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CHAPTER 9
It’s the last person I ever want to see – Ashley Dupont. My first real girlfriend. We dated through high school and the first two years in college, up until I got with Loretta. She’s also Loretta’s ex-best friend. And that’s a capital ‘X’.
“Are you… carjacking me?” she says in her typical high-pitched voice.
My gun hand won’t keep steady.
She blinks, then holds her pink nails out like an invisible plate rests on the top of her hand. “Like, for real?”
My blood boils. My adrenaline rushes. A realization has dawned on me – If I leave Ashley behind, she’ll be waiting to tell the authorities who I am and what I look like, not to mention the exact license plate number of her red mustang. I have to kidnap her. I aim at the diamond in her ear.
“Scoot over.”
“This is a jay-kay, right?” She looks around. “Some new reality show or something? Carjack your ex?”
The gun fires. We both jump. I accidently shot a bullet through her blonde hair and into her headrest.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Ashley scurries over to the passenger seat, then fastens herself in.
“Holy fuck, what is wrong with you! Don’t kill me!”
“No-”
“We were together for like, 6 years! What the fuck Phil!”
My arm is locked in the air, my eyes can’t stop blinking. I’m in disbelief – nearly killed my ex-girlfriend.
“You want the car? Me? What is it?!”
I shake my head, then cough and lower into the vehicle. My knees jam into the steering wheel, but I find the lever and scoot the seat back. I start the mustang, turn it around, then head for the Sheraton Inn. I let out a breath. Holy shit, I can’t believe I just did that.
“Where’s your phone?” I say.
“What’s going on? Are you gonna kill me?”
“Just give me the phone.”
“Did I do something? Why me?”
“The phone, Ashley.”
“Phil! You’re a criminal now? Why? What happened-”
“The phone goddammit!”
“It’s at home… Don’t kill me.”
I take a good look at her. She’s wearing a black mini skirt. Her legs are clamped together. “Take your phone out from under your skirt.”
“I told you, I left it at home.”
“I carjacked you. I’m not afraid to wrestle your legs apart.”
I can’t stop thinking about how close I came to cracking her skull open with a bullet. This sucks; every part of this sucks. I decide to give up on the phone thing. I’m a married man; the thought of touching Ashley inappropriately sickens me. Because I’m a married man and my wife is missing, not because I’m not attracted to her. Ashley is every man’s dream – she’s even better looking since I left her, in a materialistic sense. Her breasts perk up like they’re resting on an invisible shelf, and they’re twice as plump as they used to be. Plus now she’s got these big fisheyes like the Kardashians after applying ‘make-up contour techniques’. Ashley got work done, and the doctors knew what they were doing.
I hate every part of this. I hate that Loretta and Avery are in danger, and I hate that I’m on my way to a hotel where I’m supposed to kill whoever is in room 203. I don’t even know what I’m going to do when I get there.
- Thomas M. Watt
Thomas M. Watt 