A, chapter 1
I loved him, I really did. I can't deny that fact, and he's been so good to me. I mean, you don't get a tattoo for just anyone, especially if they don't love you back, but I guess being covered in ink wasn't enough for me. Now my lover's covered in blood.
I don't know when it started. Long tour nights, partying, alcohol...It got to me after a while and made me snap something fierce. I tried to keep calm, to keep up with his antics but I couldn't...It was too much to deal with. For months on end we would be on tour and be in different countries every five days or so. The jetlag sucked, and so did the paparazzi, constantly chasing all four of us all over the world. Well, mostly them, but I was there. I was there, godammit, and no one ever asks what I think about anything. I'm just the obligatory wife in this situation, I guess. People play me off as just 'being there' rather than something Billie Joe cherishes most in life besides his kids. And the worst part is the fan girls. I've been to fan sites, I know how they feel. Some are real supportive of us (which I thank) but some are too much, wishing that I was dead so that they could marry my husband, cart him off...The list goes on. I decided that it was time that I got some attention.
Sick, you might call me. What the hell were you thinking?! That's exactly what I said that lonely night in the heat of the summer, curled up in the hotel bed while my lover bled to death. Not on the floor, of course (I was a bit more upscale than that), but in the bathroom. A bathtub caught all the evidence, haha! But how could I dispose of the body? Especially with the other guys around...I knew I had to be crafty. I had to use that good education to some extent, why not now? So I took the clothes off his body, stuffed them in a bag, took his body and with the utmost of care (and a quick call down to the kitchen for a sharper knife to cut my dinner with) I hacked his body to bits. Oh, the blood spattered! Oh, how it pooled in the tub, the sweet crimson liquid draining slowly, ever so slowly. I had to cover my mouth time to time so as not to laugh manically at my devious plan.
After he was disfigured enough, I took the body parts and shoved them in a trashbag, and creeping in the night past the elevator and where the other two were staying, I dumped the bag down the trash chute and returned to my room. I had to clean up. The blood was starting to make my hands stick.
After thoroughly cleaning the mess I had made, I took the bag of clothes and dumped them in the trash chute as well. Then I waited back in my room. Oh, how I waited for the other two to wake up so I could cry aloud and tell them that that bastard left me! He left me, and would never return. I told them not to try his cell phone, because he had thrown it at me in a rage before leaving, and it had shattered. I then went to explain how I threw the fragments of the phone away, when in truth, it was tucked away in my pocket.
Oh, what suckers! They bought the story, hook, line and sinker, and were very sad for me. Good. Let them be sad. They'll find his body soon enough, oh yes, but I won't be around. When they went downstairs to check out, I grabbed my readily packed bags and left the back way, taking my late husband's car and driving away, never to be seen here again.
I could tell you that I'm in jail now, waiting for the legal system to deal with me, but that would be a lie. In fact, it's sunny where I am, and quite warm too. There's a bartender looking my way, and I'm sure he wants more than a drink order from me...
Perhaps I should...? No, maybe not. The fun is over when it's not a long relationship and you just kill them outright. Who would do a terrible thing like that?
I don't know when it started. Long tour nights, partying, alcohol...It got to me after a while and made me snap something fierce. I tried to keep calm, to keep up with his antics but I couldn't...It was too much to deal with. For months on end we would be on tour and be in different countries every five days or so. The jetlag sucked, and so did the paparazzi, constantly chasing all four of us all over the world. Well, mostly them, but I was there. I was there, godammit, and no one ever asks what I think about anything. I'm just the obligatory wife in this situation, I guess. People play me off as just 'being there' rather than something Billie Joe cherishes most in life besides his kids. And the worst part is the fan girls. I've been to fan sites, I know how they feel. Some are real supportive of us (which I thank) but some are too much, wishing that I was dead so that they could marry my husband, cart him off...The list goes on. I decided that it was time that I got some attention.
Sick, you might call me. What the hell were you thinking?! That's exactly what I said that lonely night in the heat of the summer, curled up in the hotel bed while my lover bled to death. Not on the floor, of course (I was a bit more upscale than that), but in the bathroom. A bathtub caught all the evidence, haha! But how could I dispose of the body? Especially with the other guys around...I knew I had to be crafty. I had to use that good education to some extent, why not now? So I took the clothes off his body, stuffed them in a bag, took his body and with the utmost of care (and a quick call down to the kitchen for a sharper knife to cut my dinner with) I hacked his body to bits. Oh, the blood spattered! Oh, how it pooled in the tub, the sweet crimson liquid draining slowly, ever so slowly. I had to cover my mouth time to time so as not to laugh manically at my devious plan.
After he was disfigured enough, I took the body parts and shoved them in a trashbag, and creeping in the night past the elevator and where the other two were staying, I dumped the bag down the trash chute and returned to my room. I had to clean up. The blood was starting to make my hands stick.
After thoroughly cleaning the mess I had made, I took the bag of clothes and dumped them in the trash chute as well. Then I waited back in my room. Oh, how I waited for the other two to wake up so I could cry aloud and tell them that that bastard left me! He left me, and would never return. I told them not to try his cell phone, because he had thrown it at me in a rage before leaving, and it had shattered. I then went to explain how I threw the fragments of the phone away, when in truth, it was tucked away in my pocket.
Oh, what suckers! They bought the story, hook, line and sinker, and were very sad for me. Good. Let them be sad. They'll find his body soon enough, oh yes, but I won't be around. When they went downstairs to check out, I grabbed my readily packed bags and left the back way, taking my late husband's car and driving away, never to be seen here again.
I could tell you that I'm in jail now, waiting for the legal system to deal with me, but that would be a lie. In fact, it's sunny where I am, and quite warm too. There's a bartender looking my way, and I'm sure he wants more than a drink order from me...
Perhaps I should...? No, maybe not. The fun is over when it's not a long relationship and you just kill them outright. Who would do a terrible thing like that?
