JT Johnson

I had a chance.

I just needed some cash.

Dammit, can't you fucking get it?

She was panting, her words vibrating between growls and sobs, her hands clawing at my face blindly as I tried to get out from under her.

I fought, throwing my hands and legs, nails and feet, trying to make contact with anything that might stun her long enough to get her off of me.

I tried to roll onto my stomach, the movement toppling her sideways and jarring the bed frame harshly.

There was a quiet pattering noise.

It was the sound of roaches and mouse droppings hitting the floor around me.

On me.

Everywhere.

She was on me again.

Unaware or uncaring of the bugs crawling over her shoulders, up her neck, and across her forehead.

Her mouth had peeled as far back as it could go as she found my neck again, wiry fingers wrapping down and taking hold.

My lungs ached for air, my hands clawing needlessly at her choking fingers.

Mice squealed menacingly around us.

The bed frame was shaking with each movement, my thoughts becoming panicked as a dark shadow began to bleed into the edges of my vision.

I tried to talk, my voice swelling and dying out.

Something in my neck strained, a quiet crunch sending a sparkle of pain up my spine.

The movement came from behind her head, tufts of pale hair peeking out over the edge with each hit the bed frame took.

The marred and decaying scalp came into view.