A Badass Mother

==>Dixie: Kill a Motherfucker

He’s still all drowsy from the hit of chloroform you’ve given him. The bloody nose has distorted his fine-lookin features, poor fuckin baby. He’s tied, spread-eagled and naked from the waist up. You don’t give a shit about his dick. This is personal.

There are tarps covering everything surrounding the two of you. You’re wearing most of a hazmat suit, but not the helmet or face-mask. If nothing else, he’s gonna know who killed him.

You plant your boots on his arms, one on each, crouching over him with a bottle of water and a long knife. He’s mumbling some shit. You don’t give a fuck. You take a swig of water and spit it into his face. “Rise an’ shine, motherfucker.”

He splutters, waking up and looking up at you with confusion all over his face. His face when he finds out he’s bound is priceless. You grin. “Hey there chucklefuck. Comfy?”

“Dixie? Shit. Shit, Dixie what the fuck, let me up. Jeezus, let me up what the fuck are you doing?”

You can’t help it. His bewilderment is fucking hilarious. You giggle till you snort. “Shit, sugarpop, didja really think I wouldn’t notice how you been trackin me? You think I wouldn’t find out it was you what called CPS on me and basically fucked my life up for a good few months? Seriously, fuckhead, you think I wouldn’t notice you watchin Dave, and that’s what I really can’t stand, you wantin to get your fuckin hands on him.” The giggle has turned into a growl, that’s for damn sure. “See, I shoulda killed you when you laid your hands on him the first time, and now…I’m gonna remedy my lapse in fuckin judgement.”

He begins to struggle, disbelief all over his face. “No, seriously Dixie, let me up.”

You bounce on your toes, squashing his arms, and he winces. “Do I motherfucking look like I’m joking, fucker?” You fix him with an orange glare, and you trail the tip of your knife from forehead, down over the tip of his nose, over his lips, and stick him lightly in the chin.

He goes very, very still, eyes wide. Now he knows you’re not fucking around. You watch the fear seep into his eyes. Yeah. That’s good.

“There. Now I think  you understand the gravity of the situation, fucker.” You take the knife from his chin, clean the tip with your finger, and wipe it off on his forehead.

“Dixie come on, please, let me go…I’ll leave and you never have to worry about me again.”

You shake your head. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. I think my karma would up and kill me if I let you go. See, I know your games.” You get yourself comfortable, taking a drink of water. Gotta stay hydrated. You look into his eyes when you talk. He wants to turn away, but you take the flat of your knife and put it against his cheek, forcing him to look up at you.

“I know about that pretty little girl you been chatting up, an I know about the little girls you been screwin. And I know about the woman you were about to run off with after cleanin your sweet lil fiancee out. I learned about your nice new name and new job and new life. I figger I’m savin her a whole lotta heartbreak later.”  You smooth a bit of his sweat soaked hair with a gloved fingertip.

“She’ll get a heartfelt note and a wad of her own cash: ‘Dearest darling, I’m so sorry, I’ve been a fool, but I couldn’t do this to you…’ such a lovely confession. Made me cry buckets of tears writin’ the thing. So very tragic.”

He struggles again, his breath becoming short. You put the blade against his throat, pressing down so he can feel the sharp of it. “Dixie…Jesus, come on, please?” His voice twists up again, frightened.

“No, fuck you, I’m speakin. You never let me talk but now you’re gonna shut up and listen.” You lay the flat of your blade against his lips. “Where was I? Oh yeah. Fucking tragic. Of course, she’s going to call the police. Maybe. Maybe there’ll even be a manhunt. They’ll never find you, though. I’ll make sure of that. Those two little girls you seduced? They’ll eventually forget you. That lady you was gonna run off with? She’ll just figure you fucked her over.”

His eyes are flicking back and forth, frantically. Looking for a way out. You grin.

He needs a distraction. You can definitely provide that. You plunge your knife into his side. He hollers and you lean on his windpipe with your arm over his throat. “See, honey? I’m gonna take reeeeeeeaal good care ‘a ya. I might be a bitch but I ain’t cruel. Or…maybe I am, I dunno. What the fuck ever.” You keep the knife in his side, twist it a little. He screams. That’s good.

You want it to be slow.

“Y’see, you fucked with a Strider kid, and people just don’t do that. You hit my kid. And then you tried to have him taken away from me. And then you started watchin him. You made it so that the police wouldn’t help me when he went missing. And you fucking sucked as a boyfriend.”

“Dixie…Dixie, please, come on, I promise…god, I won’t tell anyone, you can leave now…”

“Fucking idiot, do you think this is the first time I’ve done this shit? Shut the fuck up and listen before you die.”  You pull the knife out, show it to him, covered with his blood, and then you give it a slow lick, yes, yes, god yes. You grin at him, blood on your teeth. “Knew you’d be good.”

He’s whimpering helplessly now, eyes dilated in fear. Good.

“See, baby, now you know. That’s what fear feels like. Everyone should feel this before they die. It’s clarifyin’. See, now you know precisely what you want. Too bad you ain’t gonna get it.”

You take a deep breath. Oh yeah. You grin at him and he goes apeshit, shrieking and blubbering. Bluh, his noise is harshing your calm. You put the knife between your teeth and seal his mouth with duct tape.

“See, I coulda shot you. Pop-pop, double tap, coulda done it from real far away, been gone before you hit the ground. But see, if it were just business, I could do that, but see, a knife’s more personal.” You ignore the muffled cries coming from him as you work, cutting where the pain will be worst, pulling, slicing. You don’t touch his eyes. Not yet. “Gotta get real close with a knife. Gotta be able to smell ‘em.”

The noises he makes are pleading now. You’ve done this often enough. He just wants the pain to stop, no matter how.

Too bad for him. You ain’t satisfied that he’s suffered enough yet.

“Buckle up, buttercup. It’s gonna be a long night.”

In the end, you only take one of his eyes. The muffled scream he makes from behind the gag finally satisfies you as you do. You step off his arms and look at your handiwork.

Damn, you’re good. “It’s real interestin seein how you work, sugar. Enlightenin. Bet you’re real cold now. That’s what happens when you lose blood.” You get back down on your knees beside him and his one functional eye rolls to follow you. His chest, torn up from your ministrations, heaves with his breath.  “Close your eye, honey.” He sobs from behind the gag, but he does what you ask. He knows better than not to.

“Good night.” You slice through his neck, from ear to ear.

It doesn’t take long before his breath stops. You get this rush of adrenaline when that happens, a rush of power, it feels good. For a moment, everything is fucking transcendent.

And then it’s just work.

Welp.

Time to clean up and go home.