Mid-October:  All she ever wanted was a wedding like the ones in the magazines: the prince and princess, the horse-drawn carriage, maybe the tiara. Everything about him was perfect for that picture, he was fuck-ing gorgeous, had a great car—inside him there was something dark she wanted too. Her girlfriends sometimes shook their heads at the price they thought she paid. They didn’t know she only said he was her king so she could be his queen; it never really cost her anything.


Late October:  She’d only done it once before they met, but when she told him he got mad and said he wanted someone pure. The next day, he didn’t call, then two days, it was almost four days now he hadn’t called, and she had bragged about him to her friends and to the women at the clinic where she worked—now here she was, with just a stupid picture of a stupid wedding cake.


So she sent love notes, every day; some were mushy and some were gooey and some were made like coupons for him to fuck her here this many times, and there that many times. She gave him everything he ever wanted and then she sent the kicker: an empty piece of paper, but in the middle of the page there was a warning, so later on he couldn't say he wasn't warned:




Late Summer, Early Fall: Her little sister was always such a flirt, always asked him, who’s prettier, me or her. He started flirting back and right in front of her he told her little sister, oh, you’re the pretty one, you’re prettier by far. As if that weren’t enough, the night they had the party, her little sister tagged along when he left to get more beer—and they were gone for hours, and came back laughing and still flirting with each other…all she ever wanted was to be a princess to a prince, with the white horse, the carriage and everything…oh well boys will be boys, it was bound to happen sooner or later anyway, so better it should happen now before the wedding…


…and better if she were there to keep an eye on things…


she stole two bottles from the clinic, and just in case, she got some sleeping pills.  But she thought of it as borrowing, ‘cause stealing meds was something only scummy junkies did, and after she thought long and hard she chose the stuff she used at work on cats and dogs.  ‘Cause tying her sister up would just be such a yucky thing to do.                  


Early evening, Christmas Eve: He followed the girls around their parents house that night, taped them playing air guitar and singing, “Wayne’s World! Party Time! Excellent !”, taped her father napping in the den, in the kitchen where her mother had a turkey in the oven he taped the girls shouting “Extreme Close-up, Mom !”, and Mom lifting her apron over her face then shooing them all away…  

…and between the dinner and dessert and between each Christmas carol, each chance they got they dumped more powder in her little sister’s drink…all she ever wanted was a prince to be a princess to, and later on she said, I never would've done it if there'd been another way.   


Late Evening, Christmas Eve: Her sister threw a hissy fit until their parents said okay, but don’t stay up too late; downstairs in the rec room they put a movie in but later on neither one of them remembered what the movie was.  Behind her sister’s head he mouthed, “How long ?” and she mouthed back, “Wait” with her finger to her lips--finally they heard her sister snoring so he got the camera ready.


She pushed her sister’s shirt and bra above her breasts.


He pulled her sister’s pants and panties off.  


She got the bottle out and soaked the rag and both of them undressed.


She held the rag just above her little sister’s face.


He eased himself inside her little sister.  


She told him, hurry up


and he told her, shut up—  


she turned the bottle up and soaked the rag again. 


Early Christmas Morning:  She gave him everything he ever wanted; it wasn't her fault her stupid little sister had her "monthly visitor" that night.  Her sister lay beside her on the couch; she held the mirror just below her sister’s nose and saw the breath...


…what if he wants to do it all again…


Her drunken prince was in the bedroom with his pants around his ankles, the camera on the floor where it had fallen from his hand.


Now here she was, the princess, with half the bottle left.


And there was her little sister, who might as well be dead.