Acid Trip

Title - Acid Trip
Author - Rina76
Email - rina762003@hotmail.com
Summary - Alternate ending to the movie "Bully"
Pairing - Donny / Heather
Warning - Graphic violence
Disclaimer - Not my characters, etc.

***

Heather is lying in the foetal position in the back seat of the car, her hands over her ears and her eyes squeezed shut, her blue-streaked hair covering her face like a curtain. She keeps repeating, “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” over and over again. She’s trying to block it out. Trying to block out the screaming and dull thuds that filter through her fingers.

It’s not happening. It’s not real. It’s just a nightmare and she’s gonna wake up any second now. But she knows it is real. Her body knows it by the way it’s shaking uncontrollably and flooding with adrenaline, trying to curl up on itself. They’re out there, killing Bobby. Murdering him. She knew the reason they came all the way out here to the dunes but some part of her never really believed they would go through with it.

Jesus, Bobby’s screaming sounds like a girl’s, she thinks in horror. Or is there more than one person yelling? She can’t really tell as she’s humming loudly and frantically to herself, random snatches of songs she likes. She doesn’t want to know what’s going on out there. The humming turns into gulping sobs.

Despite her blocking efforts, she hears the other car start up and roar away but doesn’t open her eyes. There is still shouting. Heather starts praying, saying the Lord’s Prayer, something has hasn’t done since she was a little girl. She promises to be good from now on, to never touch a single pill or drop of alcohol for the rest of her life if it would all stop.

“Please let it be over,” she whispers. “Please, God, just let it be over.”
It seems to go on forever. She catches a last muffled, choking sound and then it is silent. Still, she doesn’t dare to look.

“Ali?” she breathes, prying her fingers away from her ears. “Are they finished? Can we go now?”

A hand grasps her shoulder and she cries out in fright, her eyes springing open. Donny is leaning into the car, shaking her, telling her to get up. “Donny?” She sits up, creasing her brow at the expression on his face.

He looks absolutely terrified. His blue eyes, even with their drug-induced blankness, are wide and frantic and his face is deathly pale and shining with sweat. In the dim light of the night, she can see his hair is clumped together in matted strings and there is blood all over his shirt and jeans. It looks almost black. His hands and arms are glistening with dark fluid. His nipples are hard under the wetness of his T-shirt.

Donny notices Heather staring at his sd shd shirt and follows her gaze. Realising how filthy he is, he utters a swear word. Grabbing the back of the T-shirt, he yanks it over his head, using the clean side to wipe his arms and chest off as best he can, his motions jerky and quick, then hurls the crumpled ball of material away into the sand as if it was poisonous. His torso is pale under the smears of blood and his jeans hang around his narrow hips precariously. ringring of tiny metallic balls is looped a few times around his neck.

“Holy shit, Heather,” he whimpers, raking his fingers through his hair in an unconscious gesture of helplessness. “Oh shit!”

Heather sweeps her eyes around her but can see no one else standing nearby. She drags her eyes back to Donny’s frightened face. “What happened, Donny?” she asks in confusion. “Where are the others?”

He looks in the direction of the sand crab and alligator infested canal and she twists her head, searching the darkness for her friends. She spots a body, sprawled untidily on the ground. It’s too dark to see who it is but she assumes it was Bobby. Until she sees another one. And another one.

“They’re dead. They’re all dead,” Donny mutters. “Fucking all of them.” He turns back to Heather’s plainly bewildered face. He laughs, a high, crazy sound that echoes eerily in the night.

“I did it, Heather,” he tells her excitedly. “It was me.”

“What?” Heather shakes her head in disbelief, not comprehending what he was saying.

“After Bobby went down, I just turned and stabbed that cocksucker Marty in the throat. Fuck, you shoulda seen how much blood came out. I’ve never seen so much blood in my life. Holy shit. It was like one of those fucking slasher movies, man.”

Donny is compulsively wiping his hands on the back of his jeans, his eyes rolling around in his head wildly. He is breathing fast and shallow.

