8 - Girls Gone Wild
inuxxian@gmail.com
Hayley and Becky go road tripping.

Hi kids! Been a while. Miss me? Not gonna blame you; I'm pretty
missable. I mean, you probably like to compartmentalize, or
whatever--keep your nice normal constructive-member-of-society life
separate from your secret Internet life reading about your favorite
little psycho. Which you probably think makes it OK, but come on, it
totally doesn't. Just cause you close the curtains and wash your hands
after you're done reading about me making some innocent teacher suck
Raid doesn't mean you're not still beating off to his misery. So yeah,
still a sick little puppy. Try not to hate yourself. Welcome Hayley
home, bitch.

Haha, sorry. I'm on kind of a high right now. Not that kind, although
we'll get to that--I just got back home, haven't even packed a bowl
yet. If you wanna know where I've been, though, the short answer's
spring fucking break, and the long answer is gonna give you some
seriously fucked dreams. Is there such a thing as a wet nightmare? I'm
an innovator.

So Becky and I did the whole road-trip thing for break. To Mexico,
natch, because what's the point of a vacation where you can't pay some
poor people to degrade themselves onstage while you pop resold pills?
Exactly. And in case you've lost track I am still single, even if I
did totally start to miss Liam while I was down there. See, I KINDA
have feelings. Anyway I'm not gonna tell you the whole Mexico story
because there is just too much to even tell, although I should
probably give a shout-out to the night involving a drunk lost frat
boy, some severe lacerations, and Pop Rocks. Which probably isn't as
bad as it sounds, although it is as fizzy. Think of it as a really
intense hazing. And now he's an honorable brother in the fraternity of
being a corpse in a Dumpster. They have Dumpsters down there!

Ahhhh, that's my jam. Huge bowl, cold water, come to mama. Tell you
one thing you miss in Mexico: L.A. weed. Also your boyfriend's dick
ugh I am NOT thinking about that right now. Gotta wait at least a
day. Lemme tell you a bedtime story to take my mind off it.

We were like a mile south of ----, with Becky driving and me handling
the iPod. Which Becky was complaining about like the whole trip
because I kept playing Britney Spears and Becky for some reason
despite actually being fucking FROM LOUISIANA doesn't like Britney;
you'd think there'd be home-state pride or something. (If you don't
like Britney then fuck you; I am not even explaining this to you. Call
me when you've beaten your eighth-grade boyfriend bloody at his
parents' anniversary party while "Gimme More" plays.) It was fucking
brutally hot, like sun-right-overhead skin-cancer-in-seconds hot, and
we pulled over at a gas station for Becky to pee and for me to buy
some Gatorade. What we really wanted was Coke, but obviously you
should wait till Mexico for that.

There was only one person besides the clerk in the place--this
college-freshman-looking guy in like board shorts and a shirt hanging
open because he'd obviously just got his pecs and thought they were
the best things ever. They weren't bad. It's fun being single because
you get to play that marry/fuck/kill game with every boy you meet and
actually mean it, except for the marry part.

He was looking at me, obviously, because I was in this little pink top
that is totally simple but which I am completely in love with, and
those really tiny little jean shorts with something written across the
ass in beads ("KISS ME", yeah I know, but whatever, I rock it), and
also I gave him a smile when I came in. (I am like an expert smiler; I
use my eyes and everything. I can be feeling, like, nothing and make
you think I've never been in love with someone this much
before. Someday I'll use my powers for good, when I've completely run
out of anything else to do.) He was lined up behind me while I bought
the Gatorade and practically burning a hole in KISS ME and I felt
kinda sorry for him because board shorts must suck to get a boner
in. Then he followed me out, and I basically had one of those
good-Hayley/bad-Hayley conflict situations, where the little angel and
the little devil appear on your shoulders and argue. Except for me
they always end with the devil bending the angel over, fucking her up
the ass, and making her scream that she loves her mommy. So I turned
around and gave pecs-boy a big fake smile and said "Where are you
headed?"

He said he was going to TJ too, which figured. The only other car in
the parking lot was this like disgustingly nice convertible his
parents probably bought him as a graduation present or some
bullshit. (Don't get me wrong, I'm all for exploiting your parents,
but every time I see a car like that I just wanna pee on the
seats. It's the class warrior part of me, I guess. Either that or the
part that just likes fucking up nice things for funsies.) Anyway there
was a girl sitting in the car, this kind of vacant-looking cheerleader
girl with a ponytail, and I asked him who she was.

"That's my girlfriend."

"You're going to TJ with your girlfriend?"

