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"Holy shit..."

Fast forward. Play.

CRAAAACCCCKKKKKK!!!

Rewind. Play.

"Holy shit..."

You sneered, smoke billowing around your head after a long exhale.

CRAAAACCCCKKKKKK!!!

The recorder felt heavy in your hand as you fiddled with the buttons, too focused on trying to figure out this damn noise to realize that the humidity was making the device slippery from a combination of condensation and your sweaty palm. Doing this outside probably wasn't the brightest idea to date, but you really needed this last cigarette and Adam would kill you if he found out you smoked inside. Your brother had never approved of your nicotine kick, but considering this habit was the least harmful compared to your previous addictions, he never pushed it.

But hey, at least it was legal.

Though, there was something wholly unsatisfying about cigarettes. The way the sterile white burned into a stain yellow after each hit was an eyesore and the only enjoyment that seemed to come of it was the ash that whisked away with the breeze. It was a fleeting euphoria that never really balanced out the migraines and clenched jaw you got when you hadn't had one in a few hours.

Maybe you should think about quitting...

"Holy shit..."

The loud, decisive crack rang through the tiny speakers and you scowled.

"Holy shit is right."

You flicked your cigarette butt and toyed with the idea doing the same thing to the tape. I mean, who would miss it? It would certainly make your life easier and heaven forbid your situation got any more complicated.

What's worse? A good little employee losing a dead body or a good little employee caught with evidence concerning said dead body? Just having this made it look like you were trying to cover your tracks. Next thing you know the police will be knocking on your door and carting you off to the police station kicking and screaming.

It was only a matter of time.

"Fuck." You pushed off the railing you'd been leaning against and paced around the porch like a untamed bull, mindful of OJ who was lazing about near the steps as he enjoyed the late afternoon sun.

He didn't even react as you shook the tape recorder like it was a person or when you repeatedly slammed it on one of the rocking chairs. Orange Juice merely yawned and started to clean his chest while you stepped over him and down the porch steps with fierce purpose. Wooden planks vibrated and hanging moss rippled as you put every ounce of anger you had into each, resolute step. The only thing louder then you were the cicadas, their stark songs ringing in your ears the closer you got to the tire swing where... You proceeded to beat the crap out of it.

This went on for a while, only stopping for quick moments to catch your breath before starting up again. Ten minutes had passed before you finally collapsed on the ground, your muscles sore and whole body cramped as you watched the tire swing lazily over your head with the rustling of olive green leaves and peeks of the open, blue sky as the backdrop. It's taut rope crackled quietly against the tree branch while grass tickled your ears and filled your nose with must and wet soil. You could feel a few sharp pebbles and a bottle-cap press against your back, no doubt thrown over here by Betty's tires after a rushed morning.

Taking a few deep breaths, you closed your eyes and decided now was time to act like an adult.

And what did adults do?

You placed your hand on your jeans pocket, your face screwing up in annoyance at feeling the crumpled little pack shoved haphazardly in your pants.

"Buy more cigarettes."

...and?

You groaned and rolled your eyes. "Go to the police."

~~~

The first thing you saw before turning into the parking area was the impound lot, it's tall chainlink fence housing lost and stolen cars, along with a few bikes locked to a rack. One look on the other side of the gate showed an officer talking to an irate-looking man gesturing towards an old Chevy. Even with your window up, you could hear the his furious shouts and how this was all some sort of mistake and-

You sighed in relief when the voice faded as you drove around the other side of the dull, tanned building and into the station's parking lot. The lower half of the structure had dark brown bricks as it's foundation while the upper levels looked like the beige was slowly making it's way towards the bottom after years and years of heavy rain and humidity. The steps looked cracked in a few places and the curved, arching windows had been repainted into the same shade as the building's brick support; though it seemed they'd run out of funds since only the front half of the department was actually finished.

The parking lot was only half full when you pulled in, most of the vehicles being off-duty police cruisers and a few others that belonged to office workers or visitors. You found a spot near the back of the lot and took your time getting out of the car, hand in one pocket of your red Letterman jacket while you toyed with the tape recorder. You tried to focus on the buttons, pressing rewind and fast forward while you stared hard at the department's entrance. Each twitch of your finger caused a soft whirring sound to emit from your pocket, it's quiet hum mixing distinctly with the cross necklace that clinked beneath it.

Part of you wanted all of this to be over. To just drop everything off, answer a few questions, then leave.

Except you knew that wasn't going to happen.

It hadn't taken much to make you uneasy around the police, their imposing uniforms and unforgiving manner in handling suspects; especially ones who were carted in and out like the station was a revolving door. You had many memories of being cuffed to a chair in the waiting room, bitter and annoyed as portraits of outstanding officers stared down at you, their cheeks dimpled and proud at whatever medal awarded to them.

Sometimes the cuffs would be too tight, cold steel digging into your wrist and rattling loudly with every move you made. This always gained you more attention, the lights in the waiting room shining down on you in an accusatory manner while people judged you for being some misguided youth.

You hated it so damn much that thinking about it made your chest tight and your hands shake. You had to lay your forehead against the steering wheel and close your eyes, the back of your neck prickling as if someone was giving you a very harsh glare. And just like that, it started to become harder to breathe and you had to open your eyes to gain some scrap of sanity.

Instead you were dizzy and nauseous.

How could you be so naive? They wouldn't believe you, not with all the crap you've pulled. All the fights you started, the morose drinking, skipping school, your downward spiral into drugs, and much, much more.

Stupid. Stupid! STUPID!!

You clenched the steering wheel tight and took a few deep breaths, fighting back the fear and anger that tried to overpower you. Ice seemed to rush through your veins and you felt terribly cold and clammy despite the Louisiana heat. Sirens roared as a police cruiser pulled out of the parking lot, red and blue flashes blinding your vision as you covered your ears. Suddenly you could hear a man jeering somewhere in the distance while a woman sobbed off in a completely different direction, all of it a jumble of white noise and nonsense that had no meaning.

The steering wheel acted as your anchor as you tried to calm down, your hands gripping it so tight that your fingers started to cramp and ache. Sweat trickled down your back while hair started to stick to your cheeks, the growing heat reminding you that Betty had AC. Shaking digits fumbled with the knobs and series of numbers in a desperate attempt for cool air, but you were too frazzled to understand that you'd turn the car off just minutes before. You ended up hitting the console in frustration before laying your head against the wheel again, your chest constricting with such pain that it grew hard to think.

Your heart raced like a galloping stallion, yet you couldn't breathe. Your head spun, but you weren't moving.

The world was a roller coaster and you just wanted off.

Disoriented, you don't remember turning on the car or pulling out of the parking lot. You can't recall which route you took or if you drove between the lines. You couldn't even recollect driving into the barn and turning Betty off.

But there was one thing that was hard to ignore, even as anxiety and panic drained away to leave you in an exhaustive mess. It was the excruciating shame of never leaving your car, never conquering your fears, and always losing no matter how hard you tried.

Perhaps you were simply destined to be a failure...

