happily married to the girl of his dreams.

One point five children. White picket fence. True love.

He was thinking of another lifetime. One that didn’t involve the Drugs. The Sex. The Rock and Roll.

Or fucking his new best friend’s girl like the broken little whore she was.

He was thinking of another lifetime. He was thinking of Amanda.

“I’m not thinking anything,” he lied.

In the darkness came a reply of heavy breathing then soft snoring punctuated by a loud fart; Miss Anal Sex Queen had once more succumbed to a narcoleptic slumber.

Gamble noticed his heart was pounding hard and fast in his chest and a clammy sweat stained his palms. He slid out of bed and filched one of Misty’s Marlboros from the night stand.

A long deep drag then slow exhale. Repeated. Twice.

His heartbeat began to slow and the tension in his shoulders began to ease. He took a few more drags then leaned over and fished an old cassette from his jeans. He squinted at the faded sharpie marker handwriting on the label.

BABY FRANKENSTEIN

One more drag and the cigarette was spent. He flicked it at the overflowing ashtray and slid the tape into his banged up old boombox.

A girl’s voice. Soft at first. Cooing the lyrics to him.

Gamble lit another cigarette and closed his eyes, letting the voice on the tape hypnotize him with her words. He pressed his fingertips gingerly against the bandage on his forehead and massaged the dull throb in his temple.

The bass kicks in suddenly and the tape girl’s voice raises in a rage, sending a cacophony of anger and hate ricocheting off the walls.

Deep drag. Dial to 10. Cock in hand.

He stood over Misty’s prone body, almost unaware of his hand furiously jerking his dick until his balls and head exploded in a white fury.

The song ended and his eyes opened. Beneath him, Misty snoozed on while his hot jizz dripped from her cheeks and chin. He slowly dressed and grabbed the box of cigarettes and cash from her purse.

He threw one last glance back at the sleeping beauty then disappeared into the night.