Donna Gets the Pillow
By: the Scary Godmother
Disclaimer: No, he isn't mine. I would like to think I captured Edward?s personality though.
Author's Notes: Story inspired by Axona Vega's feedback comment for my story '+Dear Diction' about Donna getting the pillow (and the sooner the better !), so this one is for you.
~Chapter One~
"Ted honey, you want another tofu omelet?"
I put on my widest Ted smile when she turned to face me. It was really too goddamned early for this, really. "Sure honey pot." I replied, letting sweetness and that southern charm melt it's way over my voice. I sounded like the Marlboro Man after a gay porn fix.
She turned back to the oven and I watched her back as she cooked. My hand twitched.... It was so tempting. "Take the gun out," I told myself, "Just one bullet to the head and you'll never have to eat another rabbit food omelet again."
The thought was so warm and fuzzy I wanted to wrap up in it like a blanket. No more Donna...no more 'family counseling', no more environmentally safe toilet paper, no more sharing a bed with recycled sheets and teddy bears, no more lousy omelets, and one bullet was all it would take.
I was so lost in the sheer joy of the thought of a life without Donna that I didn't even notice when she slid the plate in front of me, hot and steaming and smelling vaguely like burnt cabbage and charred rubber. Even Anita was a better cook than she was.
"So, I was thinking today we could go out to the dig site and see the fossils, maybe have a picnic out by the old mines..." she smiled coyly, "just the two of us...."
Oh goody, more outdoorsy sex. This woman had a fetish. "Sounds great sugar." I told her, my smile seeming strained to me.
I gobbled down the rest of that putrid food and retreated to my room to change for the day. Donna could pack her little basket; I'd pack mine. Let's see...The Beretta was a natural choice, I never went anywhere without it, and after a moment's thought I added the Derringer. I also put the Glock into the pile. It was quickly becoming one of my favorites. That was enough to try and conceal, but hopefully I could get this done before she started pawing at me like some slobbering desperate puppy. I checked the garrote in my hatband and threw a knife into the cuff of my boots, just in case.
I had exactly thirty-seven minutes of peace and quiet while she ground up carrots or fried some squash or whatever it was she was doing to ruin the perfectly good all-American picnic menu. Then, just as the tension, the ever present buzzing annoyance was beginning to filter it's way out of my system, her voice came squawking down the hall at me.
"It's all ready dumpling. Wanna hit the road?"
I sighed silently. I could always just shoot myself too, instead of this masochistic phase I seemed to be going through.
"Just a sec sweetie pie!" I called out to her. I took the keys to the hummer off the dresser. Everything else I needed should have already been in the back. At the last second, I tucked "Ted's" favorite bandanna into my pocket. It would make a good gag if necessary.
By the time we were out of the driveway and on our way I already wanted to use the gag, or a gun, or a fucking blow torch if it would just shut her up. She was rattling on about Becca's summer camp and Peter's summer camp and her arts and crafts and her fucking psychic's mountain retreat and god knows what else. I think after about twenty minutes of watching the dust kick across the road I managed to tune her out. Thank god for small favors."Ted.....Ted.... Are you okay?"
"What is it pum'kin?" I said, letting that hick drawl slither out of my throat again for that extra touch of sugar.
"You missed the turn."
Shit. I had been lost in that same old decapitation fantasy. The one where she was in bed, covers tucked up to her neck and I had this long jagged piece of metal and I just swung. Now I knew, from experience, that the human body did not hold as much blood as I envisioned painting the walls a hazy shade of crimson, but for some reason it made it all that much better. It was so, so lovely.