~~~

You needed bubbles.

Bubbles that popped as soon as they surfaced and bubbles that released wonderful aromas of vanilla, red rose, blue peppermint, or even green tea. You wanted them to fizz and burst thanks to the hot water meant to soak away your worries and allow the rising steam to cloud all senses. You wished to stretch your legs and wiggle your toes, to create tiny currents underwater as you leaned over the edge of your porcelain tub. You wanted to lay in the hot water for hours and just forget everything.

You practically marinated yourself in soaps, gels, and inexpensive bath bombs that probably changed the water color more then relax the body. Even if the product labels lied, you could just pretend they were working. It wasn't until you started to feel the back of your neck grow damp from the constant swishing of water did you finally submerge yourself. You were careful each time you dunked your head underwater, the blue peppermint soap threatening to sting your eyes if you so much as thought of peeking. Then you'd breach the surface like a mermaid, smoothing your hair back with water cascading down your body like rainfall.

Long stretches of time passed and the hot water turned lukewarm, prompting you to refill it just so you could relax a little longer.

'Just a bit longer,' you kept thinking. 'I need it. I need it. I need it.'

You repeated this like a mantra until your fingers were wrinkled and your skin slick like butter. Even your legs grew wobbly from the amount of hot water you absorbed, making it a bit hard to stand as you tried to get out of the tub. Once steady, you drained the water and cracked your back as you went about your usual routine of going out on the balcony for a long, overdue smoke.

"Ah, shit."

Except you'd forgotten to buy cigarettes.

"Perfect," You hissed and flopped your arms over the white railing. You glowered at your yard (particularly a certain tire swing) as you waited for a nice breeze to dry you off.

Sour and huffy, you leaned against your elbows and turned your attention towards the sky, noting it was a bit dimmer out then it had been before your bath. Instead of bright, wild blue yonder you could see bits of pink and orange peek over the trees as the sun got lower and the night cooler. Instead of puffy clouds that popped against cerulean, they were misty and flat as they spread all across the sky and promising a blanket to discourage star gazing.

You were so busy wondering if it was going to rain later that you didn't catch the skidding of tires and a flash of bright red turning down your road, fast and furious as the vehicle navigated the rocky curves of your driveway. 'Sulk' must be your middle name because you were too busy doing it to notice the cherry red gleaming between the twisted evergreen trees.

With a jolt of recognition, you reared back in horror as the vehicle skidded to a stop right next to the barn.

"No...no no no no no!"

The car door burst open and you were blinded by outrageously colored hair.

"Why the hell is HE here?!!"

You didn't have time!! Did you lock the door?!!

Of course not!!

"Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!!" You bolted across the balcony, your bare feet slapping against hard cement and scraping some of your heels and toes as you careened to a stop. Scrambling to the only other door on the catwalk, you looked over your shoulder to see the man almost halfway to your house, grin wide as he gently touched the tire swing along the way.

"Shit shit shit shit shit shit!!"

You pushed hard on the handle then grew furious when you realized the wood had swollen it shut.

"You sonuva-!!!" You jumped back, deciding the door needed a little persuasion and flat-out kicked it.

It swung open hard and fast, the wooden frame creaking while the furniture inside shook from the explosion of force. The room was dark and cool, most of the furniture barely outlined by the dying light outside, but you've navigated your room in the dark many times and this would be no different. You snatched up a pair of shorts off the floor and found a shirt from the dresser and hopped to the bedroom door with one pant leg on, too much in a hurry to bother with underwear or a bra.

Buttoned and zipped you flung it open and instinctively leapt over Orange Juice who had been waiting as soon as he heard you break into the house. You didn't have a chance to stop him as he ran into the room, your focus solely on slipping down the hallway where the wood felt slick beneath your damp feet. You grabbed the bannister and used it to take a sharp turn, accelerating you in your flight downstairs while heavy footfalls made their way up the porch.

It was a race against time as you caught sight of a silhouette through the door's glass panels.

Halfway there!!

The knob turned and the door creaked open. You didn't think, just jump from six steps up with a battle cry that would make any warrior proud. The landing was anything but graceful. Your right foot took the brunt of your fall while your center of gravity said "fuck it" when you started to topple forward. You imagined face planting into the door, but your body reacted quickly and instead found yourself raising a shoulder like a battering ram against hard wood and patterned glass panels.

The impact made your shoulder ache with pain, rippling and vibrating through your frame like an earthquake. You could feel your entire torso shudder and your toes curl with displeasure, but you stayed standing by sheer force of will. Your guest wasn't some pushover though, he had somehow foreseen your plan and hurried to stick his foot through the crack of the door.

A loud curse from the other side made you push harder, but you could tell the small breach was quickly becoming a worrisome chasm as he quickly grappled with the wood frame and pushed back. You noticed the tip of his pointed boot twitch, yet was too slow to realize he was going to use his body weight to win. You found yourself being flung back onto the floor as he used all his strength to get inside, new pain going up your backside as you rubbed your tailbone and glared up at your unwanted visitor.

But he ignored you entirely, his grin wide and toothy while he spun his arms around below his waist then jerked upwards where they stayed above his head with a powerful jut of his hips.

"SUUUUUUUUPPPPPPPEEEEEEEERRRRRR★BREAK IN!!!!!"

You instantly covered your ears and began to kick at his legs from your spot on the floor, "You can't just barge in whenever you want, you bastard!!!"

Franky laughed and undid his pose, his leather jacket crinkling back to it's relaxed state while his gold chain flashed briefly against his bare chest. His shoulders looked broader then ever, making it surprising he could still do that stupid pose in nothing but leather and tight blue jeans. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade comb and brushed back his pompadour, sly grin on his big, dumb face.

"I'm sure Adam disagrees~."

His smug voice made you seethe and your assault on him grew more insistent (if not, sloppy). You knew this was hurting you more than him judging by the way he just stood and watched while you bounced on the floor at a sorry attempt to add more offensive strength. Your butt was going to hate you, but if it meant you could get this nosy asshole to leave, then you didn't give a shit.

