Sorry That You're Dead

I Fuckin' Hate Him to Death

Ruthie

I had a feeling that we’d done too much. I knew for a fact that I was done for. Not even 10 pm, yet there I was assed out and nearly passed out on the bed. Under extraordinary circumstances, that being me in at least a semi-coherent state, I wouldn’t have been able shut out the bothersome noise that was Bruce’s Psychopathic Records compilation. But I was gone. Out this atmosphere, and almost unconscious. I just hoped sleep, or something close to it came before I spewed my guts all over the puke-inducing floral designed quilt of the queen-sized bed.

“Get up girl!”

I don’t know how I didn’t upchuck my lunch and all the cheap liquor I recklessly tossed down the hatch when Bruce flopped on the bed like a bonafide fool, but I held it down. Were we in love? Fuck if I know, but I loved this boy with everything I had. Still, Bruce was hard to love. He could be so childish. Cold. Annoying. Like when he mauled me right there in the room, sliding his long fingers between the folds of my fleshy ass cheeks beneath the cotton material he forced in my crack, right in front of Shane, knowing all this was already a precarious situation.

Bruce

There comes a point when you know you’ve done too much ... I’d reached it, and there was no turning back. We polished off a trio of thick blunts before even making it to the room — two in the parking structure of the rundown hospital that was surprisingly still operating after all the lawsuits, scandals, and airborn STDs lingering throughout every hall of the building, and another on the way. Ruthie carried on about how I was in no condition to drive, and while I kindly returned with a “shut the fuck up”, deep down, I agreed. But somehow, we made it.

Despite being beyond earth’s legal limit, I’m a vet who knows how to handle his drank and smoke so I was fine — until I snorted that white powder. The first time I tried the research chemical known as mephedrone was like doing ecstacy for the first time — an absolutely magical experience, albeit shorter than what I’d known to be MDMA, almost identical. For that experience, I consumed roughly 200 grams in a “00" capsule. This time, I dared to be bold and took a couple bumps straight up both nostrils. Holy fuck!

The shit hit me like a truck with 18 wheels zooming at speeds of 80 MPH. On this occasion, the meph felt more like a combination of X and coke, tainted with the touch of alcohol and weed, each of which added new twisted dimensions of their own. Fierce jaw clenching. Pupils wide and wobbly. Heart threatening to leap out my chest. In short, I was fucked up. And even though I felt like I might die right then and there, the sight of my woman’s perfectly shaped ass had me ready to go.

Shane

I felt sick to my stomach. Not because of the cheaply made, sour, yet still incredibly sweet wine, but because of the gutwrenching scene in front of me. Slumped on the floor with my back against the wall, I watched with squinted, fiery red, angry eyes as my brother groped away at Ruthie. What began as a mission to drive her pants deeper in her ass crack, turned into a race to strip her naked. Under ordinary circumstances, I would have loved to catch a glimpse of Ruth’s nude buttocks, but instead of joy I felt nothing but rage.

“No. No! Come on Bruce, I said no! Stop it God damnit!”

The more she resisted, the more aggressive he became, and the more my anger boiled. I’d sat back and watched this scene long enough. My brother treating Ruthie like low-grade shit. This time he was ready to take her against her well all to show me that I never had a chance. But I’d had enough ...