“That bitch Lisa started screaming like a banshee and to shut her up I knifed her too. Wham! Right between the tits.” He makes a brutal stabbing gesture.

“Then I did Derek. That fat fuck was hard to kill on account of all the blubber on him. I couldn’t get the blade in deep enough so in the end I just had to break his fucking neck. I twisted his head around until I heard the crack. Just like they do in those TV shows, you know? It was awesome.”

Heather gapes at him stupidly, unable to process the words coming out of Donny’s mouth.

“That mafia asshole got away in the other car before I could do him, the motherfucker. I just wanted to kill all those pathetic losers. I wanted all of them dead. Except for you and Ali.” Donny faces Heather again and the frenzied look in his eyes morphs into pure despair.

“I didn’t mean to but Ali tried to stop me and…” He breaks off, biting his lower lip, his face a picture of panic and misery. “Fuck. She got in the way, man. Why didn’t she stay in the car, Heather? Oh, shit, I didn’t mean to hurt her. Oh, Jesus.”

Donny falls to his knees and pukes violently onto the sand. He retches again then spits the remnants of vomit out before dragging his hand over his mouth.

What Donny did is finally starting to sink into Heather’s brain. Instead of freaking out, she remains curiously composed and kind of anaesthetised. She feels as if she’s outside her body, looking down at herself talking and moving. She is detached but still in control somehow.

“You killed them?” She casts a quick glance at the fallen bodies. She feels nothing. “You killed Ali? And Lisa? Did you know Lisa was pregnant, Donny?”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know that? I’m not a fucking mind reader,” he mutters.

Donny stands up again, his hands reaching for the side of the car as a wave of dizziness courses through him. He leans against the door, his hair hanging in his face.

“I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t mean to kill them,” he says, his tone defensive and wavering at the same time. “I was just gonna do Bobby, that’s why we came here. If no one else was gonna do it, I was. And I did. But I couldn’t stop. And Ali…I didn’t mean to…Oh fuck.”

Donny buries his head in his arms and starts sobbing, great gasping painful noises that are unbearable to hear. Heather instinctively lays her hand on his upper arm. His skin feels clammy and cool. She wants him to stop bawling.

“Don’t cry, Donny,” she says automatically and soothingly. “Everything will be all right.”

At the contact, Donny raises his head. Tears have streaked his cheeks, his face crumpled, his full mouth trembling. “God, you’re nice,” he says in awe, stroking Heather’s blue hair with his blood encrusted hands. “You’re so beautiful.” He starts to cry again.

“Oh shit. Help me, Heather. Please help me,” Donny beseeches her, throwing his arms around her soft warmth and burying his face in her sweet-scented hair. His voice is a mere thread of sound. “I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared.”

She’s kneeling on the back seat of the car, holding Donny’s shuddering shirtless body against her breast. He smells like blood, coppery and cloying. He starts to kiss her neck and his mouth seeks out hers. His tongue enters past her lips. She absently thinks that he tastes like blood too, mingled with the bitterness of bile. But she lets him kiss her. He climbs into the car and pushes her back onto the seat. His body is heavy on top of her, his hands urgently tearing off her panties and fumbling with the buttons on his jeans. She lets him fuck her there in the car, the bodies of their dead friends within metres of them. His breath is hot against her ear as he moans her name over and over again, desperately, as if she alone can save him. It’s rough and over quickly. She doesn’t come, she’s too numb to feel anything.

Donny is panting and saying he’s sorry as he gets off her and pulls his jeans back up. He thinks he hurt her. She sits up, murmuring that she’s all right.

“What’s wrong with me, Heather?” Donny asks, his voice breaking. He cradles her face and searches her eyes ardently for the answer. “Why did I do that? Why am I so fucked up?”

Heather is trying to rationalise the situation. Okay, everyone is dead and Donny murdered them. Why? Why would a harmless and playful seventeen year old boy do something so extreme? She pushes down the tendril of madness threatening to spiral out of control and make her run screaming. Think, think.

“I got it!” she exclaims. “The acid. You must have had a bad trip, Donny. That stuff can make you do all kinds of weird shit, you know?”

