WIDOWS PRESS REPLAY

The Sunset Palms Motel sign buzzed electric pink against Harvey's windshield as he pulled his Cadillac into the gravel lot. She watched from behind polyester curtains, her fingers working the diamond choker until it bit into her throat just right. The American flag lay spread across the mattress like a funeral shroud, stars and stripes ready to catch whatever spilled. He knocked twice, their signal. Then she opened the door in nothing but the cherry-print stockings and that choker. The bruises on her thighs had faded to yellow-green, but she painted fresh ones with drugstore makeup. Harvey liked his girls broken. "Mrs. Harvey," he said, voice thick with bourbon and want. "You look like America threw up on you." His liver-spotted hands already working her garter belt. She pressed a cold Pepsi bottle against his chest, condensation bleeding through his Armani shirt. "Drink with me first, daddy. I want you to taste the fizz." The vanilla incense couldn't quite mask the mold creeping up the walls, but it mixed with the syrupy perfume that clung to the air like sugar over rot. She guided him to the bed, let him push her face into the flag's rough fabric that smelled like factory dye and broken promises. While his wedding ring caught the motel light. "You're just a cheap soda fountain," he spat, forcing himself deeper. She smiled into red, white, and blue, a tongue finally finding the capsule tucked in her cheek, split cleanly into two chambers. She bit down. Candy-sweet fizz flooded her mouth. The bitter side she pushed between his lips with the next kiss, watching his throat work as he swallowed it without hesitation. His eyes fluttered. The room began to tilt. His Rolex smacked the ratty laces, she straddled him, grinding down while the toxin worked its way through his system. The poison passed slow, not fast enough to kill him clean, just enough to let him feel it. The twitch. The heat. The failure of the body he used like a weapon. The camera in her choker caught every squirm, every desperate gasp, streaming live to his wife's iPad three towns over. Harvey's body spasmed, fingers clawing at the sheets, pink foam fizzed between his lips. She leaned close, breath steady, as his heart beat failed beneath her. "Daddy's in the sky with diamonds now." The ice machine hummed hallelujah as she rinsed herself with the last Pepsi, bubbles fizzing like a requiem against her poisoned skin. And somewhere, a widow just pressed replay.