HIM .. Joe Goldberg

MISERY

"DEAN KOONTZ?" You say and you laugh and god Joe, you could have me right now if you wanted. Right on the bar, where everyone can see. I'm your little girl and you can do whatever you like with me, wherever. I'll be your little whore, love. Just say the words. "Don't tell me his books actually scared you."

"I can't help it!" I squeal in embarrassment, hiding my blushing face in my hands. You're looking at me and you're chuckling and you can't get over how adorable I am. "It's ingrained in me or something. My grandmother was a bitter alcoholic, and those were her choice bedtime stories. I think they bring back a level of PTSD."

Your laugh is like an angelic tune, and I could close my eyes and fall asleep to the ring. "In some fucked up way," you begin. You're starting to feel loose, Joe. I hear it in your tone. You're not used to feeling so comfortable with someone--what happened before I came? "I can totally understand that. Sometimes, when it's late and I'm closing the shop, being alone with isles and isles of books freak me out. It's like they're all staring at me." You glance down at me because you realize you were sharing too much about yourself and you expect me to be disgusted and disinterested, but I'm staring up at you with owlish eyes. I'm captivated by what you're telling me, I want to hear more. You relax when you realize I don't mind the fact that you're saying a lot, that I'm not turned off by your troubles but instead am willing to understand them.

"I can understand that completely. It's almost like a type of pressure, you know?"

You do know, and you like that word—pressure. You smile at me and I know you want to grab me by the shoulders, by Christ you've finally found someone who thinks the same way you do! That's what I'm thinking, Joe. You understand me so well and you're not even trying, we just click like two puzzle pieces. It was two tired. Did you come up with that on the spot, just for me? You wanted to lighten up the room, make me admire you before I even know you. You're remarkable, Joe. An admirable romantic.

"If you don't mind me asking, what was that whole thing with that one girl? You both seemed pretty heated."

What do you mean by heated, love? Were you heated? Did you like watching two girls fight, imagining that they were moments away from kissing? Erotic foreplay, just for you to see. It'll happen soon enough, Joe. How'll you like four girls instead of two? I'll be your sex goddess.

I sigh. It's a sore subject, I care a lot about people. I care a lot about you, I can't wait until I can show you. "She's been acting crazy lately. Her father passed away in October, and ever since..." I hide my face. I'm so scared, Joe. Hold me.

You call for another shot. You don't like to see me in pain, and you're trying to numb it away. I love you, Joe.

"I'm sure she doesn't mean to be so horrible," you say, and you keep staring at my thigh, and I know you want to lay your hand on me. Close to my crotch. Comforting me, exciting me, teasing me with an eager squeeze and a meaningful stroke. You're so close, love. I'm just waiting for you to reach.

"No one ever does. Everyone believes they're justified, it's your fault for bringing up conflict by accusing them."

You do grab my thigh, and all of my nerves electrify with beautiful, lusting flames. Your touch against my flesh seems like a holy vortex, a portal to Kingdom Come.

"You know, you're awfully cynical." You lean close, smiling at me. I can smell your breath, minty and clean and you prepared for this moment, didn't you? "I can see why you like Hank. Do you really believe everything is so bad?"

"You don't?" I challenge, pulling away. It's a game of cat and mouse, and you're the cat. I smile cheekily. "You always have the best day of your life in Mooney's bookstore?"

"I never said that," you immediately point out, holding up your index finger. Wait, baby. Daddy is talking. "Life is terrible, and everyone sucks. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't have fun along the way."

"I feel like that's what a psychopath would say."

You smile at me, and it's so fucking hot. "I prefer the word opportunist."

Joe, I'm so fucking in love with you. Every word you say makes me wet, you're so clever and witty and God, I just want you to grab me by my hair and pull me in the corner, hissing what a dirty slut I am. I want you to see the marks Charlie gave me and lick them, claim them as your own, carve something of your creation over them. Brand me. God, Joe. Could you make my dreams come true?

"You never quite answered my question from before," you say, looking at the glass your shot came in. "Do you usually like the occult? Or was macabre just the mood for the day?"

"You're right either way," I tell him, pouring the Maker's Mark down my throat. It burns, but I like it. I smile at you afterwards, "I finished my copy of Lovecraft and his bunch of strange and weird stories, I needed something new to keep me occupied."

"Isn't Charles Bukowski the total opposite of Lovecraft? I mean... H.P is so formal."

"Exactly. I need a change of pace. If I keep reading about old gods, I may actually think they're true." How ironic is it for me to say that?

Nonetheless, you laugh. Fuck, you're so sexy when you laugh.

"I've been thinking of rereading my copy of Misery, though." I admit, a bit bashfully, averting my face as my cheeks glow a warm red. From the corner of my eye, I've caught your attention, and you're staring at me more intently than ever before. I continue, "I think that might be my favorite book of all time. The ending, just..."

"You thought she didn't die, too?" You smirk.

"Yes! The way Stephen King just throws us in a loop, his writing, his power...you almost believe everything that's on the page, regardless if Paul is a reliable narrator or not."

You like the way I talk, the thoughts I put into my words. I'm smart, Joe. I may be the first girl to keep up with your intelligence.

"I like the way he tries to kill Annie," you say fondly, looking off as a small smile pulls your lips. "When he shoved the charred book pages down her throat, trying to choke her with something that was damn near sacred between them. I thought it was absolutely brilliant." I see the excitement in your eyes, your words run a little bit faster. You notice how suddenly eager you are, too. You dial it down a bit for me, although I would have much preferred to see the passion that came before. "Plus, Kathy Bates? James Caan? By far the best adaptation of a King book, even if the ending isn't exactly correct." You wink.

I playfully gasp. "Even The Shining?"

"No disrespect to my man Jack, The Shining is great, but Misery is just...do you ever wonder how much commitment it would be to keep someone locked in your house for half a year? Annie is the most crude of geniuses."

I smile and I wonder if you notice the tears that begin to cloud my dark eyes. Oh, Joe. You're so fucked up. Macabre—that was your word, not mine. I can see the promise of thrill exhilarates you. Just like Annie Wilkes, the end of your impossibly lucky high could come to a close any minute, yet you're prepared until the last second. Your life is a play, Joe, and you're one hell of a main character.

You like to read about someone more fucked up than yourself, it validates your wrong doings. You think I'm bad? You should hear about this one chick! That's why you like talking about it, that's why it excites you so much. I've seen you at your worst, Joe, you can't keep anything from me.

I lean forward, smirking. You inch forward too, we're drawn to one another. Magnets. Soulmates. Two planets pulling towards each other's orbit. We're going to change each other's world, Joe. Whether that for the betterment or mass destruction, I'll have to wait to find out.

Either way, I'm ready to bring about my beginning or end.