Work Text:
You know, a good way to make sure you don't get scars from cutting is to have a sharp blade. Another great way is to disinfect it right away. As soon as you see the blood pool, pour alcohol. The pain reminds you how much of a coward you are. You always went across the street to the hospital but you never went down the street to visit the morgue. You see it wouldn't stop bleeding so you stuff it with toilet paper. And your breathing tightens. And you feel a rush in your system, a rush different from all the percocet and xanax you down. You remove the toilet paper and you see it's still bleeding. You never bled this much when they tested you. And you realized you weren't breathing, you were shaking. The blade’s still in your hand. It’s getting dull. You better change it next time.
Next time.
Next time.
Next time.
Next time.
Next time.
Next tim–
I took staggered breaths.
All I could hear was my lameass gamer brother and mom arguing. The sound of my brother breaking shit while my mom bitches on about how much debt he's in over some slut he thought was the fucking one.
My diaphragm spasmed.
It never bled this much. They always said it took a lot for me to bleed. It never bled this much. I didn't know. It never bled this much. No, I knew. It never bled this much. I knew how much a human body could bleed. It never bled this much. How blood could pool into the ground, how quickly it dried out. It never bled this much.
My neck was choking itself.
They were still fighting when I got out of the bathroom. Downstairs, my brother’s sixth phone this year was busted up on the fucking ground next to the sixth TV since my dad blew his brains out. That was how it went. It was the fucking reason why we had to get all the cheap shit he complained about.
My lungs were collapsing.
I was back in my room. The smell of cigarettes and cheap weed permanently stained it. The scent. It made me wanna breathe in. Breathe in. Breathe in. I took long breaths. Long, long breaths. It was something I wanted to do, take long breaths. I was out of cigarettes. I didn't have shit left and I was taking in deep breaths.
My empty stomach wanted to hurl.
I heard what was probably a vase my mom definitely spent way too much money on shatter. I wonder what the neighbors thought of our shit. Or maybe that’s why cul-de-sac houses had lawns and backyards, so no one had to see whatever dirty laundry you were airing out that day.
Why the fuck were my eyes shaking.
It was probably colder than hell outside. I grabbed my phone and went through the contacts. But I just stared at them for a good while before I started twirling it around. It was late. It was school night late and Jecka actually had college prospects. She was probably doing her lit homework on whatever the fuck a shitty ass white man wrote a hundred years ago about other shitty ass white men.
My heart was beating fast.
I put on my red jacket and pocketed my phone. It wasn't that late. Even if it was, who gave a shit? I brought my phone out. I opened my contacts before closing it again. No, it was her fault. I groaned and left.
How far was it to Jecka’s house?
I felt like I had handcuffs choking my wrists.
Why was I walking?
They were tearing themselves apart from the inside.
Was I still bleeding?
The blood wanted t–
When was I at Jecka’s house?
My ears were hearing the faint sound of a shitty laugh track. I was in front of her door. My hand could've easily rang the doorbell. I was just standing there. I didn't even text her. She probably didn't even want me here.
I was choking my wrists.
Her doorhole stared directly at me.
I took a deep breath.
I rang her doorbell.
Her welcome mat lied to me.
I breathed out.
The door flew open to reveal Jecka.
She furrowed her brows.
Her dirty blonde hair was in a messy bun.
She wore a killer black tank top and bright blue pajamas.
She didn't have makeup on.
She really didn't need any makeup if I told the truth.
She’s beautiful even if it sh– No. Not even if.
She’s beautiful and she had eyebags lining her eyes.
“This better be fucking good,” Jecka said. “I’m watching Drake and Josh.”
“Listen up, bitch. I came here to do my fucking lit homework.”
She looked at me, her eyebrows unfurrowed. “Nicole, you don't do homework.”
“Look, sorry I’m a bitch who wants to hang out with a prep like you.”
“Nicole,” she said, sighing, “why are you really at my house?”
“Listen, I just wanna get this lit shit over with so I can get fucking lit.”
“Have you eaten?” she asked, looking straight into my eyes.
What were you supposed to say to that? That you hadn't eaten since… since… When was the last time you ate? It must've been recent. There was lunch today, right? No. It was spicy chicken sandwich day. The line was too long. Yesterday? Lunch was… it was pizza. Lines were long too, so I wouldn't have. How long could people go without eating? It must've been before then, right? But you couldn't remember. Not really. And you wanted to throw up, turn your stoma–
“Jesus Fucking Christ, Nicole,” Jecka said, leaving. “Give me five fucking minutes.”
