er wrinkled lips around a cigarette. I ignore her comment considering I’d already wrapped myself in armor to deflect her nasty comments and smugness. Only Barbie would be smug that her daughter is being abused. Especially when this is the life she’s always wanted for me, and I was stupid enough to believe I was getting something she never did—safety.
I glance at the near empty pack resting on the table. Right now, I don’t give a fuck about germs.
“Give me one,” I say instead, nodding my head towards the cigarettes. Surprisingly, she pushes the pack over, along with the lighter. From one abused woman to another, sometimes all we need is a cigarette.
I slide out a cancer stick, light it up and suck greedily.
I’ve no idea if Ryan actually did spike my drinks. Maybe I am pregnant, but right now, I hurt too badly to stop puffing on the cigarette. It’s been a week since he proposed, nearly killed my cat and then promptly beat the shit out of me—again—and he hasn’t let me out of his sight once, until tonight. Thankfully, I’ve shown no signs of pregnancy yet, so I’m beginning to doubt his threat.
“Did you know Billy was killing people all across the city?” I start. Barbie half-laughs, half-scoffs, the sound filled with flem.
“Whatever gave you the impression that he wasn’t killing people?” she asks with condescension.
I shake my head. “This is different. Billy is smart enough to cover up his murders. He’s deliberately leaving them across town, apparently for the last year. He’s considered a serial killer—they’ve even dubbed him the Ghost Killer.”
Barbie outright laughs, mirth shining in her lifeless eyes. Barbie’s been exposed to several dead bodies across her lifetime. Mostly from overdosing, but I can bet she’s witnessed murders, too. Probably from cracked out drug addicts having mental breakdowns and going into psychotic rages. And I’m positive Billy has made an example of a couple people to make sure Barbie stayed in her place.
“That’s too funny,” she says around her laugh, ashing her cigarette in an empty beer can. She used to keep glass ashtrays around until she broke all of them over the heads of her clients. Now it’s just simpler to use trash. There’s a fuck ton of it lying around, after all.
I roll my eyes at her classiness.
“You know that’s not normal for Billy. He’s under the radar, Barbie, and you know it. Why would he be leaving bodies around town?”
Her eyes shift, and something like fear flashes in her eyes. It’s gone before I can tell for sure.
“He’s been getting hooked on meth again,” she says casually. But it’s not casual at all, we both know this. It’s been over fifteen years since Billy got hooked on his own product and started killing off all of his men. He’d storm the house, raging that he has no one left that he can trust because all of them are dead.
Barbie was smart enough not to ask questions. The woman couldn’t tell you what eight times nine is, but she hasn’t lived this long dealing with someone like Billy just by dumb luck. She’s incredibly street smart, even when she’s high off her rocker. So many times, I’ve wondered if Barbie is much wiser than she lets on.
So, Barbie would keep her trap shut, I’d listen through the door, and Billy would vent his frustrations on how all his men kept fucking the little girls he traffics and ruining their value. Or they’d be stealing his drugs or money for themselves. Or they’d give him a look he didn’t like.
Whatever the case, he killed them all. That got Billy in quite the predicament when he had essentially no one to do his bidding. He quit the drugs, rebuilt his empire and stayed clean since.
“I don’t understand. He knows what happened last time.”
Barbie tightens her lips, shrugs a thin shoulder and lights another cigarette. I do the same. I’m gonna need it for this conversation. Billy on meth is… evil incarnate. It’s the reckoning. He’s the third antichrist Nostradamus predicted.
“I don’t know what happened,” she finally says. “Explains why he popped up out of the blue and beat us both silly.”
Both of our wounds from that night have healed, only to be replaced by more. She may cackle and laugh at the sight of me, but she doesn’t look any better. Only difference is, Barbie has never not sported any bruises. That’s her normal. At this point, every part of me has endured some sort of trauma that I’m not sure I know how to feel pain anymore. Guess we’re turning out to be two peas in a fucking pod.
I look down at my hand, with an ugly cast and an uglier ring. I don’t even know why I’m still wearing the damn thing.
“He could come back around at any time,” she continues, snapping me out of my dark thoughts. Her eyes slide towards me with clear warning. Barbie never warns me about anything except Billy. Especially Billy on drugs. I don’t let it go to my head and think it’s because she actually gives a shit about me. But if I die, this house will be auctioned off and we all know Barbie doesn’t have the funds to buy it back.
As much as she hates it, I’m keeping her safe from the streets. If anyone could survive it, it would be Barbie. She’s like a goddamn cockroach, the bitch could survive the apocalypse. Doesn’t mean she wants to, though.
“Has he been coming around often?” I ask, though I can feel my heart kickstart. I’m under no illusion that I’m safe here. That Billy coming around won’t ever happen again. But I’d hoped he’d be too busy killing off his men rather than coming to see Barbie’s washed up ass.
She sucks on her cigarette, delaying an answer I’d really like to know. If he’s coming around often, then I’m in more danger than I’d realized.
Finally, she answers. “About once a week. He was just here last night.”
The sudden urge to run from this house nearly cripples me. I got my answers. Or at least as much of an answer as I’m going to get when it comes to the devil. Time to go.
“Then I guess it’s time for me to leave.”
Barbie smirks. I said it casually, but again, this isn’t a casual conversation. She enjoys the fact that Billy scares me. The only good thing about Billy beating me half to death is its less time he’s beating Barbie. As long as he refrains from completely killing me, Barbie couldn’t care less.