37. Dying Feels Like Shit

Ithought this nightmare would be over when he slit my throat, but this rollercoaster into hell never stops. My esophagus is being crushed every time he shifts his weight or thrusts his hips. I don't even feel anything, no pain. The only time I know I don't have oxygen is in that split second he lifts up, and my lungs automatically fill with life-saving nourishment. I wish it would stop, give up already, but instead, I'm forced to live through this torment of the only girl I've ever loved fucking me while I die, smelling like pennies and shit, reminding me of a New York subway.

When they both finally cease moving, I think maybe this is what purgatory is supposed to feel like. I can see them. Monica and Jax, they're on top of… me? Can you even call that me anymore? My organs are tossed out around me like I'm road kill. Even my ribs jut up to the dingy ceiling as if reaching for help as shit and blood pour from my gut.

All that will be left of me is the smell of pus, infected wounds, and piss that soaks into the concrete. Never to be removed. The sweat and grime that was left to build up on my skin for weeks upon weeks slowly fades away. It doesn't matter anymore. Those are earthly concerns.

I hope they get what's coming to them.

My heart is in Jax's palm. Black and dripping.

At least it reflects the way I truly feel as I float away into the ether.

Dying feels like shit.