She didn't slam the door in my face. She left it wide open. Her house smelled… different. Actually, it didn't smell anything at all. Or maybe it was the distinctive silence that permeated the whole house. The way the curtains didn't have dust clinging to them.
Why was I at Jecka’s house?
Just cuz we were going out now? It wasn't even official. We were just going out. And it wasn't like I was into her. It was more like you said yes to any girl who wanted to be with you. There was Arri and Emily, kinda, and now Jecka.
What was I doing?
“Why didn't you go in, Nicole?” Jecka asked, coming out of her house. “It’s colder than hell out here.”
I blinked.
Why didn't I go in her house?
Jecka sighed. She had her black jacket and a frown on. Her preppy blue collared shirt and white jeans really showed up my shitty black shirt and moth eaten jeans. She took my hand and led me to her car. She felt so warm. Her hands were so soft but all that did was remind you how callused your cut up hands must’ve felt, how cold they must've been.
Why was Jecka holding your hand?
We got into her car.
“We’re gonna drive-through McDonald’s, Nicole,” Jecka told me, starting her car. “What do you want?”
“Look, I wasn't really looking to eating McDonald’s tonight.”
“Well, it’s a place that's fucking open this late.”
What time was it?
She started driving. “And its a drive-through because I don't want to see you have a panic attack in a fucking McDonald’s.”
“Listen, who has a fucking panic attack at a fucking McDonalds? Like, at least have a panic attack at like a fucking KFC or something.”
Jecka sighed. She didn't say anything back. We drove past standard white house after standard white house in silence. The AC kept whirring out cold air. I was looking at Jecka under the shitty fluorescent street lights and the light polluted sky. Why was she driving me to a McDonald’s?
I felt my wris–
It was a silent drive. No music, just noise pollution. There was the siren of the occasional ambulance passing. The occasional homeless guy snoring. The car wheels invaded my ears. I was hearing my heart pump blood throughout my body. I listened to the sound of Jecka breathing.
I felt my ar–
She drove up through the drive-through and ordered on her own. Cheeseburgers. Coke. Nuggets. Fries. Apple Pies. She didn't need to ask me.
She paid for everything.
I felt my ne–
Why did she pay for everything?
I felt my li–
I… It was… I was… Did Jecka know I was on the assisted lunch program?
She shouldn't.
No.
She shouldn't.
No.
No.
N–
I was rubbing my wrists. Dried blood. They weren't bleeding. No. They weren't bleeding yet. They were gonna bleed all over Jecka’s car and she would abandon me by the side of the road for bleeding all over her–
She popped a fry into my mouth and began the drive back to her house.
“Nicole, I don't know why you went to my house,” she said, popping some fries into her mouth.
“Look, I already told you. I need to finish this lit homework.”
Jecka didn't smile. “But I want to help you.”
“Listen, you’re a preppy bitch. So, of course you want to. Like, it's a fucking prep’s whole shitty thing.”
Jecka stopped the car. “I need to smoke.”
We were by a shitty side of the road. No benches or anything, just a tree that smelled like piss and wall graffiti saying anyone who pisses by that goddamn tree was getting his fucking dick cut off. Jecka got out and brought the food with her, putting everything on the trunk. I followed her. She silently brought out a cig, looked at it, and went back into her car. I didn't even bother to go to her.
But she came back with a lit cigarette and asked, “Isn't the moon beautiful tonight, Nicole?” without even looking up.
It really wasn't. There wasn't a full moon or a blood moon or whatever the hell a blue moon was. It was just the moon with a shitty three-quarters cover or whatever it was called. Not even stars to make it worth looking up. Just a shitty moon. A shitty moon and a starless night sky.
She breathed smoke in my face. And I took a breath. That was a lie. I didn't take a breath, I was fighting for my life. The smoke was a resource. And I tried to make sure my lungs were coated with her secondhand.
“Here,” she said, shoving me a cig. “You look like shit.”
I twirled the cig in my hand, put it in my mouth, and leaned in. The tips of our cigs touched. I took in a proper deep breath until my cig lit up. I felt the nicotine enter my lungs, do irreparable damage. My heart pumped cig chemicals throughout my body until it reached my brain. For some reason, my wrists felt like they were filled with stainless steel. I exhaled and looked at Jecka.