"Oi, oi." Franky placed his black boot on your hip and pushed you a few inches across the hardwood floor. "What's up your butt?"

"Nothing!!" You stood with a jolt, "Nothing except maybe loudmouth perverts!!!"

"AOW!!" In one smooth motion he struck out his hips and threw his arms in the air again, then his foot started to tap as if he were about to dance.

"STOP THAT!!"

Damn it, he drove you insane!! You couldn't even say a certain word without him exclaiming something or bragging about what he could do. Not only that, he had this weird big brother complex and insisted on visiting you what felt like twenty times a week. You'd think you would be used to it considering Franky and Adam had been best friends in high school, but it was hard to have patience when you were having the worst day of your life.

"Hm...?" His smile fell and he flicked up his glasses, dark-hazel eyes puzzled and a little worried. "This wouldn't have anything to do with you losing your job-?"

You clapped both hands over his mouth and looked over your shoulder with wide eyes, growing particularly nervous when your gaze landed on the living room. Amused, Franky allowed you to bully him outside where you shut the door as soft as possible and hoped no one could eavesdrop on you both.

"Idiot!!" You turned on him, outrage written all over your face. "What if he heard you?!"

Franky laughed, "So it's true!"

"I didn't lose my job!!" It was one thing to admit it to yourself, but you sure as hell wouldn't admit it to the world. You weren't weak!! You still had a job and you can still fix this!!

"What'd you do? Did you finally punch somebody? Gave them a right hook and call them a jerk?" He quickly stopped guffawing and tried to look concerned as he placed both hands on your shoulders. "Should I expect a call from their parents?"

You shook off his hands in irritation and glared, "I didn't punch anyone."

"...What about kicking? Did you kick someone?"

"No!"

"Well, you're gonna have to throw me a bone here. Y'know I'm bad at guessing."

You almost cried out in frustration, but instead took a deep breath as you pinched the bridge of your nose. "Look, Franky, I'm really not in the mood for this. Can you please just go?"

"Aw, don't be that way!" He flashed you another brilliant smile before reaching down to pick a case off the ground, having placed it by the front door during the 'battle'. Franky sat it on his shoulder and tapped the red cardboard, causing the glass bottles to clink together while the dark brown liquid swished invitingly.

"I brought you some grade a cola~!" He grabbed one of the bottles and held it in front of your face like he was dangling a car keys for a toddler. You couldn't help but feel the red and white Coca-Cola label was taunting you, as if a drink was good enough to make your ferocious temper to settle down.

You gave Franky an irate look and he shook the bottle again.

"Imported all the way from Mexico, just for you!"

Mexican cola?

...

How can anyone resist soda made with real sugarcane?

You were unable to stop yourself and snatched the drink from his hand, appreciating how the glass sat so cool and comfortable in your palm.

"Ass," You harrumphed. "You order these for yourself."

Franky laughed and grabbed a bottle of his own, popping off the top with just a flick of his thumb while the cap bounced and rolled off the porch. You watched the soda bottle slowly empty as he guzzled it all down, little drops of water sweating off the glass from the combination of cold soda and humid nights. Your own drink cooled your forehead as you pressed it there for a bit of relief, your annoyance quickly ebbing away as cold perspiration soaked into your skin.

You couldn't help but admire Franky. One word around town about your misfortune and he drove out of his way to bring you a damn coke. Something so simple shouldn't make you feel better, but the memories of sharing these every summer with your brother and his friend made you nostalgic and easy to please. He just knew you too well.

Finishing off his first of many drinks, Franky wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and peered at you curiously. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," You opened your drink, still reminiscing as you took a small sip.

