The wedding party all collapsed in the room
So send my resignation to the bride and the groom
Let's go down!

To The End (RNR Cheryl Remix) – My Chemical Romance


“Cheryl.”

“What?”

The guy looked up, startled, then his jaw dropped a little. A stunning woman stood behind him, her dark hair pulled back in a French pleat, a pair of frameless glasses perched on her nose and emphasising her scorching green eyes. She was wearing a smart black blazer and matching skirt, a dark green camisole underneath the blazer, a delicate spray of lace over her cleavage.

“My name is Cheryl,” she told him.

“Dan,” he returned, flustered.

“Excellent, now we’re introduced you can buy me a drink.”

Cheryl sat heavily on the stool next to his, popping her foot out of her high-heeled shoes and rubbing the back of her Achilles with a grimace. Dan, despite himself found his gaze attracted to her feet in their black silken tights, just opaque enough to tantalise, but see through enough to reveal her delicate toes with their glittering emerald nail-polish.

“I’m married,” he stated, managing to pull himself together and drag his eyes away.

Cheryl gave him a sharp look over her glasses, steepling her hands together and leaning her sharp chin on them.

“Hey, all I asked for was a drink, I didn’t say ‘fuck me’, now did I?”

She flagged up the barman as Dan flushed a brilliant red.

“I’ll have a banana daiquiri please, and get this stick-in-the mud a refill of whatever rat poison he was drinking,” she commanded in a tone that brooked no argument.

As he bustled away, she gave Dan a slight smile.

“Sorry, I’ve been at a conference all day,” She confided. “Having lectures on the ‘Eco-Sociological Implications Of Investments’ would make even a teetotaller need a stiff drink.” She paused, looking him over. “Well, you’re clearly not here for the conference, so…”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for him to fill-in the gap. After a moment of stunned silence, he finally got the hint.

“Wedding rehearsal,” he blurted.

“Not yours, I take it?” she asked.

“No, my sister’s.”

“And you’re what? An usher?”

“Best man,” He said, with a stab of insult.

“Best man Dan?” She smiled despite herself. “Hah, that rhymes.”

The bartender set the banana daiquiri and a scotch on the rocks on the bar and Cheryl tapped her credit card against the reader with the air of a magician waving a magic-wand.

“Well, enjoy the wedding, best man Dan,” She said coolly, getting up and picking up the drink.

“Hey…” Dan hesitated. “I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot, okay? I just…”

Cheryl glanced around the room. It was full of suited businessmen and women. With the exception of Dan in his jeans, there was no-one in casual clothing in the entire hotel bar.

“She’s not here to see you, is she?” she asked him lightly.

“No.”

“And none of the wedding party?”

“No, they all went off to get curry…”

Cheryl leant in, putting her heel on the rung of his barstool so her knee slid between his, her face inches from his.

“Well, I’ll tell you what, best man Dan,” She said softly, voice a softly venomous hiss. “I won’t tell your wife if you don’t tell my fiancé.”

He watched as she sauntered away, her hips swaying tantalisingly as she slid into corner booth, crossing one leg over the other with the gentle rasp of nylon on nylon. He turned away to stare at himself in the mirror over the bar, but instead ended up staring into her watching eyes. He looked away and ran a fingertip over the rim of his glass.

He was a happily married man. Well. A mostly-happily married man. Well. A married man. Whose wife was being an utter shrew at the moment as she didn’t want to risk getting pregnant before the wedding in case it ruined how she looked in her dress. The damn dress that had cost him a small fortune that didn’t suit her anyway. He’d explained about protection and how the risks were really low, but she just wasn’t having it. The best prevention was abstinence, Christ, wasn’t that what they taught in high-school? He had sworn to her to go straight after they got married, a promise that he had mostly kept… mostly. Hell, this was on her, he thought flatly, she knew he had a high libido and she knew about his cheating past, so this was on her, she should have kept him better entertained. How could it hurt? It might even do some good, make him more relaxed before the wedding tomorrow… And hell, it might not even get that far. It wasn’t breaking his wedding vows to just have a few drinks with a pretty girl, was it?



