Pick

Pick

"You know...she told me what you fucking did," I say as I look down on him, standing and clutching the bottle. He is tied to the chair, unable to move.

"And I mean EVERYTHING." I raised the bottle to my lips, and the instant fire rushing down my throat makes my jaw clench and eyes shut.

"But... PLEASE! All that was years ago, you know I’ll never do that now" that asshole says to me. "Please! I never do it again!" he begs again. I lean in close to him and put my lips next to his ear. "Yeah... is that after the first time... or the tenth time you put her outside?" I spat at the side of his face. "More than once, am I right? Outside?" I asked him as I reach towards the table picking up a toothpick. "Yet that isn't the worst of it, is it?" I asked him as I put the pick in my mouth. The snot begins to run down his mustache like the disgusting fuck he is. "IT WAS YEARS AGO!" he screams at the top of his lungs, hyperventilating after each breathe.

"Yeah, I'm sure she felt the same way you do now, right? Scared, wanting it to end? Not knowing what the fuck I'm going to do?" I get the pick out of my mouth and pick up his head with my hand so I can stare at his eyes. "See, I don't get it though. You keep doing everything you told her not to. Why do you keep shutting your eyes as if you don't like, this?" I grabbed the toothpick with my right hand, held it between my fingers, grabbing his left eyelash with the other hand, pulling it just enough for the inner lid skin to show. "NO NO NO NO," he begins to scream. I positioned the toothpick just under his top eyelid. "I don't know why you keep hoping for a miracle? She waited for one and it never came... well then again, in a way it did, now am I right?" I laugh.

"AHHHHHHHH,"

That glorious, beautiful scream he lets escape is something out of a dream, a dream she imagined every night if she could.

I lift the toothpick just enough for it to be poking through, but not breaking his skin. "DAMN! That must hurt, but like I said, I wouldn't want you to close your eyes or else you wouldn't like it!" I laugh as I place the bottom end of the toothpick on top his upper cheek bone while the other end fights to break the skin underneath his lid. "Now, don't blink, or at least try not to so hard... you wouldn't want the toothpick to pierce through, now would you?" His eye began to turn bloodshot red, as his head began to shake, fighting the urge to shut his eye.

"See, here's the thing..." I pull up a chair and sit in front of him. "You keep talking about how you've changed, blah blah blah." I slap his knee, and with one quick violent twitch, the toothpick tip pierces right through.

"AHHHHH!" he screams in agony, but I swear it's an accident.

"To be fair, you should have seen my hand. Your eye was open." I laugh. A shitty excuse for a shitty person who deserves it. "Now” I looked at him, staring at his eyelid. It's fine; its twitching enough to close a little. "You can tell me all day and night how you've changed..." I pull the chair closer until both our knees are inches away from each other. "... but there really is only one way to see if that's the case." I get up from the chair and reach behind him.

“Here it is.”

Shining like a water oasis in a desert, his eye began to widen. A crystal-clear bottle shines from the light of the only lamp in the room. He tries looking away, but I slap him where the pick is, and the bottom half of the pick pierces into his cheek like a needle. Nothing but the air escapes his lungs, holding in every ounce of pain, his chest started convulsing as he breathes in and out. Under his breath, he whispers, "I won't." And I tilt my head in confusion, not quite sure if he understands the situation he's in. But that doesn't matter. I raise the bottle closer to his face and begin to take the cap off.

"MMMMMM, smells good, don't you think?" I ask him as drool begins to run down from the corner of his lip. Running the glass underneath his nose, his mouth began to twitch. "Damn, even your body is forcing itself to drink some. It remembers the taste, and I'm sure that side you say ‘isn't there’ still is." I take a quick swig from the bottle before placing it down between his legs, his eyes peering down as if a puppy looking at dropped food.

"If you don't want it, why do you keep looking at it?" I ask him. Shaking, he just stares at the bottle.

"So, the deal is..." I walked towards the other side of the lamp. "... I can place the bottle on the table with a straw, and you can drink to your heart's desire while you tell me everything from your mouth... and then I kill you..." I move into the corner, engulfed in shadows, and roll out an IV with an empty plastic bag attached. "Or... I tie this around your neck and the needle in your arm and make you tell me and watch you die slowly from the poisoning." I grab the bottle between his legs and cross my arms. "Your choice."

