curse of forever (Feb 2022)

3

"You do it first."

"George it's not gonna work. We don't have blood."

He groans, "I forgot. Shit."

But instead of being discouraged, a smirk forms on my face. George looks at me confused, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Clay," I say simply.

"No," He shakes his head, "I'm not– I'm not gonna hurt him."

"He's the only one in this house that has blood besides Patches, and I'm not hurting a cat for god's sake."

"Don't say god like that..."

I stare at him blankly, "God doesn't want us, George, don't you get it? He would've stopped both of us from blowing that bullet into our skull if he really loved us."

He shakes his head, "Still."

"George we are living in hell already."

"You don't get it."

"I get plenty," I spit, "You're the one who doesn't get it. Now give me the fucking razor."

He sighs, dropping the shiny blade into my hand. We came here for only one reason. To scare people.

He follows me out of the room and into Clay's blank, white room. Patches laid calmly next to his sleeping body. He laid on his stomach shirtless with only boxers on, the rise and fall of his chest causing his body to move flawlessly.

George inhales sharply before I bring the razor to his back, digging it into his skin with a devilish smile plastered across my face.

He screams in agony, jerking awake as I pull the blade down his back. The spot goes white, then blood rushes to the area, running down his back as he stands up quick, tears running down his face.

"Esther..." George says softly as I watch the man fall onto the floor in pain.

"Patches!" He yells, "What the fuck is wrong with you!" He shouted in her face. She looks at him frightened, then turns to us, dropping his expression.

The hairs on her back rise slowly as her back arches, bearing her teeth. She hisses loudly and Clay turns around scanning past us.

"Are you fucking stupid?" He grits through his teeth, "Look what you did!"

I laugh at his idiotic play, George standing behind me silently.

Clay stands up straight again, wincing in pain as he swipes a finger behind his back, covering his finger in the crimson red blood. The color of the devil.

I too swipe my finger through the blood, examining the blood like an ancient artifact.

I turn back to George with a smile as I watch Clay walk painfully to the bathroom. Without a second thought, I run my finger slowly on the covers, starting at the top of the G and ending in the middle.

I needed more blood.

I run over to the bathroom, seeing Clay look at his back in the mirror.

"Esther no!" George runs after me, grabbing my armed wrist.

"Let go of me," I grit through my teeth, jerking my arm away. I watch Clay wince as he twists his back.

I giggle before wrapping my arms around him, taking the blade and swiping fast against his chest. His eyes go wide in shock as his green eyes follow the pain.

He goes silent, no cries of pain, just pure shock.

"Esther, that's enough," George says firmly, grabbing my wrists tightly and snatching the blade out of my hand.

"Look how fun that was!" I say excitedly, my eyes focusing on the blood running down Clay's chest.

His face goes white, his once bright green eyes going a dark green. His hands are shaky against the counter his grips so tight, the muscles in his arms bulging.

"I told you not to hurt him..." George whispers, hanging his head low.

"George he'll be fine," I groan, "It's just a cat scratch."

He stays silent as I press a hand to Clay's chest, creating a handprint. If his face wasn't already white, it definitely was now. All the color from his perfect, pink cheeks drained from his body completely. He looked about as white as us.

His mouth just laid open, struggling to find the words he needed to calm himself.

"That wasn't nice." George says firmly, taking a step and landing by my side, "Now look at him."

"He's fine, Georgie." I continue to tell him, but he shakes his head.

"You had no right."

I furrow my brows, taking a step back, "What's come over you?"

"He's my best friend Esther!"

"So? It's just a little cut."

He takes a step toward me, sticking a finger in my face, "You cut across his whole back and chest."

"It's a cut." I continue to say.

"It's a gash."

"Stop arguing with me."

"Not until you fix it."

"How am I supposed to fix it!" I yell, flailing my arms around.

"I don't know! But fix it!"

I turn away, "He'll be fine." I say quietly, then walk out of the bathroom. I turn back for one second to see George put a gentle hand on Clays back. He doesn't even shiver or move, keeping his trance on his reflection.

—

3 weeks later

I sat at my own funeral. George's and I'd family combined it, stating, "They were so in love with each other, it would be a crime not to."

So our bodies were buried next to each other. We were gonna be together forever. Just like I wanted.

Clay and Nick sat in the back of the funeral with their gazes stuck on the grass. They loved George, maybe even more than me. But he was gone now. He was mine forever. Just me and him.

Our pictures sat next to each other nicely. Mine was decorated with my favorite flowers and some twinkly lights and George's was decorated with his favorite flowers as well.

It was a nice picture. My black curly hair laid gently on my shoulders and the gold necklace I wore contrasted brightly with my dark skin.

George had his hair slightly grown out, his hair combed back with water. He looked gorgeous as he smiled brightly at the camera.

My family sat on one side of the chairs and George's family plus Clay and Nick's sat on the other side. I sat next to my brother, holding George's hand from the other side of the aisle.

I felt as if we were miles apart, only holding onto each other by a single, almost broken thread.

Here lies George Davidson and Esther Ceteways.