She always could pick the unfaithful ones, Cheryl thought wryly as she stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel tightly around her chest and wandering into the bedroom of the suite, wrapping her now platinum blonde hair up in a towel. Best man Dan lay face down on the bed snoring to kingdom come, his trousers around his knees and his arse up in the air. She rolled her light hazel eyes as she tucked the case with her coloured contacts back into her bag. He’d never come clean about what he’d been up to tonight, because that would mean confessing to his wife, and admitting that he’d been taken for a ride by a girl. Guys never expected to be roofied, and in the time it had taken to get from the bar to his hotel room, the drugs she’d slipped into his drink had kicked in. She’d almost had to carry him over the threshold, which would have been romantic in other circumstances.

There was always this thing in stories and films that drugs acted almost instantly. The truth was that they didn’t. Even injected into the arm, it took 10 seconds to reach the brain, let alone start working, and when anything was ingested it took a lot longer. Perfect if you needed to talk a reluctant cheater into restarting his old ways.

She slapped his butt playfully and heard him give a soft moan. He would however remain out for a long time. Cheryl – her real name Francis – started to calmly brush out her platinum blonde hair, then plait it up. Even if Best Man Dan did come clean, he’d be describing an entirely different girl. The dark hair, the glasses, the contacts, the suit, they were all just stage dressing. Francis patted her blonde hair calmly, then shrugged on a black padded bra and the matching knickers, shimmying a pair of bleached blue jeans up her legs and stepping into a pair of converse.

Even wearing the same green lace-fringed strappy top, she looked radically different from the smooth business woman in the bar, but her handsome face was all business as she pulled a pair of latex gloves from her bag and snapped them on. She looked around her for a clock, then took Dan’s watch from his wrist and buckled it onto her own, checking the time. She got up and looked out at the expectant night, then rolled her neck and clicked it this way and that, psyching herself up. She picked up her bag and slung it across her shoulder, before walking across to the door and turning off the light.

Francis didn’t leave the bedroom though. Picking her way calmly back across the room, she stood by the other door, not the one that lead to the hallway or the bathroom, the one that had necessitated roofing the best man. The one that lead into the Groom’s bedroom.

One of the first thing that she’d done when she’d got into the hotel room had been to lock the door and leave the key in. She knew that the occupants in the next bedroom were back, because she’d seen some-one test the doorhandle, but by locking it on her side and leaving the key in, it meant that they couldn’t leave the key in either to prevent her coming in. Plus, it wouldn’t have done for them to come in and find their unconscious best man. Not at all.

Francis waited a moment for her night-vision to kick-in, then reached down and unlocked the door. She paused a moment to listen, then opened the door, just a crack. The room beyond was just as dark as Dan’s, and from beyond, she could hear the soft sounds of breathing.

2 sets of breathing.

Francis frowned, then pushed the door wider, stepping into the room. The bride and the groom were both lying, curled up together on the kingsize bed. She froze. This had not been part of the plan. Francis hadn’t been counting on this. Her anger bubbled up scorching her insides, internally wanting to scream and smother the girl that had ruined her plans yet again, but… Francis forced herself to calm, to think about it, and a small smile flourished over her face. Now it had happened… it was like it was the only way it should have happened. It was perfect, really perfect.

Yes, she thought. This is how it was meant to happen.

Francis reached into her bag, withdrew a hypodermic needle and was smiling as she drew closer to the bed, gazing down at the couple like a guardian angel… or a cursing witch. The groom was lying on his back, the bride draped ontop of him, her great round butt stuck up in the air under the silk sheets.

Well, if she was going to make it such an easy target…

Francis jabbed the hypodermic into the bride’s glutinous maximus, squeezing the clear liquid into her system. The Bride twitched and mumbled irritably as Francis carefully withdrew the needle and re-capped it, but didn’t wake up as Francis tucked it back into her bag. Francis glanced at the luminous hand of Dan’s wrist-watch, assiduously counting down 30 seconds, just to be sure.

Francis gently, but firmly, half lifted, half pulled the bride off the groom. The Bride was an utter dead-weight now, so totally unconscious that there could have been a bomb going off underneath her and she would have had no clue. Francis shoved the girl to one side… then paused and looked down at her. Her hair was curly, long blonde ringlets spilling around a childish face, with cute features and a snub little button nose. Francis felt a stab of pity and stroked the girl’s beautiful cheek.

“Sorry to steal your happiness,” Francis murmured. “But you stole mine.”

And now she turned to the other occupant in the bed, and there was nothing as soft as pity on her face now.

“You thought that you could escape me,” She breathed. “After 5 years, you might even have believed it. But I promised I’d have you, and have you I will.”

