NOTHING BUT TEETH.

when i think of my wife, i always think of her head.

the primal questions of a marriage: what are you thinking? how are you feeling?

what have we done to each other?

pour me a bourbon, would you?

what’s up, jitters?

it’s a bad day.

i’m so crazy, stupid happy!

whose beer am i drinking?

what’s your type?

i prefer men who are funny, not ‘funny’.

that’s code for ‘i hate strong women’.

what type are you?

so tell me. who are you?

you know i have to kiss you now.

i would be a fool to let you walk through a sugar storm unkissed.

go home, fuck her brains out, then smack her with your penis: some wood for you, bitch!

you are way too into that cat.

we understand there are concerns about your wife/husband/partner?

i’m not someone who hits the panic button but — it’s weird, right?

you mind if we look around?

it’s our anniversary.

i remember these books.

now you can say you came. and in 10 minutes, we’ll leave.

perfect. time for a quick tour of all my failings.

i love your parents, but they can be assholes.

people want to hear from you.

i thought that’d be embarrassing.

i love having strangers pick at my scabs.

i am here in a strictly journalistic capacity.

you challenge me.

and — fun fact for our readers — you have a world class vagina.

my colleagues inform me that as yet, you are not married. isn’t it time we fixed that?

he’s just playing with his phone. playing, like… tetris.

if this girl doesn’t show up… this could get out of hand.

let’s stay on our toes.

given the scene in the house and given our spike in violent crime of late, we’re going to take this very, very seriously.

sorry. i felt like i was in a law and order episode for a second. bum-BUM.

is she kinda… standoffish?… ivy league?

i have zero reception.

sir, don’t take that tone with me.

stupid, dumb bitch.

he’s always been a misogynist asshole.

everyone told us — and told us, and told us — marriage is hard work.

abandon all hope, ye who enter.

technically, we’re supposed to fuck at the next stop.

we’ve never fucked in a bookstore.

i dragged you into the ladies’ room on our second date.

books, sex, bourbon. life is good.

sometimes i want to punch us in the face, we’re so cute.

i don’t need a lawyer.

everyone knows “complicated” is code for bitch.

just because i don’t love her, doesn’t mean i don’t care about her. i’m really scared.

you want to look like you’ve been up all night.

that’s a weird thing to say.

when you’re upset, you bottle it up. you can seem… angry… like —

great. i’ll try to balance on the exact edge of your emotional razor.

i knew you shouldn’t have moved back here.

we care about her. we love her, and we want her back.

we filed a restraining order.

it’ll help us track her movements before she disappeared - where she went, who she might’ve seen…

maybe i’ll teach you a thing or two.

i think i’ve done a pretty good job.

let’s swear we will never be like them.

we have each other — everything else is background noise.

this is where you say 'everything else is background noise’.

i come by once a week, make sure the place hasn’t burnt down.

picture me: i’m a girl who is very bad. i need to be punished, and by punished, i mean had.

open the door, and look alive.

want to test your marriage for weak spots? add one recession. subtract two jobs.

i felt like i needed to shoot something.

right, i forgot. you can give your parents $879,000 without asking me, but god forbid i buy legend of zelda without your permission.

that’s the basic tenet of a prenup, right?

why are you throwing that in my face again?

i don’t know how to not have a job.

now, i’m beholden to you.

suddenly, i knew everything was about to get worse.

oh look, he’s being a good guy so we can all see him be a good guy.

you really don’t like him.

you have to keep up your strength.

i’m asking you nicely - please delete that photo.

you can’t share that with anyone.

it looked like you were having fun.

this place literally smells like faeces.

i’m going to go benadryl myself to sleep.

i feel like i could disappear.

i’ve been so worried about you.

you gotta pick up when i call you — where the hell have you been?!

can you at least say you love me?

i love you. but, sweetheart, we have to be real careful right now.

you told me i needed to have my own life.

i need you. now. touch me.

did you leave a pair of red panties in my office? lacy?

i’ll have to check my red-panty inventory.

you told me you were going to get a divorce.

never say that out loud again.

i don’t want to fight. i just want to be with you.

he uses me for sex when he wants. otherwise, i don’t exist.

last night, i went from desperate to pathetic.

do our code: no bullshit.

a child is not a hobby.

we could have had this fight four hours ago.

you’re really going to walk out now?! you’re such a coward!

someone should burn this place.

you fucking asshole. you liar. you fucking lied to my fucking face.

you’ve been lying to me for over a year.

god, it’s so fucking small. you’re a liar and a cheat.

i thought writers hated cliches.

wah, boohoo, i got laid off. guess i’ll fuck a 20-year-old.