"Hm." He nodded then motioned you to follow him down the porch steps, taking another bottle for himself and flicking the cap off into the gravel. "C'mon, girlie. Let's go have a look at Betty."

~~~

Other then needing new airbags, there really wasn't much to look at. Betty was in top condition despite her old age thanks to Franky's constant visits and desire to keep your vehicles up to date. You didn't bother stopping him, not when he did it for free. The big gorilla owned a successful auto shop in town, one so well-known that people all the way in California and New York called to ask for his help. You weren't sure how much he made, but considering he owned a scrap yard to build things for fun, you were positive he was making bank.

Franky grew especially attached to Adam's bike, putting in years of blood, sweat, and tears into each oil change, tire rotation, and battery upgrade. He even went so far as to help your brother replace the engine on the motorcycle and overhaul it to go faster then the original model. Of course, there were times you had to fight him off with a stick if he dared thought to add anything too drastic, but you knew he cared deeply for the thing.

As soon as he closed Betty's hood you could tell he was excited to check up on the cycle. Just the way he skipped over to the vehicle and he patted it like an old friend made it impossible not to smile. You watched it all from your perch on the work table, taking the occasional drink of your cola while Franky tinkered and talked about this and that.

You listened to him for the most part, enjoying the chit chat and letting it distract you from your awful day. Most of it was about cars, but all of it interesting.

Once he deemed Adam's bike acceptable, you both walked back to the house to talk some more. It was completely dark out and crickets were now mixing it up with the cicadas, the sounds were so loud that it was a wonder you could hear Franky at all. You felt something tickle your cheek and you thought it was the wind at first, but then a tiny glowing orb danced in front of your eyes and you realized the fireflies were out. They mingled and floated lazily around the yard, mostly congregating near the front porch where light filtered from the windows. You couldn't help but think of them as little lamps, all guiding you towards the front porch like a night parade.

Franky shooed a few away from his face and headed over to his corvette, popping open the trunk and pulling out two more cases of cola with an enormous grin. You rolled your eyes and followed him back to the house, the bottles clinking against one another while Franky hummed a little tune.

Instead of turning left towards the living room, you both went right where an entranceway led right into the kitchen. This part of the house was noticeably smaller then what you would see in an average plantation home. Whereas most country kitchens were wide and generous with counter space, this one was as wide as a trailer and just as long to boot. You weren't sure what happened, but you figured there'd been some remodeling done in the past considering the walls and cabinets looked much newer then the rest of the home. You personally didn't mind, no one in your family really knew how to cook, so anything fancy would be wasted.

The entire right side of the kitchen was lined with granite counter top, light-grey and almost blending seamlessly into the white wooden cabinets if it wasn't for the darker flecks of color littered here and there. Above the counter was a line of windows, each an ordinary four panel glass that allowed a view of the barn and that nefarious tire swing.

Along the bottom edges of the windows were bits of foliage slowly flourishing up and blocking some of the view, their tiny green leaves waving hello every morning and goodbye every night. Sometimes wildflowers would pop up during the spring and grow along the outside of the window frames like an enchanted garden, colors bright and glorious despite attracting the nastiest of bugs. The counter space itself wasn't very large, most the room used up for the sink and stove top that only had one working circle for pots and pans. The rest of the space was used for a breadbox and a few jars of sugars, spice, and flour; most of it a bit too cluttered to properly use.

On the left side of the kitchen was a single pantry cabinet that housed cans of food and sauces, along with a couple boxes of your favorite cereal. The bottom part even had a few dusty cookbooks, but you never really bothered with those. This fixture was more towards the back of the kitchen next to the refrigerator and a door that led to the backyard. Closer to the entrance was a modest table with two chairs, all sitting flushed against the wall to allow more walking room. They weren't anything special, just white oak that clashed nicely with the dark hardwood flooring.

The room was humbling compared to the rest of the house, which only made you love it more.

You both settled down at the table and continued your earlier small talk, artfully dancing around the subject of your job and what it meant for your future. He was good at this, helping you forget your hang-ups while making you laugh, shoving drinks in your hand, and actively caring. Franky could sense your insecurity, no matter what kind of tough act you pulled, he just knew.

Hours passed and you both got so wrapped up in your conversation that you didn't start to feel guilty until you realized it was half past midnight. Franky didn't notice how your face fell as he continued with his story, pounding the table heartily as he got to the best part.

You wanted to hear the rest, but the longer he made you smile and the later he stayed...the more selfish you felt.

"Franky..."

He stopped talking and stared, your head resting against your palm as you gazed out the window where the fireflies hovered and bumped into the glass panes. You could hear a lone frog gurgle right under one of the windows and you grinned, tipping one of the empty bottles with your finger.

"It's kind of late. Don't you have to get up early?"

There was a long, awkward pause before he spoke in a voice that you could only describe as brotherly affection. "You gonna be okay?"

You laughed, though it was clear you were uncertain. "You kidding? I always feel great after kicking you out."

A large hand grasped your head before you could stop him and coarse fingers ruffled your hair, tangling the strands into tight curls as you snarled and pulled away rebelliously.

"Jackass!"

Franky stood, letting his sunglasses droop over his crooked nose as he gave you a wink. "I'll see you tomorrow, girlie."

You scowled as he began to walk out of the kitchen, "You better not come here tomorrow!!"

"Don't forget to buy new airbags!" He didn't even turn as he left, the front door opening and closing as his vibrant energy seemed to leave the house dim and lonely.

You stared at the door for a while and listened as an engine roared to life and headlights flashed across the windows then fade away. Gravel pitched across the yard as tires spun and it wasn't long before you were left with nothing but chirping bugs, a lonely frog, and your own nasty thoughts.

Drained, you rubbed your eyes and stood, ignoring the several empty bottles littered over the table and the responsibility of throwing them away.

Not today. Not right now.

You shuffled out of the room like some zombie, body heavy and mind numb as you passed the stairs and went straight to the living room. Orange Juice was lazing on the couch with his belly upturned and paws folded as he purred with immense pleasure. You stopped to stare, wondering what he was so happy about until you noticed the bits of red on his lips and chin.

A small wave of agitation came and went as you plopped down next to him, his pudgy body bouncing on the cushion as he quickly turned over to blink tiredly at you.

"You ate my chapstick."

His eyes slowly closed and he purred, his tail thumping hard against your leg as you poked his stomach. "Fat ass. Stay out of my room."

You frowned at the sound of a door opening and turned to see the front door undisturbed. Then you realized the sound had come from the kitchen, which meant someone had come through the back.

"Damn it, Franky." You jumped up and stomped towards the kitchen, ready to pummel the ass for using the back door. He probably thought you'd lock the front as soon as he left, so opted to sneak in the back to do something....something Franky-ish!

Whatever it was, you already hated it.

You wished the kitchen had a door so you could kick it open and scare the jerk for thinking he could continue to break it. Sure, you left the doors unlocked all the time, but that wasn't an open invitation!!

"Franky, I swear to god if you're streaking in my house-!!"

You turned sharply into the kitchen and raised your fist in a threatening manner (it's always better to come out swinging). It took three steps inside before you jerked to a stop, two seconds to realize this man wasn't Franky, and one glance downwards to realize he was, indeed, naked.

"W-What?!" You stumbled sideways into the kitchen table, the soda bottles shuddering while one fell over and another rolled onto the floor.

You had to pull your eyes away from his junk only to get caught staring at his chest, spotting muscles that looked both supple and toned from years of hard, physical labor. He was tall too (a weakness of yours), standing lithe around 6'6" while his arms seemed oddly long, as if related to a daddy long legs. Your gaze raked over this for a moment, but more so along the middle of his torso where a long thin line seemed to rise all the way from the abdomen to his throat.

His stubble started around beneath his chin, sparse as it spread up to a trimmed goatee and windswept hair that looked like ink against the shadows of your kitchen. He had birdlike features, yet a small, straight nose that seemed to balance out the hawkish gaze set so firmly on his face.

Then you realized his eyes were gold and you reared back a little in shock.

This exotic man was John Doe, your John doe!!!

You could see his chest rise and fall, know his heart was pumping fresh blood through his veins as he stood completely healthy despite you cutting him open.

He was alive... Holy shit he was alive!!!!

You gripped the table as his eyes shone bright in the dark, feeling a creepy coldness wash over you skin like goosebumps. His mouth frowned and he took a step towards you, intent on-on doing something!!!

Instincts took over as you fumbled with the neck of an empty bottle, your pupils dilated and your grip tight as you smashed the butt of the glass against the table's edge. Glass shattered and spilled onto the floor and drops of leftover coke splashed on your hands, reminding you to take a deep breath and stay focused as you held the broken bottle out like a knife.

He paused, obviously not expecting this kind of response.

You sensed his hesitation and ran with it, "Step any closer and I'll gladly cut you open a second time!"

John Doe studied you, a slight tilt in his head as if a bird studying it's breakfast as it wiggled for dear life. You kept your glare harsh and you your hand steady, refusing to show any fear as what you thought to be a dead body stood in your kitchen.

And then, on one of the shittiest days of all existence, the worst happened...

He stepped forward.

Description

"Holy shit..."

Fast forward. Play.

CRAAAACCCCKKKKKK!!!

Rewind. Play.

"Holy shit..."

You sneered, smoke billowing around your head after a long exhale.

CRAAAACCCCKKKKKK!!!

The recorder felt heavy in your hand as you fiddled with the buttons, too focused on trying to figure out this damn noise to realize that the humidity was making the device slippery from a combination of condensation and your sweaty palm. Doing this outside probably wasn't the brightest idea to date, but you really needed this last cigarette and Adam would kill you if he found out you smoked inside. Your brother had never approved of your nicotine kick, but considering this habit was the least harmful compared to your previous addictions, he never pushed it.

But hey, at least it was legal.

Though, there was something wholly unsatisfying about cigarettes. The way the sterile white burned into a stain yellow after each hit was an eyesore and the only enjoyment that seemed to come of it was the ash that whisked away with the breeze. It was a fleeting euphoria that never really balanced out the migraines and clenched jaw you got when you hadn't had one in a few hours.

Maybe you should think about quitting...

"Holy shit..."

The loud, decisive crack rang through the tiny speakers and you scowled.

"Holy shit is right."

You flicked your cigarette butt and toyed with the idea doing the same thing to the tape. I mean, who would miss it? It would certainly make your life easier and heaven forbid your situation got any more complicated.

What's worse? A good little employee losing a dead body or a good little employee caught with evidence concerning said dead body? Just having this made it look like you were trying to cover your tracks. Next thing you know the police will be knocking on your door and carting you off to the police station kicking and screaming.

It was only a matter of time.

"Fuck." You pushed off the railing you'd been leaning against and paced around the porch like a untamed bull, mindful of OJ who was lazing about near the steps as he enjoyed the late afternoon sun.

He didn't even react as you shook the tape recorder like it was a person or when you repeatedly slammed it on one of the rocking chairs. Orange Juice merely yawned and started to clean his chest while you stepped over him and down the porch steps with fierce purpose. Wooden planks vibrated and hanging moss rippled as you put every ounce of anger you had into each, resolute step. The only thing louder then you were the cicadas, their stark songs ringing in your ears the closer you got to the tire swing where... You proceeded to beat the crap out of it.

This went on for a while, only stopping for quick moments to catch your breath before starting up again. Ten minutes had passed before you finally collapsed on the ground, your muscles sore and whole body cramped as you watched the tire swing lazily over your head with the rustling of olive green leaves and peeks of the open, blue sky as the backdrop. It's taut rope crackled quietly against the tree branch while grass tickled your ears and filled your nose with must and wet soil. You could feel a few sharp pebbles and a bottle-cap press against your back, no doubt thrown over here by Betty's tires after a rushed morning.

Taking a few deep breaths, you closed your eyes and decided now was time to act like an adult.

And what did adults do?

You placed your hand on your jeans pocket, your face screwing up in annoyance at feeling the crumpled little pack shoved haphazardly in your pants.

"Buy more cigarettes."

...and?

You groaned and rolled your eyes. "Go to the police."

