House of Skin

Dear Eddy,

I don’t suppose we should’ve killed that cop.

But what choice did we have? Our romance would have ended there and then had we tried to talk our way out of it. You know how cops are. Always asking questions, nosing into things that don’t concern them.

He bled all over me after I cut his throat. I didn’t mind the blood so much, but it got all over the seats. That was the bad thing. I remember we dumped him in the parking lot and danced together as the rain washed us clean.

“We’d better go,” you finally said.

I knew you were right. He’d probably radioed in our plates and the dispatcher was waiting for a reply.

We got back out on the highway and I knew our time was limited now. Soon, they’d be hunting us. They were already after me. Now they’ d be after you, too. Oh, how the bastards would have loved to get us back in a hospital where they could pick at the locks of our skulls for secrets. But they’d get none. Because they weren’t going to get us. I decided that there and then as we cruised up the highway and I studied your pale face as we drove. We didn’t talk much, you and I. We didn’t need to. Communication wasn’t a spoken thing for us, but something far beyond that, an exchange of thoughts and ideas. That’s the way it is with real lovers, you know. They just know what the other thinks and feels.

And our love was pure.

Completely.

Those bastards wouldn’t get us. I’d decided I’d kill you first and then myself if necessary.

“Let’s stop,” I said.

You nodded and pulled off the highway into a country lane. The trees were huge and the rain was coming down in sheets. You drove in until we were invisible from the highway.

I remember looking at the map I found in the glove compartment. I knew in a moment where we had to go.

It was perfect. We didn’t leave then, though.

“Let’s do it here,” I said.

And you loved me while the rain pounded on the roof.

Beautiful.

Yours,

Cherry