i can’t figure out what the fuck they mean.

are they supertwat’s?

we’re dealing with a 20-year-old who isn’t sure where she leaves her undies.

free spirit is code for stupid.

just because the guy isn’t weeping, doesn’t mean he’s not hurting.

the hallmark of a sociopath is lack of empathy.

are you trying to tell me that this photo is remotely in the realm of acceptable behaviour?

a picture is worth a thousand words. ever heard that phrase?

i’m so sick of being picked apart by women.

for valentine’s day, i thought i’d buy a gun.

i’m being paranoid. crazy. i’d just sleep better with a gun.

if someone were staging a crime scene, why mop up blood?

a pool of blood and no body suggests homicide.

why have you kept this stuff? it’s like a little box of hate.

you know how hard it is to make a murder case without a body? it’s incredibly difficult. so i want one last thing… i want a body.

sometimes, the way he looks at me? this man of mine may kill me.

i’m so much happier now that i’m dead.

he took my pride and my dignity and my hope and my money.

he took and took from me until i no longer existed. that’s murder. let the punishment fit the crime.

to fake a convincing murder, you have to have discipline.

america loves pregnant women. as if it’s so hard to spread your legs.

you know what is hard? faking a pregnancy.

you need to bleed. you need to clean.

men always use 'cool girl’ as the defining compliment, don’t they?

go ahead! cum on me! i don’t mind, i’m cool girl.

i waited years for the pendulum to swing the other way — for men to read jane austen and make out while we leer.

i will admit: for someone who likes to win, it’s tempting to be the girl every guy wants.

for him, i was willing to try.

i wax-stripped my pussy raw and blew him regularly.

i forged the man of my dreams.

he actually expected me to love him unconditionally.

he doesn’t get to fucking win.

grown-ups work for things. grown-ups pay. grown-ups suffer consequences.

fucking crazy bitch.

she’s framing me for her murder.

you are married to a psychopath.

your problem is just beginning.

does missouri have the death penalty?

as long as you don’t own a python and blast death metal at 4am, we’re gonna be best friends.

that’s the most disgusting thing i’ve ever heard.

are you laughing me out of your building?

this is why i have a $100,000 retainer — because i win unwinnable cases.

so far, this is a he-said-she-said.

i haven’t had a date in almost a decade because if a girl googles me? bye-bye.

if i could make up a girl, this would be the fucking girl.

she framed you with the ties you wouldn’t wear.

can you imagine being almost 30 years old and never having had anything go wrong for you?

i’m serious. i will not say a word against that girl.

i can’t imagine what she’s got in store for you.

that’s life, baby.

the whole thing just feels… easy. like finding an envelope marked CLUE.

ever heard that phrase - the simplest answer is often correct?

whatever the hell they found, we have to assume it’s very bad.

he’s nice because he wants to fuck you.

i’m not sad. i’m angry.

i was going to kill myself. can you believe that?

why should i die? i’m not the asshole.

it’s a ticking time bomb. you gotta throw yourself on it.

a guy admitting he’s a giant asshole? people love that stuff.

looks like you’ve done a good job.

where’s the money, sweetheart?

you’ve hiding. i don’t know why, and i don’t care.

i don’t think you’ve ever really been hit.

next place, be more careful, okay? lot of people out there worse than us.

every time you look smug or annoyed or tense, i’m going to hit you with a jellybean.

why are you so good to me?

why is it that when i need someone to save me, i always think of you?

oh my god. you little slut.

she’s the girl with the giant cum-on-me tits.

come. you’re staring at ghosts.

seriously, i can’t believe how fucking good you were.

you are so good to me. and i am so exhausted.

you’ll be very safe. i won’t let you get away again.

you scared me. don’t do that. i need to feel safe.

you were never under my thumb.

you are the best person i have ever known.

they disliked me, they liked me, they hated me, and now they love me.

whenever you said something stupid, i thought 'maybe he’s just stupid’. i was wrong.

none of this is mine - none of this was put here by me.

i need some time to think.

that’s the last thing you need.

i’m not going to force myself on you.

i just want you to be you again.

my defence is the truth.

want to play a little true or false?

you thought quinoa was a fish?

you fucking bitch.

it’s an insane story.

don’t blame yourself.

you must’ve bled quite a bit there.

how’d she get the box cutter if she was always tied up?

stop pretending.

i just said what you wanted to hear.

that’s how well you know me! you know me in your marrow.

take off your clothes.

you’re a murderer.

i’m a fighter. i fought my way back to you.

you begged for me to save your life. and i obliged.

the media will destroy you.

give it the night. sleep on it.

was there ever a baby?