~~~

The first thing you saw before turning into the parking area was the impound lot, it's tall chainlink fence housing lost and stolen cars, along with a few bikes locked to a rack. One look on the other side of the gate showed an officer talking to an irate-looking man gesturing towards an old Chevy. Even with your window up, you could hear the his furious shouts and how this was all some sort of mistake and-

You sighed in relief when the voice faded as you drove around the other side of the dull, tanned building and into the station's parking lot. The lower half of the structure had dark brown bricks as it's foundation while the upper levels looked like the beige was slowly making it's way towards the bottom after years and years of heavy rain and humidity. The steps looked cracked in a few places and the curved, arching windows had been repainted into the same shade as the building's brick support; though it seemed they'd run out of funds since only the front half of the department was actually finished.

The parking lot was only half full when you pulled in, most of the vehicles being off-duty police cruisers and a few others that belonged to office workers or visitors. You found a spot near the back of the lot and took your time getting out of the car, hand in one pocket of your red Letterman jacket while you toyed with the tape recorder. You tried to focus on the buttons, pressing rewind and fast forward while you stared hard at the department's entrance. Each twitch of your finger caused a soft whirring sound to emit from your pocket, it's quiet hum mixing distinctly with the cross necklace that clinked beneath it.

Part of you wanted all of this to be over. To just drop everything off, answer a few questions, then leave.

Except you knew that wasn't going to happen.

It hadn't taken much to make you uneasy around the police, their imposing uniforms and unforgiving manner in handling suspects; especially ones who were carted in and out like the station was a revolving door. You had many memories of being cuffed to a chair in the waiting room, bitter and annoyed as portraits of outstanding officers stared down at you, their cheeks dimpled and proud at whatever medal awarded to them.

Sometimes the cuffs would be too tight, cold steel digging into your wrist and rattling loudly with every move you made. This always gained you more attention, the lights in the waiting room shining down on you in an accusatory manner while people judged you for being some misguided youth.

You hated it so damn much that thinking about it made your chest tight and your hands shake. You had to lay your forehead against the steering wheel and close your eyes, the back of your neck prickling as if someone was giving you a very harsh glare. And just like that, it started to become harder to breathe and you had to open your eyes to gain some scrap of sanity.

Instead you were dizzy and nauseous.

How could you be so naive? They wouldn't believe you, not with all the crap you've pulled. All the fights you started, the morose drinking, skipping school, your downward spiral into drugs, and much, much more.

Stupid. Stupid! STUPID!!

You clenched the steering wheel tight and took a few deep breaths, fighting back the fear and anger that tried to overpower you. Ice seemed to rush through your veins and you felt terribly cold and clammy despite the Louisiana heat. Sirens roared as a police cruiser pulled out of the parking lot, red and blue flashes blinding your vision as you covered your ears. Suddenly you could hear a man jeering somewhere in the distance while a woman sobbed off in a completely different direction, all of it a jumble of white noise and nonsense that had no meaning.

The steering wheel acted as your anchor as you tried to calm down, your hands gripping it so tight that your fingers started to cramp and ache. Sweat trickled down your back while hair started to stick to your cheeks, the growing heat reminding you that Betty had AC. Shaking digits fumbled with the knobs and series of numbers in a desperate attempt for cool air, but you were too frazzled to understand that you'd turn the car off just minutes before. You ended up hitting the console in frustration before laying your head against the wheel again, your chest constricting with such pain that it grew hard to think.