The Groom, still fast asleep, gave a soft frown and nuzzled into the pillow. She walked towards him, pulling a coil of cotton rope from her bag. She was very glad she’d thought to bring it with her. If all had gone as planned, the syringe would have been for him and she’d have just strolled off with him. This made it harder, but somehow… so much more fitting. She knew it was possible, she’d done it before. The trick to doing anything sneakily is to not to think about the fact you're trying to get away with something.

She slowly pulled back the man’s covers. The room was warm, but all the same, she saw the groom shiver, waking up very slightly. Moving quickly but smoothly, she tucked his legs together and started to rope them tightly together at the ankle. That done, she took his hands and wrapped them together too, snugging the knots down, then used the tail of the rope to loop it around his thighs, pinning his legs together even more, and trapping his hands in his lap.

The groom was stirring now, sleepily getting closer to waking up, so she pressed on, but more slowly now. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pulled him gently into a sitting position, resting him against her shoulder as she wrapped more rope around his chest and arms. Knotting it off, she let him gently sink back into the bed and got up. His stirrings were becoming more persistent now, stronger, and she scanned the room before seeing what she was looking for.

The groom blinked his muzzy eyes, automatically struggling against what he must have thought were dream ropes, but now, looking down, he saw they were real against his naked skin. As he opened his mouth to scream, Francis leant over him and stuffed a pair of balled up socks into his mouth and wrapped a length of rope tight around his mouth, knotting it off to make a painful cleave gag. He tried to force it out, but her knots were strong and his yells and shouts were muffled. It wasn’t perfect, but then, it didn’t really need to be, the only people close enough to hear were both drugged.

Francis snapped the light on in the bedroom and the groom screwed his eyes up, grimacing at the assault on his irises.

“Hello darling,” Francis purred. “Did you miss me?”

The groom tried to squirm away from her, banging into the bride, who lay there, utterly immobile save her breathing. The groom looked from the bride to Francis, his wide brown eyes terrified.

“Oh relax,” She tutted. “She’s just drugged. If you had been keeping to the wedding customs, I wouldn’t have needed to drug her at all, awful bad luck to see the bride before the wedding day you know,” She tutted.

He spat something else out at her, probably insults, his whole face contorted in rage. That ever-present inferno flamed inside Francis as she gazed down at him. She didn’t like the anger. He had got brave in the years of freedom, but she’d soon beat that back out of him. Hiding her own temper with a serene smile, she turned away and opened the wardrobe curiously, running her hands through the dresses inside.

“Well she has taste,” Frankie remarked pulling out a red dress and holding it against herself, admiring it in the mirror. “Does it suit me lover?”

She laughed at his garbled profanities, and set back the red dress, still searching through the wardrobe, then paused, seeing what she was looking for. There, at the back, was a pair of colossal suitcases on wheels, one purple, one navy. His and hers. She pulled out the dark blue one and opened it up, running her eyes over the internal compartment, then over him. Terror danced again in his eyes now, and he shrank back, shaking the bride desperately as she advanced on him.

“I have to say, I’m a little hurt,” She continued cheerfully. “Didn’t think to invite me – your old friend for so many years? Or was it because you thought I’d object?” She turned back to look at him, eyes sparkling with malice. “Because darling, I so do. I object violently.”

Francis grabbed him by the leg and dragged him back across the bed. He struggled as she did and fell with a thump, but the thick shag-pile carpet muffled the sound. Pinning him to the floor with her foot, she reached for more rope, banding it more and more tightly around him, turning him into a tight fleshy package, defenceless skin bulging between the cords.

Pushing him onto his back, she rested her arms on his thighs, now pressed tight to his chest and looked down at his brightly flushed face, panting, then looked down to see the clear evidence that while the spirit was unwilling, the body was amenable.

“Looks like some-one missed this,” she purred. “For all you tried to escape it, you really have missed it. Did the tart over there not know how to keep a guy in line? Or did you have to beg for a few make-out sessions with a pair of furry plastic handcuffs, eh?” She watched his face blushed redder and patted his cheek condescendingly. “Don’t worry darling, I’m here now. Frankie’ll take care of you, the way only I can.”

The groom squirmed beneath her, shaking his head violently. She stroked back his hair, with a strange tenderness, then grabbed his face, kissing him hard over the gag. He twisted desperately, but couldn’t escape her mouth. She pulled away and smiled down at him, then dragged him over to the case. She paused, straightening up, then started, seeing something. He tried to follow her eyesight, then his eyes widened. Under the bed, where his fiancée had left it was a bright pink glittery phallic vibrator. They’d been playing with it the night before, and she must have not put it away properly. Francis snatched it up and stared down at it.