She was eating her shitty cheeseburger and popped in a nugget every now and again. I breathed in. She popped a couple nuggets in my mouth. I breathed out. She took a long sip of coke. I breathed in. She made me take a long sip of her coke. I breathed out. She gave me my cheeseburger and I started devouring it. I breathed in. She popped fries into my mouth. I breathed out. She gave me an apple pie. I breathed in.
Shit.
Fuck.
Shit.
Fuck.
Shit.
Fuck.
“Nicole!”
I was on my knees. There was vomit all over the tree, on the sign against peeing there. The streetlight illuminating everything.
“Are you alright, Nicole?”
My throat rasped.
“Look…” My eyes bled and Jecka was looking at me under the light polluted sky. “No shit. Like, duh, bitch.”
“You’re always like that, Nicole! You always say you’re okay!”
I gasped for a breath. “Listen, you preppy ass bitch,” Jecka was listening to me over the noise pollution, “that's cuz it’s always fucking true.”
My cig was on the ground and I wiped the vomit off my mouth.
“Listen, it’s always goddamn true.”
“Please stop shouting, Nicole,” Jecka said softly.
Jecka was lying. I wasn't shouting. Shouting was the kind of shit your mom did after you got written up again. It was what your asshole brother did when you caught him stealing money from you. It was something your bitchass piece of shit dad did when pulled that trigger, when he wrote down it was your fault. That was how it went. It wasn't something you did. Jecka was lying.
Jecka sighed.
She could've left me. It would've been easy. So many dumb, slutty bitches die by a road every year. I would've been another statistic. Another white girl found with her clothes torn apart and any form of identification destroyed. But she didn't. Why didn't she?
“Nicole, you’re a real bitch,” Jecka said.
“Listen to yourself,” Nicole was saying. “You’re a bitchy white girl like me.”
Nicole?
“Look at me. I’m a bitch who’s addicted to xanax and percocet,” she was saying. “I think it’d be fucking sick as shit to snort my mom’s medicine cabinet.”
She?
“Kill yourself,” I was saying.
I!
I was throwing up. Again. My empty stomach puked out shitty processed browns of a cheeseburger mixed with all the fucking coke. It flowed, streaming down. I wiped my face off with my jacket sleeves again. The scent was never gonna wash off but I never really washed my jackets.
“Jesus Christ,” Jecka said, propping me up. “How are you so fucking heavy? You throw up everything you eat.”
She was still smoking. I took in a deep breath, inhaling all of her secondhand. I felt it mix in my lungs. I breathed out. She wouldn't bum me another cig. But her secondhand was enough, her evaporated spit mixing in with the smoke. Jecka’s breathe entering me.
She groaned.
“Look, I know you wanna say it.”
“Say what?” she asked.
“‘Listen, Nicole,” I was saying, “‘you’re a bitchy piece of shit and a burden to everyone around you. You Chernobyl everything you touch.’”
I looked at my vomit.
I heard her exhale.
“You are a bitch,” she told me, softly. “You’re a piece of shit and you burden everyone around you.”
I slumped against her car’s trunk.
Jecka was lucky I wasn't into that revenge suicide shit. It wasn't that I was scared shitless or anything. I was just the kinda person who lost interest pretty fucking quickly. I wasn't a coward or anything. It was just going down to the morgue was a lot of work. And, after Emily, it felt like committing suicide made you a poser and all. That was how it went.
What was that shitty thing Megan said in Theater? One of the few things she actually taught. Back in like a long ass time ago, there was this play called the Sonezaki Suicides or something and there were posers everywhere after that. Just shitty assholes offing themselves for attention. One after another. Did Romeo and Juliet give posers the same idea in Shakespeare ti–
Jecka grabbed your arm.
Shit.
She pulled it close to her.
Fuck.
She was just like that boy back when you were a freshman.
You stopped breathing.
She started kissing your wrist.
Huh?
She kissed across my wrists, down my arms, around my neck, before stopping and asking, “May I?”
I started breathing and nodded.
She kissed me on the lips.
She wasn't like that boy back when I was a freshman.
My jacket stayed on the whole time, my sleeves left on.