Your heart raced like a galloping stallion, yet you couldn't breathe. Your head spun, but you weren't moving.

The world was a roller coaster and you just wanted off.

Disoriented, you don't remember turning on the car or pulling out of the parking lot. You can't recall which route you took or if you drove between the lines. You couldn't even recollect driving into the barn and turning Betty off.

But there was one thing that was hard to ignore, even as anxiety and panic drained away to leave you in an exhaustive mess. It was the excruciating shame of never leaving your car, never conquering your fears, and always losing no matter how hard you tried.

Perhaps you were simply destined to be a failure...

~~~

You needed bubbles.

Bubbles that popped as soon as they surfaced and bubbles that released wonderful aromas of vanilla, red rose, blue peppermint, or even green tea. You wanted them to fizz and burst thanks to the hot water meant to soak away your worries and allow the rising steam to cloud all senses. You wished to stretch your legs and wiggle your toes, to create tiny currents underwater as you leaned over the edge of your porcelain tub. You wanted to lay in the hot water for hours and just forget everything.

You practically marinated yourself in soaps, gels, and inexpensive bath bombs that probably changed the water color more then relax the body. Even if the product labels lied, you could just pretend they were working. It wasn't until you started to feel the back of your neck grow damp from the constant swishing of water did you finally submerge yourself. You were careful each time you dunked your head underwater, the blue peppermint soap threatening to sting your eyes if you so much as thought of peeking. Then you'd breach the surface like a mermaid, smoothing your hair back with water cascading down your body like rainfall.

Long stretches of time passed and the hot water turned lukewarm, prompting you to refill it just so you could relax a little longer.

'Just a bit longer,' you kept thinking. 'I need it. I need it. I need it.'

You repeated this like a mantra until your fingers were wrinkled and your skin slick like butter. Even your legs grew wobbly from the amount of hot water you absorbed, making it a bit hard to stand as you tried to get out of the tub. Once steady, you drained the water and cracked your back as you went about your usual routine of going out on the balcony for a long, overdue smoke.

"Ah, shit."

Except you'd forgotten to buy cigarettes.

"Perfect," You hissed and flopped your arms over the white railing. You glowered at your yard (particularly a certain tire swing) as you waited for a nice breeze to dry you off.

Sour and huffy, you leaned against your elbows and turned your attention towards the sky, noting it was a bit dimmer out then it had been before your bath. Instead of bright, wild blue yonder you could see bits of pink and orange peek over the trees as the sun got lower and the night cooler. Instead of puffy clouds that popped against cerulean, they were misty and flat as they spread all across the sky and promising a blanket to discourage star gazing.

You were so busy wondering if it was going to rain later that you didn't catch the skidding of tires and a flash of bright red turning down your road, fast and furious as the vehicle navigated the rocky curves of your driveway. 'Sulk' must be your middle name because you were too busy doing it to notice the cherry red gleaming between the twisted evergreen trees.

With a jolt of recognition, you reared back in horror as the vehicle skidded to a stop right next to the barn.

"No...no no no no no!"

The car door burst open and you were blinded by outrageously colored hair.

"Why the hell is HE here?!!"

You didn't have time!! Did you lock the door?!!

Of course not!!

"Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!!" You bolted across the balcony, your bare feet slapping against hard cement and scraping some of your heels and toes as you careened to a stop. Scrambling to the only other door on the catwalk, you looked over your shoulder to see the man almost halfway to your house, grin wide as he gently touched the tire swing along the way.

"Shit shit shit shit shit shit!!"

You pushed hard on the handle then grew furious when you realized the wood had swollen it shut.

"You sonuva-!!!" You jumped back, deciding the door needed a little persuasion and flat-out kicked it.

It swung open hard and fast, the wooden frame creaking while the furniture inside shook from the explosion of force. The room was dark and cool, most of the furniture barely outlined by the dying light outside, but you've navigated your room in the dark many times and this would be no different. You snatched up a pair of shorts off the floor and found a shirt from the dresser and hopped to the bedroom door with one pant leg on, too much in a hurry to bother with underwear or a bra.

Buttoned and zipped you flung it open and instinctively leapt over Orange Juice who had been waiting as soon as he heard you break into the house. You didn't have a chance to stop him as he ran into the room, your focus solely on slipping down the hallway where the wood felt slick beneath your damp feet. You grabbed the bannister and used it to take a sharp turn, accelerating you in your flight downstairs while heavy footfalls made their way up the porch.

It was a race against time as you caught sight of a silhouette through the door's glass panels.

Halfway there!!

The knob turned and the door creaked open. You didn't think, just jump from six steps up with a battle cry that would make any warrior proud. The landing was anything but graceful. Your right foot took the brunt of your fall while your center of gravity said "fuck it" when you started to topple forward. You imagined face planting into the door, but your body reacted quickly and instead found yourself raising a shoulder like a battering ram against hard wood and patterned glass panels.

The impact made your shoulder ache with pain, rippling and vibrating through your frame like an earthquake. You could feel your entire torso shudder and your toes curl with displeasure, but you stayed standing by sheer force of will. Your guest wasn't some pushover though, he had somehow foreseen your plan and hurried to stick his foot through the crack of the door.

A loud curse from the other side made you push harder, but you could tell the small breach was quickly becoming a worrisome chasm as he quickly grappled with the wood frame and pushed back. You noticed the tip of his pointed boot twitch, yet was too slow to realize he was going to use his body weight to win. You found yourself being flung back onto the floor as he used all his strength to get inside, new pain going up your backside as you rubbed your tailbone and glared up at your unwanted visitor.

But he ignored you entirely, his grin wide and toothy while he spun his arms around below his waist then jerked upwards where they stayed above his head with a powerful jut of his hips.

"SUUUUUUUUPPPPPPPEEEEEEEERRRRRR★BREAK IN!!!!!"

You instantly covered your ears and began to kick at his legs from your spot on the floor, "You can't just barge in whenever you want, you bastard!!!"

Franky laughed and undid his pose, his leather jacket crinkling back to it's relaxed state while his gold chain flashed briefly against his bare chest. His shoulders looked broader then ever, making it surprising he could still do that stupid pose in nothing but leather and tight blue jeans. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade comb and brushed back his pompadour, sly grin on his big, dumb face.

"I'm sure Adam disagrees~."

His smug voice made you seethe and your assault on him grew more insistent (if not, sloppy). You knew this was hurting you more than him judging by the way he just stood and watched while you bounced on the floor at a sorry attempt to add more offensive strength. Your butt was going to hate you, but if it meant you could get this nosy asshole to leave, then you didn't give a shit.

"Oi, oi." Franky placed his black boot on your hip and pushed you a few inches across the hardwood floor. "What's up your butt?"

"Nothing!!" You stood with a jolt, "Nothing except maybe loudmouth perverts!!!"

"AOW!!" In one smooth motion he struck out his hips and threw his arms in the air again, then his foot started to tap as if he were about to dance.

"STOP THAT!!"

Damn it, he drove you insane!! You couldn't even say a certain word without him exclaiming something or bragging about what he could do. Not only that, he had this weird big brother complex and insisted on visiting you what felt like twenty times a week. You'd think you would be used to it considering Franky and Adam had been best friends in high school, but it was hard to have patience when you were having the worst day of your life.

"Hm...?" His smile fell and he flicked up his glasses, dark-hazel eyes puzzled and a little worried. "This wouldn't have anything to do with you losing your job-?"

You clapped both hands over his mouth and looked over your shoulder with wide eyes, growing particularly nervous when your gaze landed on the living room. Amused, Franky allowed you to bully him outside where you shut the door as soft as possible and hoped no one could eavesdrop on you both.

"Idiot!!" You turned on him, outrage written all over your face. "What if he heard you?!"

Franky laughed, "So it's true!"

"I didn't lose my job!!" It was one thing to admit it to yourself, but you sure as hell wouldn't admit it to the world. You weren't weak!! You still had a job and you can still fix this!!

"What'd you do? Did you finally punch somebody? Gave them a right hook and call them a jerk?" He quickly stopped guffawing and tried to look concerned as he placed both hands on your shoulders. "Should I expect a call from their parents?"

You shook off his hands in irritation and glared, "I didn't punch anyone."

"...What about kicking? Did you kick someone?"

"No!"

"Well, you're gonna have to throw me a bone here. Y'know I'm bad at guessing."

You almost cried out in frustration, but instead took a deep breath as you pinched the bridge of your nose. "Look, Franky, I'm really not in the mood for this. Can you please just go?"

"Aw, don't be that way!" He flashed you another brilliant smile before reaching down to pick a case off the ground, having placed it by the front door during the 'battle'. Franky sat it on his shoulder and tapped the red cardboard, causing the glass bottles to clink together while the dark brown liquid swished invitingly.

"I brought you some grade a cola~!" He grabbed one of the bottles and held it in front of your face like he was dangling a car keys for a toddler. You couldn't help but feel the red and white Coca-Cola label was taunting you, as if a drink was good enough to make your ferocious temper to settle down.

You gave Franky an irate look and he shook the bottle again.

"Imported all the way from Mexico, just for you!"

Mexican cola?

...

How can anyone resist soda made with real sugarcane?

You were unable to stop yourself and snatched the drink from his hand, appreciating how the glass sat so cool and comfortable in your palm.

"Ass," You harrumphed. "You order these for yourself."

Franky laughed and grabbed a bottle of his own, popping off the top with just a flick of his thumb while the cap bounced and rolled off the porch. You watched the soda bottle slowly empty as he guzzled it all down, little drops of water sweating off the glass from the combination of cold soda and humid nights. Your own drink cooled your forehead as you pressed it there for a bit of relief, your annoyance quickly ebbing away as cold perspiration soaked into your skin.

You couldn't help but admire Franky. One word around town about your misfortune and he drove out of his way to bring you a damn coke. Something so simple shouldn't make you feel better, but the memories of sharing these every summer with your brother and his friend made you nostalgic and easy to please. He just knew you too well.

Finishing off his first of many drinks, Franky wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and peered at you curiously. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," You opened your drink, still reminiscing as you took a small sip.

"Hm." He nodded then motioned you to follow him down the porch steps, taking another bottle for himself and flicking the cap off into the gravel. "C'mon, girlie. Let's go have a look at Betty."