That piece of shit tries spitting on me.

"So be it."

He tries to wiggle out of the chair, but he isn't going anywhere. I made sure he had to feel powerless, just like he made her feel. I get the bottle and pour it into the IV. "What are you doing?" he asks me, freaking out. "NO NO NO! PLEASE, I'LL DRINK IT!"

"Too late. You should have taken the chance when I offered," I laugh as I roll the IV behind him and begin wrapping the plastic tube around his neck, piercing his veins with the needle.

"See, the thing with injecting alcohol directly into the bloodstream..." I tell him as I'm pouring a shot glass into the bag. "... is once it hits the bloodstream, it works a little more differently... Well, at least according to Google, anyway..." I put a clip on the tube to slow the drip. "... so, I thought I'd try to slow the drip and see if we can slow the process down just a bit so I can see you change in front of me, and well, if that doesn't work, then it doesn't work. Either way, you're dead, and that's all I really want in the end." I walk back in front of him, sat down, and looked him in his eyes.

"Now... she told me she used to sleep outside whenever you came home... rain, winter... Hell! She said one night she had to use plastic trash bags to keep warm while she heard you snore from the outside." He started to cry, trying to find any words he can. I looked at the IV; a couple of drinks in here and there since we started, and it's still going pretty well. "She told me one time you locked her in the shed because you were just mad one day. Now, is that really true?" I ask him, he doesn't say anything. "Well, so much for Google being right, huh? I guess it doesn't work as fast, but that's fine." I get up and stretch out a little. "I'm not going anywhere," I laugh.

About five minutes go by while I'm in the restroom, and I can see it starting to hit him. "How are you feeling, huh? Doesn't it feel good again? Remember this feeling? You barely feel the toothpick, right?" I laugh as he begins to lick his lips, the toothpick moving little by little with every expression he gives. But that doesn't matter since he can taste the alcohol now. His eyes look glazed and lost. "Yeah, it's been a while. Give it a few minutes; I'm sure you'll be back to your original self." I can see the change happening. He has heavy breathing, a deeper voice, and a look of nothingness to his eyes. "That's it. Feel it coming back, don't you?" He begins to tilt his head up from the chair, wobbling, and he laughs. "Yeah, you remember..." He just smiles and laughs while looking at me.

"You remember THAT night, don't you?" I asked him, but he just can't stop smiling at me, his eyes burning red. "... the one night you promised she was fine, and it was OK for her to be inside." He just smiles and looks at me. "... you came home that night... promised she would be fine..." He lets out a little chuckle, "... what did you do... tell me..." I lean closer. "Tell me!" I began to raise my hands and open my palms to wrap around his throat.

"We wouldn't be here now if I didn't," he whispers and laughs, opening his legs as wide as he can. The sick fuck sticks his tongue out.

I wrapped my fingers around his neck, feeling every muscle tighten between my fingers as the blood rushes through my palms. I squeezed until his eyes are out of their sockets, his face bloated and swollen. He starts to shake as I watched every ounce of life leave his body.

Then he was still, quite,

lifeless.

Yet, I still feel as if he is smiling at me.

“We wouldn’t be here now if I didn’t.” still haunting my head.

A couple of hours go by, and I'm finally home. Nothing more I want to do than just go to bed. I take off my shoes as I hop into bed and roll over. A few hours go by, and there is a knock on my bedroom door. "Mom?"

She opens the door.

"Can you come downstairs, please?" I see her eyes are red, holding back tears. "I mean, is everything OK?" I ask her again. "Just please come downstairs," she tells me again as she walks back down the hall. I turned around to put on my shoes and begin to walk down the hall, passing by my grandmother's room.

There she is, just looking out her window, sunlight creating a radiant glow around her. She turns to look at me and gives me a smile and I smiled back. I turned back around and headed downstairs, where my mother is sitting at the table. "Please sit," she tells me, holding a tissue to her face.

"Is everything fine?" I ask her, already knowing what the answer was.

"The police came... they found..." Here it is I thought. "They found... your grandfather. He's gone," she says crying into my arms.

“Mom…” I say looking at her, but before I can say anything else my grandmother walks in and places her hand on my shoulder.

So, I stayed silent for her.