Holy shit. I could taste the shitty cheeseburger she ate, the fucking apple pie she had. But that didn't really matter. I could smell her. The smoke from her clothes, the shitty, overbearing scent of her cherry cologne. I could see the way she looked at me.
Why was I with Jecka?
Why'd she drive me all the way to a McDonald’s?
Why was she okay with kissing my vomit infested mouth?
It was colder than hell out here. Light pollution drowned out the stars and noise pollution drowned out the drunks. I was feeling so sweaty, so dirty. My red jacket must’ve been drenched. I inhaled the smoke she exhaled. I should've removed my jacket. But she kept kissing me anyway.
“You’re a burden on everyone around you, Nicole,” she softly whispered into my ear. “But that's okay. It’s alright. You’re a burden to me and that's fine. I’ll let you be a burden. You can burden me anytime.”
She took a drag from her cig and didn't exhale. I was looking at the eyebags she had, probably from studying too much. She leaned in. I was listening to her irregular heartbeat. She kissed me, her smoke shotgunned into my lungs. My eyes were tracing her smile lines, the wrinkle around her forehead. Jecka was really beautiful and she was spending her time with a girl who only really felt the veins around her wrists.
I guess she was technically going out with me. But we were only going out. It wasn't anything actually serious. My heart was going to give out. Her car creaked under our weight. I was cupping her cheeks and she let go of the kiss. We exhaled smoke in each others’ faces. But I desperately tried to cling onto her secondhand.
“Okay,” Jecka said, grabbing her half-eaten cheeseburger, “I gotta finish my food. Want some fries?”
I was looking at her. I took a fry. I touched my lips. I took another. I touched my neck. I drank some coke. I felt sweat trickle down my arm. I smoked her cig. I felt my wrists. I wanted to throw up.
When Jecka finished, we just threw our trash with the rest of my vomit. Who gave a shit? We got back into her car. And drove in silence. Movies always ended here. They were supposed to give in to tension and release. The peak of an episode into something gentle before the credits rolled.
But no.
Shit kept going.
And there was a pain in my chest.
Now it wasn't just my wrists.
I was also feeling it down my arms, around my neck, and on my lips.
The urge.
There were handcuffs around my wrists.
My arms were in a straitjacket.
There was a rope coiling around my neck.
Metal was on my lips.
The little chemicals in my brain were telling me, “Jecka told you you were a burden. Before you could say anything she shut you up with a kiss. Cuz she was a slutty bitch. You are a burden. Jecka was gonna ditch you then you manipulated her into pitying you again, you toxic whore.”
I wasn't thinking about that though. I was thinking what was supposed to be next. Were we supposed to be all sad? Was she supposed to have kept kissing me, our eyes dead the whole time? Should she have fallen into my arms? Did I want her to tell me nothing mattered, that nothing lasts forever?
Jecka would never, though.
Even when she kissed me, there was life in her eyes. Her amber eyes, almost brown under streetlights, were filled with the future. She was going to college, she was going to get a job, and she was going to get married to some piece of shit. She was normal. She had a stay at home mom and a working dad. She was normal.
She was normal…
Why was the AC still spewing cold air? The heater was supposed to be on. Shit sucked ass. And she didn't say anything until we got back to her house. No music either. Even though I knew she liked MSI and had a CD in here somewhere.
What was I doing? Why was I with Jecka?
I brought my phone out and went through my contacts. My actual contacts, not my texts. I was just thinking how I wasn't actually saving any contacts. The only real contacts I had were Jecka and Arri. That was weird, right? I had Arri saved for the power trip but Jecka and I… we were just messing around, just going out? Why did I have her saved?
Why wasn't there any music? I would've settled for the fucking Mountain Goats.
The reason why I was in Jecka’s car became increasingly unclear to me. There was an aching sensation in my head, just in front of the back of my head. And I was forced to gaze upon Jecka. The way she drove. Her eyes darting back and forth. The breaths she took, the way her stomach contracted in time.
Jecka was wasting her evening with me. It wasn't as if I was particularly into Jecka either. No. I was a sociopath. The only reason I was even going out with Jecka was because she was drunk at a party and told me she was into me. It was way different from when Arri wanted to date me. Arri was different levels of fucked up that was a–
Vomit rose up to my neck. I was feeling it poke my throat, damaging the already broken skin. But no. I wasn't about to throw up in Jecka’s car. That was a different line I wasn't willing to cross yet. If I did cross it, Jecka would abandon me and it’d be my fault, the way it was my fault Arri broke up with me.
