Page 62 of No Romeo
I tossed my pen to the table, picked up my phone, and sent him a text.
Me: Hey. Are you dead?
SATAN: YES
SATAN: Put my body dust in a bottle and send it out to sea.
SATAN: Friend…
I rolled my eyes. Maybe he was with Wolf. Or at a girl’s house…The usual sense of sickness accompanied that thought.
SATAN: Why?
I didn’t respond to that. He wasn’t dead. I didn’t need his life story, though I was sure I’d get it. I went back to my paper and managed one word before my phone dinged.
SATAN: Miss my charming personality?
SATAN: Or my massive, pierced cock?
Me: Neither.
SATAN: I don’t believe you.
Seconds later, a picture of his erect dick popped up.
SATAN: Hard as the flagpole at National Mall
No words. I had no words. Just when I thought Hendrix could no longer shock me… National Mall…
I had to wonder where he could be with his hard dick out, who with… I hated the nasty little spike of jealousy that lanced through me, the way I zoomed in on the picture like some psycho looking for evidence.
I placed the phone down and took a deep breath before I went back to my paper.
My pen tapped the table in an angry rhythm as I stared, unseeing, at the words on the page. I tried not to care; I really did.
We were friends. I was the one telling him we could only be friends…
But screw it, we were who we were. A psycho is as a psycho does. If I had to be insane, I was taking him down with me.I tossed the pen to my book and snatched the phone, stamping my fingers over the device.
Me: I just wanted to check if I have a free house…
Bubbles immediately danced across the screen. Then stopped. Then started again. I could practically feel the rage coming through the phone, and I delighted in it far too much.
SATAN: For who? You and a soon-to-be corpse?
Me: Maybe…
SATAN: If you stick a soon-to-be-dead dick in you, you may as well just go ahead and call yourself a necromaniac. ‘Cause that fucker has one foot in a shallow-ass grave.
Me: It’s a necrophiliac!
I smiled as I sent the text. God, I was a hypocrite for liking his volatile possessiveness.
SATAN: Same thing. They both end with ac and my baseball bat in their skull.
Yep. Insane. Both of us.
The doorbell rang. I tossed my phone to the kitchen table and got up, knowing it would drive Hendrix crazy if I suddenly stopped responding.
