Sometimes, on a quiet night, when the wind is right, I can still hear the music. The music she'd play for me, music to set us free. The Gits. The Muffs. The Raincoats. Music that still pounds in my head.

Tara is dead. I knew all along.

The night remains vivid. Aaron's heart was livid. He threatened to Jackson Pollack the walls again. He's an artist. I am his muse. But not amused. By his short fuse. I'm an artist, too, dammit. Where is my fire? Is this desire? I yelled at him. He yelled at me. I love him. He loves me. Isn't this the way it's supposed to be?

"If you don't stop shitting on me, I'll leave you."

I know I won't. I know I can't.

"I deserve respect. I am a human being with feelings and emotions. If you don't stop shitting on me, I'll leave you."

"Kari Jo, you shit on yourself."

He knows so much. He knows it all. He's always right. I love him. I hate him. I'd kill him to negate him. He kisses me; I'm wet. I melt in his mouth. I melt in his hands. He's going to be the father of my child. I can't conceive. I was deceived. I want to leave.

But to where?

But to where, he repeats.

I don't know. God help me, I don't know. He holds me tightly. I cry. I lie. I die. Into your arms, I can go. In your arms, I feel safe from harm. Into your arms, when I'm alone. In your arms, I cry. I lie. I die.

No one grows any younger. But some of us get to leave that proverbial beautiful corpse.

Let me go, I say. Let me go. Let me go. Let me fucking go! I need to piss. I need to shit. I need to throw up. Something's wrong, I can feel it. Let me go. He held me tighter. Let me go. His eyes got whiter. Let me go. Let me go. Let me go. I love you. Liar.

The red and blue lights flashed across the block. Her body on a stretcher, they rolled her into the van. They wouldn't let me near. My blood pumped without fear. I knew it before they told me. "She's dead," they said. I wasn't surprised.

Tara's dead. I knew all along.

The police wanted to question Kim. Just in case. It was procedure. He found her, but he wasn't a suspect. He killed her, but he didn't lay a finger. He loved her, but he never told her.

Tara hung herself.

"Let me go, Aaron. I need to go home."

"How selfish of me to think I deserve some of your time."

Don't do this to me, Aaron. I give you a monopoly of my time as it is. Don't do this to me, Aaron. I love you. Something's wrong. Let me go, Aaron. Don't do this to me. I have to leave. I love you. I hate you. I'd kill you to negate you. Liar. Let me go. Don't do this, Aaron. I need to go home. I need to piss. I need to shit. I need to throw up. I can feel it. Don't do this, Aaron. Let me go. Don't do this. Let me go. Don't. Let me go. Don't let me go. Liar. I love you.

He kisses me; I'm wet.

Aaron, you leave me dry.

Tara's dead. I knew all along.

No one knows exactly what happened. But I constantly imagine how she did it. Or rather how I'd do it. A nice, warm bath drawn for me. Scented candles lighting the room. Heather Nova's Oyster playing softly on the stereo. I'd soak in the tub and wash every crevice of my body. I'd make myself cleanlier than I've ever been. I'd be preparing myself for the biggest date I'd ever go out on. I'd have to be Immaculate.

Let the sponge soak up the Jergen's body wash. Let the sponge run beneath my arms and between my legs, inside my cunt and towards my eggs. Cleanliness is Godliness, and I'm Immaculate. Death would want my best scent. I'd perfume myself. Just a dab on each side of my neck and on the middle of my chest. Too much and the scent becomes a stench. I'd even use that feminine deodorant spray on my rosebud. Must make myself clean. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Dirty girls don't get to Heaven.

I have to leave, Aaron. I need to go home.

I'd put on my best Sunday dress, the one never worn for Confirmation. Death would want my best aesthetic. I'd put glitter across my cheeks and the little cleavage I have. I need to be pretty in a great big city.

The more I want to leave, the tighter he holds me.

I wish I could use those silk scarves, but I doubt they'd have the strength to support my body weight. The belt from my leather jacket will do fine enough. It's sexy and adds a hint of sado-masochistic autoerotic asphyxiation. I'd tie one end of the belt tightly around my neck, just enough so I can begin to feel the constriction of my passageways. I'd then stand on a chair and tie the other end to one of the running pipes in the basement, double-knotted to ensure it won't come loose. I'd mouth a silent prayer to nothing in particular and step off the chair.

"Kari Jo, you shit on yourself. And that's why no other guy wants you. The stench is unbearable."

Don't do this, Aaron. Don't fucking do this.

"If you're going to kill yourself, you better clean yourself up. Otherwise, even Death won't take you to the final prom."

I thought of all people, you'd understand. I hate you, Aaron. I need to throw up.

Only Tara knew my pain. Only Tara kept me sane. And now Tara's left the world. And now Tara's left her girl.

I slapped him. I slapped him and left. He said I'd return. He knows so much. He knows it all. He's always right. Don't let me go, Aaron. Because each time I go, it hurts that much more when I crawl back.

When you kiss me, I'm wet. But you leave me dry.

You leave me dry.

And I want to die. People wonder why. I never reply. I have an answer, but I doubt they'd listen. "Life is such a precious thing," someone once told me. But that's the point. The very idea that I could destroy something beautiful and precious. The very idea that I could have that power. The very idea that I could have control over fate. It's like murder, except the only one you hurt is yourself. If you can't direct the violence outward, then you must direct it inwards. I need control. Don't let me go. I'm a black hole.

Let me go, Aaron. I love you. I have to leave.

I have lost control. I am a black hole. I'll suck down all who come near. One, two, three, four. Your baby is a whore. Let me go, Aaron. Let me fucking go. Something's wrong. I can feel it.

The pain is mine. I am not fine. Twist the knife, I can feel. Twist the knife, I am real. Twist the knife 'cause I need. Twist the knife 'till I bleed.

Cut my skin, it makes me human. Nothing like pain to makes us all feel the same.

Physical pain is the only pure thing left in the world.

"You're a fool for believing that anything can be pure," Aaron said.

I am pure.

"You're a whore."

Don't do this, Aaron. I have to leave.

Then it hits me.

Tara's dead. No one knows why. She never left a note. But I knew all along. She loved Kim. She hated him. Kim was indifferent. Kim loved her, but he didn't tell her. Now she's gone. I am one. I am alone. I want to go home. I am home. Don't let me go, Aaron. I need to throw up.

Then he hits me.

I loved her. I worshipped her. She was beauty refined. She was Heaven defined. Now she's gone. I didn't want to cry. The tears were in my eyes. This was the woman who supported me during my menarche. Why did she leave? I can't conceive. I was deceived.

No one loved her. No one told her. I'm sorry, Tara. I'm sorry.

I was ready to join her. Twist the knife, I love her. Twist the knife, I need her. But I couldn't go through with it. So many reasons to delay my date with death. Episode II isn't out yet. I haven't worn my red halter top out. I've never been to Tibet. I'm going to have Aaron's baby. I've got to return Dale's copy of Fight Club. It isn't fair for Dad to find the body.

It's like murder, except the only one you hurt is yourself. And the ones who love you. Nobody loves you. Nadja. Everyone loves you. Nadja. Someone loves you.

Tara, I'm sorry.

I have to go home.

Aaron, let me go.

Tara's dead. I knew all along. Tara's dead. Tara's dead. I can feel it.

"Kari Jo, you shit on yourself."