~~~

Other then needing new airbags, there really wasn't much to look at. Betty was in top condition despite her old age thanks to Franky's constant visits and desire to keep your vehicles up to date. You didn't bother stopping him, not when he did it for free. The big gorilla owned a successful auto shop in town, one so well-known that people all the way in California and New York called to ask for his help. You weren't sure how much he made, but considering he owned a scrap yard to build things for fun, you were positive he was making bank.

Franky grew especially attached to Adam's bike, putting in years of blood, sweat, and tears into each oil change, tire rotation, and battery upgrade. He even went so far as to help your brother replace the engine on the motorcycle and overhaul it to go faster then the original model. Of course, there were times you had to fight him off with a stick if he dared thought to add anything too drastic, but you knew he cared deeply for the thing.

As soon as he closed Betty's hood you could tell he was excited to check up on the cycle. Just the way he skipped over to the vehicle and he patted it like an old friend made it impossible not to smile. You watched it all from your perch on the work table, taking the occasional drink of your cola while Franky tinkered and talked about this and that.

You listened to him for the most part, enjoying the chit chat and letting it distract you from your awful day. Most of it was about cars, but all of it interesting.

Once he deemed Adam's bike acceptable, you both walked back to the house to talk some more. It was completely dark out and crickets were now mixing it up with the cicadas, the sounds were so loud that it was a wonder you could hear Franky at all. You felt something tickle your cheek and you thought it was the wind at first, but then a tiny glowing orb danced in front of your eyes and you realized the fireflies were out. They mingled and floated lazily around the yard, mostly congregating near the front porch where light filtered from the windows. You couldn't help but think of them as little lamps, all guiding you towards the front porch like a night parade.

Franky shooed a few away from his face and headed over to his corvette, popping open the trunk and pulling out two more cases of cola with an enormous grin. You rolled your eyes and followed him back to the house, the bottles clinking against one another while Franky hummed a little tune.

Instead of turning left towards the living room, you both went right where an entranceway led right into the kitchen. This part of the house was noticeably smaller then what you would see in an average plantation home. Whereas most country kitchens were wide and generous with counter space, this one was as wide as a trailer and just as long to boot. You weren't sure what happened, but you figured there'd been some remodeling done in the past considering the walls and cabinets looked much newer then the rest of the home. You personally didn't mind, no one in your family really knew how to cook, so anything fancy would be wasted.

The entire right side of the kitchen was lined with granite counter top, light-grey and almost blending seamlessly into the white wooden cabinets if it wasn't for the darker flecks of color littered here and there. Above the counter was a line of windows, each an ordinary four panel glass that allowed a view of the barn and that nefarious tire swing.

