Yesterday my life still made sense.
The police found Jenna’s body this morning.
Except I guess that isn’t a completely accurate statement. Brian, a kid from down the street, found her. All of her except her head. Brian biked home to tell his parents, his parents called the police, and the police called me.
As a child, I remember playing the game “Telephone”. Everyone sat in a circle. We whispered to the person next to us. By the time the statement went all the way around, the message had morphed and usually into something silly. There wasn’t anything silly about the police call this morning and the chain wasn’t long enough to have changed. Jenna was gone.
The police had me give a statement, but I’m pretty sure I’m not a suspect. It wasn’t until the police started asking questions that I realized I didn’t even know Jenna’s last name. How could things have ended up this way? What the hell was I thinking?
Around 4 o’clock my friend Tommy showed up. Maybe “friend” was too strong of a word.
Tommy had been more of an acquaintance. He floated around at parties I’d attended. He always seemed a little geeked out but still a decent guy. Mostly, anyway.
He clapped me once on the back, not even a hug, and I crumbled. He shoved his hands in his pockets roughly and fidgeted while I cried. He chewed on his lip while I tried my best to compose myself.
As I bottled my grief, Tommy produced a small bottle of his own. A small vial with a whitish-grey powder filled the vial to the top. Tommy unscrewed the top and tapped with his finger as he slowly removed it. A thin stem slid from the powder, revealing a small, powder-filled spoon at the end. Tommy snorted, eyes closed and unashamed, before shuddering.
“I’m telling you, Greg, this is the stuff the greats used. Michael Angelo, Poe, hell probably even Homer. You gotta try some, man. Get inspired, give yourself a break.” Tommy slid the spoon back into the powder and started to slide it back out again.
Grief overtook me. At that moment, I didn’t want to live a shell of a life without Jenna. I snatched the vial and snorted the entire thing. I think I heard Tommy let out a shocked cry before everything went black, but I couldn’t be sure.
I’m looking down at Jenna’s beautiful face in my hands. Her soft hair is tangled between my fingers and her eyes shut softly. Her parted, full lips show just the tips of her teeth. I may have thought she was asleep had I not been holding only her head. I should be sick, but I’m elated. I finally have her.
Everything is shuttering and shifting. I’m not holding Jenna anymore. I’m holding chunks of brain. I’m putting them into the dehydrator. I glance over to the other end of the counter. There is mush and Jenna’s crumpled hair and bits of bone. I don’t want to look, but I’m looking. I don’t think it’s my decision. I don’t think it’s my body. The dehydrator lets out a high-pitched cry and I turn back to it. As I raise the lid, the world shutters again.
I have the vial. I’m bringing a small spoonful to my nose. I pick up a paintbrush and dab some paint hastily. I slide the brush across the woman’s abdomen on the canvas. The texture of the paint is perfect. Something in my stomach stirs, and I don’t know whether to admire the art or pull down my pants. Jenna’s nude body stretches across the canvas. Instead of a head, gold liquid and butterflies pour from the gaping hole in her neck. My vision shutters. I try to will it to stay. Seeing her mutilated on the canvas is better than not having her at all. But I can’t seem to hold it.
I’m staring at the chipped gold six-oh-four on my hotel door. I twirl the vial. I knock with paint-stained hands. I don’t want to share her, but it’s only right. I took her from him. I have to share.
Tommy is shaking me and shouting. I’m lying on my back, my hand flailing wildly in the air. Even as I tilted my head to the side to vomit, my hand never rested.
“Are you having some kind of fucking seizure? What the hell is wrong with you, man? Snap out of it! Why’d you have to take so much? You aren’t supposed to take that much!”
I don’t have a paper this time, but it doesn’t matter. I saw everything more clearly. And this time, I remembered.
My eyes dragged to Tommy’s hands fisted in my shirt. The soft brown paint from his hands had spread across my shirt. Fear and rage hit me in equal parts. Slowly, I stood up.
Tommy was whispering, “No, no, no, please, no.” Except his lips weren’t moving. I was still so outside myself, I hadn’t recognized my own voice.
“Don’t you get it?” Spit flew from Tommy’s mouth, “She was a fucking MUSE, Greg! You didn’t love her, you were inspired! And I’m sure banging her was great, but that rail of her powdered brain did more for you. Admit it. You feel amazing!”
He was a lunatic and if I wasn’t careful, I was going to die. Fear dug deep inside of me, cramping my stomach. The anger erupted.
My hand finally stopped jerking as I swung hard and hit Tommy in the face. He stumbled slightly, more in surprise than pain, and swung back.
My head swam as his fist connected with my temple. The world stuttered again, as it had in my vision. Hank crept slowly towards Tommy and me. He lowered his head, barred his teeth, and growled.
“Now you’ve fuckin’ done it, Greg! First I have to kill your girl, now I have to kill your dog. You just couldn’t be cool, right? You had to wig out on me.”
Without hesitation, I leaped up and tackled Tommy with one swift motion. As his head hit the floor, Hank pounced. Tommy gurgled as Hank’s teeth sunk into his throat.
It wasn’t good enough. Hank backed up as I raised my fist to hit Tommy twice more. I came up gasping for air, anguish collapsing my throat.
Hank whined in the corner as I called the police.
I was cleared as acting in self-defense. It helped that he’d left Jenna’s broken skull on his kitchen counter. He’d been drawing and painting her over and over.
I expected the grief to lessen over time. And being a month out from everything, it has. But something I didn’t expect was for everything else to lessen too.
Colors are dull at best. I don’t listen to music anymore. I’ve lost nearly fifty pounds. There isn’t much incentive to eat when everything tastes like dirt.
It’s been getting worse every day since Jenna’s been gone.
I’d do almost anything to feel normal again.
Almost.