if two people love each other and can’t make it work, that’s the real tragedy.

kiss my cheek. now.

you can’t live in the same house as that spider.

mess with it, they’ll come looking for blood.

we had the national spotlight on us, and we stained the rug.

i swear to god, you two are the most fucked-up people i’ve ever known. and i specialise in fucked up.

i’m the definition of 'at risk’.

remember: don’t turn your back.

i’d never hurt you. i do need you to participate though. that’s fair, right?

tell the truth and shame the devil.

fuck it. let everyone take sides.

i love tests.

we are toxic. we complete each other in the sickest possible way.

you think you could ever be with a nice, normal woman?

i complete you. i’m the only one who can.

stay with me and i will make you happy. you know i can. i’ve killed for you.

you’re breaking my heart.

You sound crazy right now. You sound psychotic. You think you're so fucking smart. So fucking at peace. — it's not like you really have it in you to care whether something happens to me or not, whether it's his fault or mine. Because you've already assumed from the very beginning that it was mine.

maybe he does. maybe he doesn't! josephine has spent enough time over-analying every little thing shilah has ever said or done for or around her; it feels exhausting, trying to parse through all of it. what's the point?

(it's not as though shilah can ever be described as shy. he says things he doesn't mean or without thinking more than he doesn't. she has practically baited him into it countless times –– before and, unfairly and with at least a little shame, after roman –– and nothing has ever come of it. if he were going to admit anything to her, surely he would've already.)

"he's had plenty of opportunities."

this is not something she should be admitting so freely to roman, but hasn't he always encouraged her to be herself? to be honest in ways she wouldn't normally be?

he may not be entirely right, but he was sure that fear was a part of it. " it's not different. and as much as you want to say it is, we both know the truth. "

(he was so closed-off when they first met. tight-lipped, secretive. he never wanted to share anything. there were moments of surprising honesty and an earnestness that was endearing and josephine had clung to them. she’d been envious of his ability to hide what he was feeling, except when it came to her.

she tries to hide it. convince herself everything is fine and well and good and still, it’s always been written all over her face; roman, at least, has always been able to see right through her.)

“i don’t want things to change.”

with roman. with shilah. with the three of them, together. she wants things she shouldn’t and more than she deserves to have and still, the idea of any of this diverging — it scares her, a little.

she reaches for his hand, still. she does know. despite his secrecy, she has always seen roman so plainly.

confronting josephine about it was easier. he had tried dropping hints to shilah, but if this didn't work, he would go for the direct approach.

" you need to tell him how you feel. " he doesn't acknowledge her apology, still stung by it. ( if they did draw the line between them, he didn't know how he was every going to get over it. but he would deal with it later. )

maybe he does. maybe he doesn't! josephine has spent enough time over-analying every little thing shilah has ever said or done for or around her; it feels exhausting, trying to parse through all of it. what's the point?

(it's not as though shilah can ever be described as shy. he says things he doesn't mean or without thinking more than he doesn't. she has practically baited him into it countless times –– before and, unfairly and with at least a little shame, after roman –– and nothing has ever come of it. if he were going to admit anything to her, surely he would've already.)

"he's had plenty of opportunities."

this is not something she should be admitting so freely to roman, but hasn't he always encouraged her to be herself? to be honest in ways she wouldn't normally be?

there are three of them now, but there was a time, before roman ever stumbled into the picture, that there were only two. she and shilah had an entire life together before roman ever came into it. a routine and an unconventional arrangement and a balance of some kind and they fit into it so easily, did not need anything or anyone else. she does not need roman to lecture her on how shilah feels or what he thinks or what he should do; she knows it already.

if anything, roman is the interloper. he is the one she should be explaining all this to.

“you know, roman — i do know how he feels. he makes it very clear to me.”

to me, like there needs to be the distinction. she doesn’t necessarily mean for it to come across that way, but it does: i understand him better than you do. i know him better than you do.

“we don’t need you —“ she stops herself. “i don’t need you to get involved in it. i know what you’re trying to do. you want to make it better but it’s just —“

i tried! she wants to say. don’t you think i’ve tried before you, before any of this?

" then what are you going to do? keep fighting with him and making yourself miserable? " he doesn't want to be harsh, just firm. " him miserable? things have not been the same; otherwise, i wouldn't have said anything at all. " not quite true, but who could say?

he tries not to keep thinking of it. never once has he felt this sudden line drawn between himself and them. it makes him feel sick.

“roman —“

that’s not what she meant. except it was, in a way. she is used to drawing lines between her and shilah and everyone else because that’s how things have been.

“i didn’t mean it like that. okay? i’m sorry.”

isn’t it a little pathetic, to think of acknowledging that she’d rather be miserable and fighting than risk any sort of alternative?