Jecka stopped driving.
This was it.
I was told after Arri broke up with me, I was found in a tub with a half-assed attempt.
It was cowardice.
No.
No.
I wasn't a coward.
It was just that I wasn't really feeling it anymore.
I wasn't a coward.
It wasn't that I was a coward or that I was scared of killing myself.
I just wasn't fee–
“Nicole!”
I turned to look at Jecka before quickly looking away.
“We’re back,” she told me.
We were parked on Jecka’s driveway.
We were at her house again.
“Listen, aren't your parents gonna bitch about me being here?”
“My mom’s passed out on heroin and my dad’s passed out drunk,” she told me. “They don't have to know.”
I was trying to take a peak and saw a faint smile.
“C’mon, Nicole.”
We got out of her car and went inside her house.
She led me through the hallway, up the stairs, and into her room. She really was a prep. Her vanity table was full of makeup worth more than whatever life I was living. She had disgustingly pink bedsheets and a distinctive lack of posters on the wall. Her bookshelf had classics next to textbooks next to SAT prep books.
“I noticed you didn't bring a book or a laptop,” Jecka said, taking her jacket off.
Huh?
“What was your lit homework about?”
Fuck. Shit. Right. I was looking through her bookshelf, at the blur of oranges and blacks.
She stood next to me. I was feeling Jecka’s warm body next to me, her cherry cologne and smoke scent intoxicating my body.
“Look, it’s remedial English. Ms. Ames would be happy if I just read anything.”
“Hmm…” Jecka’s fingers flew across her books until it landed on a red one. “This one,” she said, showing me its yellow cover with a large, black “K” and a cockroach on top.
The book was called Metamorphosis . It looked pretty thick too and was probably about something stupid like the world slowly getting fucked over by a man. His fucking metamorphosis that made the lives of the assholes around him even shittier.
Jecka thumbed through the first couple pages of the book, going back and forth, before stopping. “If Gregor Samsa,” she read aloud, “could find his way to the word ‘dream’, then he would be calmed. ”
She closed the book and handed it to me. I looked at it. Its spine was cracked, the cover was bent, and there were pink and blue sticky tabs all over the side. All in all, it was pretty run down.
“Make sure you read Adam Thirwell’s introduction,” Jecka said. “It makes it easier to read.”
I groaned, flipped through the book, and landed on a page somewhere early on. It had a pink tab and, highlighted in bright pink, were the lines “Dead? ” and “now thanks be to God. ” So I was thinking of reading the lines before them.
I closed the book and went to lie on Jecka’s bed. And she sat up next to me.
I groaned aloud, opening the book to the stupid Adam Thirwell introduction. It was boring, it really was. But Jecka was there.
When I was beginning the actual story itself, Jecka started humming. I glanced over, she wasn't even reading. She was just watching me.
I sighed.
I wasn't a bitch that read but I kept reading. And, by the end of the story, I was beginning to understand that Gregor is dead and his family was relieved. That was how it went.
“Nicole,” Jecka asked, “are you alright? You’re crying.”
I wasn't crying. I really wasn't. Jecka was just lying. “Listen to me. Of course I’m ok. Why wouldn't I be okay?”
“Nicole,” Jecka softy said, leaning in for a kiss.
I was beginning to think about why I was even here, why I was even able to think about being with Jecka. It was something real shitty, I was betting.
And so, Jecka kissed me. She kissed my cheeks, one at a time, before moving onto my lips.
But there wasn't anything there. There should've been, I was thinking, but there wasn't.
It was supposed to make me feel better. And I was enjoying it. But I wasn't feeling particularly happy nor sad nor pleasure nor disgust. It was as if Jecka was kissing me and I was just there.
“Look, Jecka,” I shoved her, “I was thinking I should get home.”
“Oh,” she said. “Sorry. I’ll drive you home then.”
She grabbed her jacket and I took her book. We made our way downstairs and to her car.
I was starting to realize I wasn't here because of anything really. It was just that I was using Jecka. I’m a very selfish person, I really am.
Sooner or later, Jecka would find out. But that wasn't what mattered, not really. It was that when shit hit the fan and I had to move again, it would be… It was that…
Yeah.