"Yeah."

I made a little fake-sympathy face. "That bites." Which made him
laugh. God, talking to boys is like playing with those
remote-controlled cars. (I am officially high as fuck now, so if my
similes get weird, just go with it.) The girl was turning around and
looking at us and she couldn't even hear what we were saying but man I
could just FEEL the jealousy. Instant wettie. Look at me rocking my
emotional issues.

The girl called the guy's name, which I totally do not remember so you
should check the newspaper if you for some reason care, and he headed
over to her and I followed him. Becky was coming out of the bathroom,
clopping those amazing cowboy boots on the asphalt. We should get that
girl spurs. I just thought of that. She was in one of those really
girly pink dresses she has, with like sequins and shit. Becky's a
Disney princess. We were coming at the car from opposite sides and the
girl's head was twisting back and forth, worrying about both of us,
which, sweetie, you have no idea.

"Hi," she said to me, all nervously. She had this total helium
cheerleader-voice. I don't hate cheerleaders or anything--I used to be
one in ninth grade, before a little incident with an away-team girl
and cleats--but I'm not gonna deny they can be pretty fucking
annoying. And I'd respect this girl if she'd stood up to me, since I
was obviously all over her boy, but she was just acting friendly like
she thought everything was gonna be OK, which I could see from Becky's
smile it really fucking wasn't. The gas station was on this back road
and we hadn't seen any cars coming in. Becky was swinging one of her
boots up into the car and hopping up to sit on top of the door. She
was like MASHING a stick of gum; I think she might have dropped E in
the bathroom. The guy did this little "hey, wait" thing but it was
pathetically weak: at this point he would have cried if we'd left.

"This is Becky," I said.

"SO good to meet you," she drawled. Helium girl stuttered out another
"hi".

"So what are your girls' plans for down there?" the guy asked.

I shrugged. "Fuck shit up?" Becky started laughing--yeah, she was
definitely rolling--and so did I, and so did pecs. Everyone except
helium girl, basically. So Becky reached forward and gave her this
really light slap--not hard at all, you know, just enough to invade
her space--and said "Party pooper."

I am seriously getting juicy just remembering this. Maybe I'll call
Liam. Fuck. No. Get control of yourself, Hayley. Hey, maybe I'll call
YOU. Maybe this is your lucky day. How soon can you get down here?
I'll be on my bed stoned out of my brain, playing with my
nipples. Maybe I could, y'know, beat on you a little bit? Nothing too
bad I promise. Like there's any way you could pretend you wouldn't
love that--if you've read eight of these stories without calling the
cops I think it's pretty clear baby's got needs.

Anyway I really was so completely blissed out, there in the parking
lot. The sun was so hot I could FEEL myself tanning, and I was
sweating a little, and my girl Becky was getting high and
unnecessarily violent, and pecs was basically setting a new world
record for how fast a guy can become my bitch. He was staring like a
retarded kid with something shiny at either my boobs or my arms, I'm
not sure which. Probably boobs, but let's say arms--I've finally
embraced my inner jockiness lately and I'm getting kinda jacked. Plus
if he's a muscles guy you two have something in common! (Besides just
being my bitch I mean. LOL me.) You can, like, identify with him;
it'll make this next part more real. The girl was whining in her
Minnie-voice for her boyfriend to start driving, and I turned my back
to her, leaned against the car, and smirked at pecs.

"Your girlfriend's kinda boring." I lolled my head back, all the way,
so I was looking upside-down at Becky, who was taking the little teal
wad of chewed gum out of her mouth. My shirt pulled up a couple inches
above my belly button; the sun felt fucking A+. The guy's stiffy must
have been at brain-damage levels. "Isn't she, Becks?"

"So boring," Becky said, and smushed the gum into helium's hair. The
girl tried to stop her but Becky's other hand shoved her back in the
seat, way harder than the slap had been. God, I love escalation. Makes
a girl all giddy.

When I looked back pecs had this adorably conflicted expression on his
face, like he was trying really hard to care about what was happening
to his girlfriend but couldn't think with three-quarters of his blood
in his dick.

"Who's your favorite serial killer?" I said.

"Wh--I--what?"

"Let's GO," helium squeaked. I heard Becky smack her, fucking HARD
this time, and she started with this wounded-chipmunk scream that only
stopped when Becky wadded something in her mouth; I couldn't see what
it was. After that it was just muffled whimpers and Becky's dumb
little giggles. I was running a finger over pecs' pecs. "C'mon," I
said, "who's your favorite? Are you a Dahmer boy? Starkweather?"

