Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Names Petrified in Your Hands

“How many times have I told you not to call me by that name?”

“I’m sorry, okay? It’s just a force of habit. You do something for so long, you ju—”

“I don’t care. My name is Simone now, not Peter. It’s about respecting who I am, not who I was!”

“Don’t you dare throw that in my face and think it’s okay. Out of everyone, I’ve been your biggest supporter since you began this journey. So sue me, I slipped up! But we’ve known each other for thirty-six years, and for thirty-five and three-quarters of those years, I’ve known you as Peter. So forgive my simple, honest mistake and just answer the fucking question I asked!”

“Don’t do that. Don’t brush this aside like it was nothing. I can see the looks you give me. The disgust you feel is written all over your face. So why don’t you just say what you really want to say? Just get it off your chest so we can move past it.”

“What the fuck? Are you seriously trying to make this into something?”

“I’m not the one who started it. You! You’re the one who disrespected my name, the one I chose—not the name given to me by those things.”

“Those things? Are you talking about your parents?”

“Yeah, those sons of bitches. They gave me that name for fun, to taunt me, to keep me under their thumb. But I broke free. I showed them. I reclaimed who I am!”

“How in the fucking hell did them calling you ‘Peter’ make fun of you?”

“Don’t! You wouldn’t understand. You wouldn’t be able to. You’re just like they were—bitter, wrong, and jealous. Because I’m destined for great things.”

“P… Simone, we’re two-bit thugs. We collect gambling debts for one of the biggest bookies in the city. We’re not really going to be anything more than what we are, and you… well, your skills are, for lack of a better word, borderline psychotic.”

“Are you trying to tell me I belong in the nut house?”

“I’m not trying to tell you anything. I’m just saying you’re a few screws short of a few scre—”
A fist crashes into his face. His nose explodes, blood gushing forth. He rushes into the bathroom, grabs a towel, presses it tightly against his nose, and tilts his head back.
“You fucking freak! What the fuck did you do that for?”

“Because you wouldn’t shut your big mouth. You’re lucky that’s all I did!”

“When the boss finds out, he’s going to go ballistic. God, you’re a fucking moron.”

“Don’t bring God into it.”

“What the fuck are you on about now?” he says, staring at his reflection in the mirror, pressing the towel against his face.

“I said don’t bring God into the conversation, that’s so—”
“Just shut up and pass me the other towel,” he says, grabbing the towel from the rack near the door and pressing it against his face. “I can’t believe you fucking hit me,” he mutters, staring at his reflection in the mirror.