Donny sniffs and wipes his nose on his arm. “D’you think?”

“Oh, totally,” she says reassuringly, clinging the reason like a lifeline. “Yeah, that’s it. It was the acid. It wasn’t your fault.”

“The acid,” Donny muses, a slight frown on his brow. “Yeah. Yeah. I didn’t kill nobody…I didn’t do shit. It was the fucking acid.”

Then his face turns all worried again and he clutches Heather’s shoulders. “Oh fuck! The mafia fucker! He got away. He’ll tell someone, won’t he? Shit, what are we gonna do?”

Heather starts to get her wits back. Gotta formulate a plan. Donny is looking around anxiously as if he’s expecting the cops to show up any minute, which was entirely possible.

“Don’t worry about the hit man,” she says firmly, taking Donny’s face in her hands and making him look at her. “He’s smart. He’s not gonna tell the cops because that will mean admitting he came here to kill Bobby and he won’t do that. Understand?”

Donny nods tremulously.

“Now, we gotta get your knife and anything else you touched and get out of here.”

“Where are we gonna go?” Donny was fidgeting nervously. “What are we gonna do? You’re not just going to leave me somewhere, are you?”

“We’re gonna get as far away from here as we can, all right? And I won’t leave you, Donny. I’m coming with you. I’ll take care of you, okay? We’ll be fugitives together.”

Donny gazes at her in overwhelming admiration. “I love you, Heather. I really mean that. You’re amazing.”

“Thank you, Donny.” She forces a weak smile. “Go get your knife.”

“It’s right here,” he says, and retrieves the weapon from his back pocket. Heather swallows uneasily at the sight of congealed blood on the blade and handle, trying not to think about where it had been.

“Give it to me,” she orders. “I’ll get rid of it for you.”

He hands the knife over. The look on his face is one of pure surprise as she plunges it deep into his stomach. His hands go to his belly as the blood starts to ooze out. Donny is stunned and can’t move. He stares at her in shock. She quickly reaches beside him, opens the door and kicks him out onto the sand. He falls straight on his ass and sits there dumbstruck, his fingers still around the knife handle sticking out of his gut. Heather clambers into the driver’s seat, starts the engine and plants her foot on the accelerator.

“What the fuck was that for?” Donny says in astonishment as he watches her drive off, his bodily fluids leaking out onto the ground.

“Thank you, God,” Heather gasps, as she speeds toward the main road, her heart pounding furiously.

Donny was a gorgeous, gorgeous thing, a great kisser and lots of fun to be around.

Pity he was also totally and utterly insane.

That is the last thought she has before the truck runs head on into the car, turning it into a fireball of twisted metal.

***

Two years later.

A lanky young man sits on the porch in the sweltering summer heat, his shirt off and his bare feet up on the rail, a straw cowboy hat perched on his head and shading his blue eyes. He is absently chewing on a paddle pop stick and fingering the silver scar on his belly, his stare unfocused and gazing out far into the distance.

He still can’t believe how lucky he is. He is the only survivor of the group. He was found the next morning lying on the beach soaking wet and close to death, clad in only his boxer shorts, delirious and with no memory of how he got there. The baseball bat, knife and his clothes were never found. The mysterious mafia guy was blamed for the killings but all the police had to go on was a burnt out shell of the car he stole and abandoned and subsequently he was never identified or caught.

Donny got away with murder.

He reaches down beside his chair and retrieves a glass of Coke, sipping the bubbling brown liquid thirstily and licking his full lips with a pink tongue. It’s the only addictive substance he indulges in now. He doesn’t drink alcohol or do drugs any more. Sometimes he wants to. Real bad. Especially acid.

But he doesn’t. He wouldn’t touch that shit with a forty foot pole. He’s too afraid of what might happen. Of the monster he might unleash.

“Hey, honey. What are you thinking about?” His pregnant girlfriend wraps her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. She has blond streaks in her hair and smells like sunlight. She reminds him a little bit of Heather. He smiles at her.

“Nothing.”


END