"Help me!" Helium was mumbling, at least I think so, but who knows.

"Guess who MY favorite is," and then I kneed him in the nuts.

He doubled up, like as much in shock as in pain, and I slammed my fist
into his face and I think pulverized his nose in one hit, because I am
a fucking superheroine. He went down to his knees holding his face and
screaming "FUCK", and I got around behind him just in time to see
Becky grabbing helium by her ponytail and slamming her face into the
dashboard, over and over, making these pumpkiny CRUNCH sounds, leaving
a big spattered stain on the leather. I shoved pecs against the car
and opened the door and then just stood back a second to bask in the
moment: the sun, the breeze, the sweat on my skin. Helium's face was
starting to ooze. Fuck I love spring break.

I lifted pecs' arm up and stuck it through the car door, just behind
the driver's seat, jammed in there against the corner of the
doorframe. Yes, this is going where you think it is. That sound you
hear is angel-Hayley getting buttfucked and loving it. Plus me taking
another bong rip because if things keep going like this I might get
juicy enough to eat through the bed.

Becky had finally stopped slamming helium against the dashboard and
was like bending her head back so that she'd face up with what at this
point didn't look all that much like a face, although Becky still
slammed a pretty epically brutal elbow into it, just to splash around
in the puddle I guess. Whatever it was had fallen out of helium's
mouth and she was screaming again but had started sounding like a fish
in a Disney movie. (By the way, Ariel's the best. Disney
princess. This is so obvious. Becky's a Belle fan or something which
is fucking retarded.) And as Becky forced helium's head back I forced
pecs' head back, like against the side of the car, and his eyes
swiveled up and her eyes, like, tadpoled up, and they looked right
into each other and there was this total English-class moment where
you realize what hurt so much isn't that he was too weak to save her
physically but that he betrayed her back when he thought we were just
slutty girls on the road, and that they were both dying because he
didn't respect her enough not to leave her, and it was really, really
moving. Then I slammed the door, which popped the guy's bone out of
his skin, and asked Becky what animal she thought the noise he made
sounded like.

She was dropping helium back onto the seat. (I dunno if you could say
she was unconscious--she was crying a lot--but she wasn't exactly in
fight-back condition at this point.) "Wait here, darlin," Becky was
saying to the puddle.

"An ostrich?"

"God, Hayles, you ARE a firecracker." She was doing that thing she
does on E where she goes Deep-South all of a sudden. Helium was lying
on the seat and Becky was walking over to our car, snapping her gum,
swaying her hips, clopping in those fucking BOOTS god you have no idea
how many people I would murder for those boots.

"Hey, can you make that sound again?" I asked pecs, who was apparently
on that level of extreme pain where you stop crying. I don't even know
if what he did actually qualifies as mumbling something. "Dude, c'mon,
I wanna figure it out. Just try." Nothing. Becky was opening the trunk
of our car. "Come ON, dude! Make the sound!"

He gave me the least convincing "go to hell" ever. Way to learn all
the wrong lessons from slasher movies, dickbrain. "Um, no. That
actually didn't sound anything like it, it's kinda weird that you
think it does." I dragged him out, spun him around so he was bent over
the car, and shoved his other arm into the doorframe. "Here, lemme
show you."

Becky was walking back, chewing, grinning, and swinging a
pro-specifications wooden baseball bat. (I know it's pro
specifications because she's told me like nine zillion times, it's
fucking stupid.) Neither of pecs' arms seemed to be working now at
all. "Seagull," I said. "Right, Becks?"

"You are so goddamn smart," Becky said, and opened the door to let
helium half-slump out.

It's hard to think of ways to, like, describe what happened at this
point and really make sure you get the image right. I have to think of
a really good metaphor or something. Ooh, got it: imagine that a tall
teenage blonde girl in the best boots ever is standing over some
random cheerleader ditz whose face was decently pretty five minutes
ago but now looks like something someone made with Hamburger Helper,
and the boots girl beats the cheerleader to death with a baseball
bat. That's pretty much what it looked like, except in the real
version her crippled boyfriend got to watch. Truth is always cooler
than fiction.

The show went on for like at least fifteen seconds of surprisingly
loud thuds and some serious screaming before the dipshit clerk finally
came out of the gas station asking what the fuck was going on here. At
this point I was pretty much done being creative, so I took the gun
out from where I'd tucked it into a back pocket in a surprise dramatic
twist, and pointed, and cocked, and I am an awesome shot, and his
brains went all over the giant freaky human-eyed Slurpee painted on
the window. Take that, corporate America!