“i’m just —“

this doesn’t feel comfortable, but it feels familiar. she and shilah argue. they reconcile. she doesn’t know what she’d do if that reality changed.

she and shilah argue. it is stupid and childish and useless and she knows that half the time she picks these fights for the thrill of it, the way they are over the top and dramatic and all of shilah's attention focused so solely on her.

"it's not any different than any other time."

but it is, and she knows it. can feel it. the distance growing between them, a resentment that wasn't there before. they're slower to make up. it feels more stilted when they finally do.

it's not good for us. she laughs again, but there's less bite. of all the things that aren't good for them, this –– surprisingly, comically –– does not even factor into her list.

you going away isn't good for us, she thinks of saying, diverting, dodging. you coming home and not talking to me for days isn't good for us. your secrets aren't good for us.

it would be so easy to say it. to pick a different fight, send the evening careening in a different direction.

but roman doesn't deserve it. and josephine never feels anything but this gnawing, hopeless guilt when she argues with roman, even when he does.

"you don't know that it's going to get any better."

" josephine. " he does get a little frustrated, because he just wants to be direct without doing so. without making her feel like she was being forced. it was the delicate balance of her making that leap, and his gentle push.

there are three of them now, but there was a time, before roman ever stumbled into the picture, that there were only two. she and shilah had an entire life together before roman ever came into it. a routine and an unconventional arrangement and a balance of some kind and they fit into it so easily, did not need anything or anyone else. she does not need roman to lecture her on how shilah feels or what he thinks or what he should do; she knows it already.

if anything, roman is the interloper. he is the one she should be explaining all this to.

“you know, roman — i do know how he feels. he makes it very clear to me.”

to me, like there needs to be the distinction. she doesn’t necessarily mean for it to come across that way, but it does: i understand him better than you do. i know him better than you do.

“we don’t need you —“ she stops herself. “i don’t need you to get involved in it. i know what you’re trying to do. you want to make it better but it’s just —“

i tried! she wants to say. don’t you think i’ve tried before you, before any of this?

but she pushed emotions down so far that it was as though they didn't exist. addressing things sent her, occasionally, into a bursting fit of rage. she wielded her words like weapons and aimed as low as she could go — hoping that someone would take the bait. ( and, almost always, shilah was quick to bite. )

" you can be aware of something, " he explains, gentle, " and not acknowledge it. but i think it's about time that you did. "

he sighs. " you both keep fighting. it's not good for anyone. "

a beat.

she and shilah argue. it is stupid and childish and useless and she knows that half the time she picks these fights for the thrill of it, the way they are over the top and dramatic and all of shilah's attention focused so solely on her.

"it's not any different than any other time."

but it is, and she knows it. can feel it. the distance growing between them, a resentment that wasn't there before. they're slower to make up. it feels more stilted when they finally do.

it's not good for us. she laughs again, but there's less bite. of all the things that aren't good for them, this –– surprisingly, comically –– does not even factor into her list.

you going away isn't good for us, she thinks of saying, diverting, dodging. you coming home and not talking to me for days isn't good for us. your secrets aren't good for us.

it would be so easy to say it. to pick a different fight, send the evening careening in a different direction.

but roman doesn't deserve it. and josephine never feels anything but this gnawing, hopeless guilt when she argues with roman, even when he does.

"you don't know that it's going to get any better."

she feels a little cornered; she feels a little mean. his tone, the way he's looking at her –– it irritates her, makes her feel like she's being analyzed in ways she does not care to be.

"oh, okay." she laughs, turns her back to him. solutions. they have those, she and shilah: he drew the line, and she has stayed on the right side of it. complicated, messy, but ––

he's not planning on doing that this time.

" you think i'm not directly in the middle of it? " or, he should say, shilah. in the middle of them, where neither one of them seemed to mind. at least he could be honest with himself about that while they grew more and more stressed with one another.

and roman, to her surprise, tolerated a lot. more than anyone else ever had. he’d done so without much pushback and so josephine had carried on how josephine has carried on for much of her friendship with shilah. why would she do anything different?

(there is a misconception, she thinks, maybe one of the first times roman has ever misunderstood her — he seems to believe he is the one who figured all of this out first. he isn’t; he is just the one willing to actually admit it, whereas josephine spends her time squashing it down, attempting to bury it deep.)

“and?”

she scoffs, agitated, so tired of having this conversation already that she wants to be the one to end it.

“so what? do you really think you’re the first person to ever say something about it?”

they used to get so many questions. she and jack used to have so many ugly, ugly fights about it. their worst ones.