Along the bottom edges of the windows were bits of foliage slowly flourishing up and blocking some of the view, their tiny green leaves waving hello every morning and goodbye every night. Sometimes wildflowers would pop up during the spring and grow along the outside of the window frames like an enchanted garden, colors bright and glorious despite attracting the nastiest of bugs. The counter space itself wasn't very large, most the room used up for the sink and stove top that only had one working circle for pots and pans. The rest of the space was used for a breadbox and a few jars of sugars, spice, and flour; most of it a bit too cluttered to properly use.

On the left side of the kitchen was a single pantry cabinet that housed cans of food and sauces, along with a couple boxes of your favorite cereal. The bottom part even had a few dusty cookbooks, but you never really bothered with those. This fixture was more towards the back of the kitchen next to the refrigerator and a door that led to the backyard. Closer to the entrance was a modest table with two chairs, all sitting flushed against the wall to allow more walking room. They weren't anything special, just white oak that clashed nicely with the dark hardwood flooring.

The room was humbling compared to the rest of the house, which only made you love it more.

You both settled down at the table and continued your earlier small talk, artfully dancing around the subject of your job and what it meant for your future. He was good at this, helping you forget your hang-ups while making you laugh, shoving drinks in your hand, and actively caring. Franky could sense your insecurity, no matter what kind of tough act you pulled, he just knew.

Hours passed and you both got so wrapped up in your conversation that you didn't start to feel guilty until you realized it was half past midnight. Franky didn't notice how your face fell as he continued with his story, pounding the table heartily as he got to the best part.

You wanted to hear the rest, but the longer he made you smile and the later he stayed...the more selfish you felt.

"Franky..."

He stopped talking and stared, your head resting against your palm as you gazed out the window where the fireflies hovered and bumped into the glass panes. You could hear a lone frog gurgle right under one of the windows and you grinned, tipping one of the empty bottles with your finger.

"It's kind of late. Don't you have to get up early?"

There was a long, awkward pause before he spoke in a voice that you could only describe as brotherly affection. "You gonna be okay?"

You laughed, though it was clear you were uncertain. "You kidding? I always feel great after kicking you out."

A large hand grasped your head before you could stop him and coarse fingers ruffled your hair, tangling the strands into tight curls as you snarled and pulled away rebelliously.

"Jackass!"

Franky stood, letting his sunglasses droop over his crooked nose as he gave you a wink. "I'll see you tomorrow, girlie."

You scowled as he began to walk out of the kitchen, "You better not come here tomorrow!!"

"Don't forget to buy new airbags!" He didn't even turn as he left, the front door opening and closing as his vibrant energy seemed to leave the house dim and lonely.

You stared at the door for a while and listened as an engine roared to life and headlights flashed across the windows then fade away. Gravel pitched across the yard as tires spun and it wasn't long before you were left with nothing but chirping bugs, a lonely frog, and your own nasty thoughts.

Drained, you rubbed your eyes and stood, ignoring the several empty bottles littered over the table and the responsibility of throwing them away.

Not today. Not right now.

You shuffled out of the room like some zombie, body heavy and mind numb as you passed the stairs and went straight to the living room. Orange Juice was lazing on the couch with his belly upturned and paws folded as he purred with immense pleasure. You stopped to stare, wondering what he was so happy about until you noticed the bits of red on his lips and chin.

A small wave of agitation came and went as you plopped down next to him, his pudgy body bouncing on the cushion as he quickly turned over to blink tiredly at you.

"You ate my chapstick."

His eyes slowly closed and he purred, his tail thumping hard against your leg as you poked his stomach. "Fat ass. Stay out of my room."

You frowned at the sound of a door opening and turned to see the front door undisturbed. Then you realized the sound had come from the kitchen, which meant someone had come through the back.

"Damn it, Franky." You jumped up and stomped towards the kitchen, ready to pummel the ass for using the back door. He probably thought you'd lock the front as soon as he left, so opted to sneak in the back to do something....something Franky-ish!

Whatever it was, you already hated it.

You wished the kitchen had a door so you could kick it open and scare the jerk for thinking he could continue to break it. Sure, you left the doors unlocked all the time, but that wasn't an open invitation!!

"Franky, I swear to god if you're streaking in my house-!!"

You turned sharply into the kitchen and raised your fist in a threatening manner (it's always better to come out swinging). It took three steps inside before you jerked to a stop, two seconds to realize this man wasn't Franky, and one glance downwards to realize he was, indeed, naked.

"W-What?!" You stumbled sideways into the kitchen table, the soda bottles shuddering while one fell over and another rolled onto the floor.

You had to pull your eyes away from his junk only to get caught staring at his chest, spotting muscles that looked both supple and toned from years of hard, physical labor. He was tall too (a weakness of yours), standing lithe around 6'6" while his arms seemed oddly long, as if related to a daddy long legs. Your gaze raked over this for a moment, but more so along the middle of his torso where a long thin line seemed to rise all the way from the abdomen to his throat.

His stubble started around beneath his chin, sparse as it spread up to a trimmed goatee and windswept hair that looked like ink against the shadows of your kitchen. He had birdlike features, yet a small, straight nose that seemed to balance out the hawkish gaze set so firmly on his face.

Then you realized his eyes were gold and you reared back a little in shock.

This exotic man was John Doe, your John doe!!!

You could see his chest rise and fall, know his heart was pumping fresh blood through his veins as he stood completely healthy despite you cutting him open.

He was alive... Holy shit he was alive!!!!

You gripped the table as his eyes shone bright in the dark, feeling a creepy coldness wash over you skin like goosebumps. His mouth frowned and he took a step towards you, intent on-on doing something!!!

Instincts took over as you fumbled with the neck of an empty bottle, your pupils dilated and your grip tight as you smashed the butt of the glass against the table's edge. Glass shattered and spilled onto the floor and drops of leftover coke splashed on your hands, reminding you to take a deep breath and stay focused as you held the broken bottle out like a knife.

He paused, obviously not expecting this kind of response.

You sensed his hesitation and ran with it, "Step any closer and I'll gladly cut you open a second time!"

John Doe studied you, a slight tilt in his head as if a bird studying it's breakfast as it wiggled for dear life. You kept your glare harsh and you your hand steady, refusing to show any fear as what you thought to be a dead body stood in your kitchen.

And then, on one of the shittiest days of all existence, the worst happened...

He stepped forward.