"Jesus FUCKING Christ, girl," Becky said.

I was kind of giddy. "Head shot!" 

"What the fuck was that?" I was smirking and doing the little
blow-on-the-barrel thing. "What the fuck do you have a gun for?"

"Protection." I tucked it back into my pocket. "Dangerous for girls
out here." I shoved the guy into the back seat; his legs dangled out
and I jammed a shoe into one just hard enough to snap it againt the
doorframe. He screamed into the leather while I walked up onto the
curb and past brainless boy into the store. And yes, I danced a
little, and yes, I touched the top frame of the door when I came
in. And yeah I knocked over every shelf in the store and turned on all
the slurpee dispensers and blew a kiss to the security camera (because
lol they never fucking find me anyway) and basically acted like a
pointlessly destructive dick, but hey at least I'm not slamming a
pro-specifications baseball bat into someone's rib cage thirty times.

Which Becky was still doing when I come out, although helium didn't
have a whole lot of energy left. Or a lot of blood, which got all
along the bottom of Becky's dress and actually made it look
better. Yay art. (I'm not even gonna tell you how rad the boots looked
by now.) The boyfriend was just moaning from the back seat and failing
to get his one working limb to do something helpful. I went up to
Becky, stood behind her, listened to her breathe, kissed the sweat on
the back of her neck. For some reason when I lez I'm really
affectionate; it's weird. Her dress was sticking to her skin, and her
neck was soaked under her hair, and she was this flawless little
animal moving and swaying and panting and breathing.

"Aw, look," she said to what was left of helium, "your daddy's
home. Kiss your daddy."

"Why the fuck am I the daddy?"

"Because you left me alone with the kids, hon."

God. "How's she doing?"

"I dunno." Becky made a wincing that-sucks face. "She's been
unresponsive."

"Just fucking kill her, Becks, I wanna get going."

She made this ridiculous open-mouthed OH NO face that I JUST managed
to keep from laughing at. "Uh-oh!" she said in her weird E cartoon
hick voice, looking down at helium, who was staring up at us and,
like, bubbling. "Daddy's GROUCHY!"

"Jesus." I was swinging into the driver's seat, going through the
console. Oh look. Come to Mama, you little lost iPad.

"You're gonna have to be real quiet," Becky was like WHISPERING to
helium. That girl gets weird. I looked at pecs in the rear view
mirror. "Hey man, do you have a wallet?"

He was slithering on the seat, trying to say something.

"You know, like with your money and shit." I took a little pause and a
little sigh and batted my eyes like I was talking about some
boy. "Money."

"Why--why'd--"

I was rolling him around and tugging the wallet out of his back
pocket. "Whoa, look at big spender here. Breaking out the Jacksons." I
took the cash out and grinned at him in the mirror. "Mine."

"Why are you--"

I was picking through my purse in the footwell for my lip
gloss. "Speak up, babe." There was this dull moaning from the girl on
the other side of the car and I remember being like, God, I think
Becky might be sticking the bat up her cunt. Which she wasn't, it
turned out, so phew.

"Why are you doing this?"

I was gumming my lips together after glossing. "Because you ask such
stupid fucking questions." Turn, smile, bring out the gun, and like I
said: head shot. I think he died looking into my eyes. That's always a
good way to go. The first time I ever did acid it was this total
disaster because the boy I was doing it with kept looking into my eyes
and couldn't stop crying. I should have cut his fingers off. With
scissors. And then like yelled EXPRESS YOURSELF! PAINT! PAINT! at him
while he spurted blood from ten stumps. I always think of this stuff
later.

God, I'm getting distracted. I'm so fucking HORNY this is NOT fucking
acceptable, and I'm too high to keep going. You don't really need to
hear the story after that anyway. After Becky got done fucking the
girl up the ass with the bat she basically stopped making noise, so we
left her there. Survival odds probably aren't great but hey I haven't
read this morning's paper so who knows. Maybe she lived and has a
whole life of paralysis and emotional trauma to look forward
to. Fingers crossed for a medical miracle. Then we drove to Mexico,
did some body shots (you haven't lived until Becky S----- has licked
salt off your boob), killed a hooker, and set up that Pop Rocks thing.

Anyway just consider this another chapter in the beautiful tapestry of
my life, or whatever. It's not like there won't be more. I <3 u
guys. My sick little puppies, haha. Now fuck off and die, I'm gonna
call Liam. I want to have sex with a psychopath. Now you and I have
something in common.