Romance

The roaring of a car engine and the squealing of rubber tires sounded throughout a suburban neighborhood. A radio was turned on to its maximum volume without a second thought, as though the driver didn’t care that he could potentially wake up the sleeping residents of the area. The driver leaned back in the seat, his eyes on the road before him while a venomous frown played on his lips. His raven hair was ruffled and only got messier from the air that quickly passed through it as he steered the convertible down the street. The man’s bright irises narrowed to slits. Their silver color played around with the illusion that the seemingly charming man was possessed. His skeletal fingers carefully fondled a pistol, the gun dancing along his fingertips.

Flashbacks of barely five minutes previously blended within the depths of his mind. Blood spattering across a cream carpet, the shrieks of surprise coming from his girlfriend, clothes on the floor, gun shots and the stained knife.

He snickered coldly as the vehicle pulled onto a highway. No one would discover the two lovers for at least a week and by then, all of the evidence pointing towards him would be gone. He had taken the firearm with him, and the blade was stowed safely in the trunk. He had been careful about leaving any incriminating proof, and the car would definitely not be reported stolen since it was registered under his name.

Tossing the shooter onto the passenger’s seat, he floored it, plowing quickly down the strip of deserted road. Animalistic rage poured into his veins, replacing the adrenaline left over from the murders he had just committed. His eardrums began pounding as blood rushed through them, blocking the noises of the vehicle and the rushing of the air from entering his mind and distracting him.

He licked his lips, savoring the taste of killing that lingered on the soft flesh. It was warm to him; it was promising. The dark lust that had appeared with the flavor of slaughter filled him to the brim with satisfaction. He wanted more; it was a drug that had an incurable addiction. No rehabilitation, no support groups, no help. Just the killer and the killed.

And that was the way he wanted it.

He switched the radio onto another station, tired of the peppy junk that it was now spewing, and smirked as a loud death metal song began to play, blasting its confusing riffs and screaming vocals into the car. It kept the mood he was in at an all-time high.

Hell, he could have been high for all he knew.

He mumbled along with the music as it satisfied his mind’s hunger for loud, raw screaming. Cries that sounded so much like the ones that had come out of her mouth while the pent up fury that had been dying to break through finally overtook him. The passion that the murders had given him was being fueled by the hardcore – almost pornographic in his mind – lust of the anger and need.

The feeling was climaxing, and it was going to get so much better after this.

But it stopped. Just like that. It stopped.

The adrenaline began to deplete and the rage was replaced with an odd sense of content as guitar strings were strummed and the magic of technology added a static effect to the melody. Eeriness befell the car as the music’s ghosts crawled out of the speakers and wrapped their cold, dead hands around his throat.

“Came into my life and now you’re gone.
And you threw your things out the window –
Things out the window.”

The high pitch and low tune emphasized the anger that still boiled deep in the pits of his stomach, and the shaky voice that quietly sang the lyrics reflected those emotions back down to his body like swallowed vomit and replaced them with newfound agony and pain.

He was insane. He was insane. He was fucking insane…

Yet… he loved it.

“You gave up.
You gave up.
You gave up.
You gave up.
You gave up.”

He floored it again, plowing down the highway in search of a place to stay the night, the rays of the full moon and his headlights his only guide for the monotonous trip on the desert road. He was lucky to notice a tree or two growing pitifully out of the sand.

The wind picked up around him and the radio’s signal became a little frazzled. Slamming his hand heatedly on the machine, he made out the two final words the lead singer had to sing. The notes died in the air and his breath caught in his throat as he continued driving, his eyes facing straight ahead of him, trying desperately to locate a hotel or motel or something.

“You’re gone…”