It was like… wasn't it? People move and you’re forgotten. I was thinking about this girl I used to bully. It must've been the sixth grade. Or maybe the seventh. Eighth? When it happened didn't really matter, I was guessing. The point was, bullying her was really easy because I wasn't ever going to see her again. And I never did.
But, also, I remembered a while back I saw she posted how she tried to kill herself on MySpace. How she tried to OD on paracetamol. And there were so many people who sympathized with her, who said it was going to be alright. Assholes who bullied her as much as I did.
It made me mad, it really did. I was fucking pissed off my mind. And it wasn't just that she was a fucking poser, she was. No. It was that she was a coward, a big shitty fucking attention seeking whore coward.
She was saying how the doctors thought it was a miracle she didn't die with how much paracetamol she downed. But it was fucking paracetamol. And modern medicine is basically fucking magic. She just got her stomach pumped was all. It wasn't a fucking miracle. It just was.
And it was making me think about killing myself. If I killed myself, if I hung myself or overdosed or slashed my veins up, I was beginning to realize that no one would even care enough to think about me. That was how it went.
“Nicole,” Jecka said, “I want to say sorry.”
Oh.
“I should have asked first.”
That was wrong.
“I know it’s hard for you.”
That's right.
Jecka was here, wasn't she?
But why was she here? I wasn't good at remembering things, my whole life was basically a blur, but I was remembering Jecka’s face at ER. Twice. She was there when I was found in a tub, after Arri broke up with me, and when I was convulsing on the ground, after Emily convinced me to do a double suicide. Arri ended up dating Hunter and Emily’s dead now. That was how it went.
There wasn't a reason for her to be there. Actually, there was a reason for her to never hang out with me again. I was thinking that, in her mind, I was just an attention seeking whore. No more, no less. But Jecka wasn't like that. She was…
Oh.
She was going out with me .
I looked at her, driving. She opened her mouth but didn't say anything before closing it again.
And I was starting to realize that the only reason why Jecka was going out with me was because I’m an active suicide risk. That was the only thing I could think of. Maybe if I hadn't attempted twice in a year, she wouldn't have gone out with me.
No.
That was wrong.
If only I wasn't a coward. If I didn't half-ass cutting myself in that bathtub, if I didn't secretly dilute my pill mixture, then I would be dead and Jecka wouldn't have to be in our shitty hostage relationship. That was how it went.
That was it, I was manipulati–
“Do you want me to walk you to the door?” Jecka asked.
We were at my house. It was quiet now. How late was it? Did they even notice I was gone?
I wasn't looking at Jecka. I wasn't listening to her.
I just got up and left, if you wanted to know the truth. And, the next thing I knew, I was in my room. Alone.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Jecka.
I wasn't really in the mood to open it.
Why was she texting me?
Of course, I knew why.
But it wasn't really something I was thinking about.
My phone buzzed with another text from her and I threw my phone across the room where it smashed into my guitar.
I was imagining Jecka. I was imagining her dirty blonde locks scratching my neck, her amber brown eyes staring into mine. I was imagining her cheap cherry cologne and the strong, unmaskable scent of fresh cigarettes on her.
I was imagining.
I was imagining.
I was imagining.
I was imagining.
I was imagining.
I was imagining.
I was imag–
I heard my phone buzz again, from inside my guitar.
And there was nothing to be done.
I felt a knot circle itself around my neck as my lungs emptied themselves.
Why was Jecka with me tonight?
My arms began to itch as I felt my stomach gurgle.
Of course, I knew the answer. It was because I was manipulating her into being there for me. That was it. It was all an elaborate power trip fantasy for me. It really was. After all, why else would Jecka have agreed to be with me?
So I turned the lights off and went to bed.
And, as I was staring up at a darkened ceiling, I was thinking about the fact that I was better off dead, that I should’ve never been born. That was how it went. I was aware of the fucking fact that there was some shitty basic part of myself that meant I was nothing at all.
Why was I at Jecka’s? Why was she alright with me? There wasn't even a consolation prize for me to win. What was I even saying? Was there anything to this? Of course not. I’m a terrible person, a sociopath. Whatever I say doesn't mean anything other than what I said. So, if you were going to imagine my future, you should imagine a shitty corpse hanging from the fucking ceiling — forever. That was how it went.