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The book holds his interest, or maybe it’s not the hard-cover, black, paper book, but the flesh and blood character-person inside.
“Cover up with make up in the mirror. Tell yourself it's never gonna happen again. You cry alone and then he swears he loves you.”
He can see her clearly, long, honey-colored curls with streaks of green. She’s a rebel; the defiance in her light hazel eyes secures that statement. Her lips are thin and pale, not the rosy pink that most people have. Her skin is soft and silky- flawless. The thick mascara and eyeliner give a black outline to her eyes, the grey and green eye shadow provides a contrast. Her pale lips use red lipstick to hide behind. The blush adds color to her white face. She lures boys into her trap with her pretty-in-pink look. She only attracts the black-leather - punk-rocker ones.
She has a routine. For one week they beat her, for two she tortures them. After three – they’re dead.
“Do you feel like a ma-an when you push her around? Do you feel better now as she falls to the ground? Well, I’ll tell you my friend, one day this world’s going to end. As your lies crumble down the new life, she has found.”
She’s not supposed to be loved, he knows, but he loves her anyway. He knows it’s a memoir, his school teacher told him so. He also knows she’s dead. It was published after she died in jail. Another inmate had murdered her. She’d killed a member of his gang.
James finished the last page of the book and held the book to his chest. His long, shaggy, black hair covered his dark, blue eyes. His arms wrapped in black leather jacket sleeves trapped the book against his bare chest.
He closed his eyes, picturing her there in front of him, knife in hand. He felt someone drift into the room, but didn’t open his eyes. His ‘cycle gang members didn’t understand.
“Face down in the dirt she said, “This doesn't hurt.” She said, “I finally had enough. One day she will tell you that she has had enough. It's coming round again. Do you feel like a man, when you push her around? Do you feel better now as she falls to the ground? Well, I'll tell you my friend, one day this world's going to end. As your lies crumble down, a new life she has found.”
James sighed and stopped. The book tumbled out of hands and he fell on top of it, the pool of dark, pained, crimson, red expanding to eat up the unsuspecting, gritty, moldy carpet. His black hair covered his face. A breeze moved the bangs so that the side of his face was visible. His mouth was closed, in a firm line. His nose was still barely covered in very pale, hardly visible freckles. The dark black eye liner marked his eyes. His dark black eyelashes framed his wide open blue eyes.
One strand of green and blond hair was dropped onto the blade of the knife that was stained with the despair of broken-hearted, betrayed, troubled boys. With an impersonal cold breath, the room was still again.