“I clearly misjudged her,” She observed cheerily. “Maybe she is into some more… kinky stuff.” She gave the bride an admiring look. “You sly kitten, you.”

Francis tilted the toy this way and that… then the Groom saw the diabolical light come into Francis’ eyes. Francis slowly advanced back towards him, then pressed the vibrator against his sphincter.

“I think it’s only fair… as a parting momento?” She asked, blinking angelically up at him.

She slid the vibrator deep inside him, so he could feel its little plastic balls pressed up against him, the tip jamming up against his prostate inside him. He whimpered in pain and pleasure, and braced, expecting more to come… but it didn’t. He looked up at Francis as she considered him, tapping her fingers on her thigh.

“You know, I still think that you’re too noisy,” She remarked.
Francis glanced around. There on the back of the chair was a white scarf, patterned with multicolour butterflies. She picked up the long length of diaphanous material and let it flow over her hands… then knelt over him again. She wrapped it tightly over the gag already in place, knotted it off, then wrapped it over his mouth and nose. The scent of his fiancée’s perfume filled his lungs as he stared up at his crazy ex as she heaved him into the case and started packing all of his clothing in around him. She checked every inch of the room, removing all of his belongings, then removed something from her pocket and put it on the bedside table, where the bride would see it in the morning. She looked back, seeing his quizzical look.

“It’s your leaving note,” She explained softly. “The same leaving note you left me.”

His eyes widened and he thrashed in the case, half-submerged in his own clothing, but she’d tied the knots too well, he wasn’t able to budge an inch. She knelt down next to him, and reached for the zips of the case… then paused, looking at him.

“I have missed you,” She murmured. “And this time, I’m not letting anything come between us. I tried to understand when you ran away, you know. I tried so hard. And then when I saw on Facebook that you and her were tying the knot well… I can’t. I can’t lose you to some-one so obviously inferior. You belong with me darling, we’re the perfect fit. You just need time to see that, and I can be so very…” she twisted his nipple gently. “Persuasive.” She looked into his eyes, and she looked so suddenly innocent, like a child caught in wrongdoing trying to make you understand that it was alright really… like you were the person who was wrong, that she should always have had permission. “You do understand, don’t you darling?”

The groom gave a hollow laugh and shook his head firmly. She patted his cheek again.

“You will,” She promised softly. “You will.”

With a final decisive scream of the zippers, she closed the case, sealing away his judging, pleading desperate eyes. She stared around the room one more time, then patted the girl on the back with a sad smile, and pressed a kiss softly against the sleeping girl’s cheek, like a mother bestowing a bed-time kiss.

“I hope you take it better than I did sweetie,” Francis murmured. “I’m sorry. I was there first.”

Francis hefted the case up onto its wheels and towed it out of the door, flicking the light off, then shutting the bedroom after her. Pulling her own scarf from her bag, she wrapped it around her head and neck and shrugged a jacket on, towing the case along the corridor and into the lift. She kept her head lowered so that the CCTV couldn’t get a clear view of her face behind the scarf. She could hear a soft muffled whimpering and feel the bag shaking, but Francis was sure that no-one else would. And plus, it was 12 in the morning on a Thursday. Who on earth would be around at that time? She waited calmly until the lift reached the ground floor and towed it out of the lift and into the lobby. She could have parked in the hotel garage, but it had CCTV on it, and she didn’t want her plates to be recognised. She had taken great care to make sure that she couldn’t be linked to this, and having her car seen near here, that would have been sloppy, as would have been using her own credit card. She delved in her bag and threw the stolen card wildly over her shoulder into the street. Maybe some-one would turn it in, maybe they wouldn’t. Francis didn’t care. She had her boy. All was right with the world.

She barely managed to wait until she was across the street before she started to skip slightly, a big grin flourishing across her face. All this time and it had worked, she had her darling boy back. And now he would never leave her. Not ever.

Francis walked down the street and into the car park of a gym. The CCTV camera had been destroyed by vandals ages ago, and the parking had been cheaper here anyway, so it had seemed a brilliant place to leave her car. Francis wheeled the case up to the back of her SUV and, with a heave, managed to heft the case into the boot. She stood there for a moment, panting for breath, then a thought occurred to her. She reached in and opened the case. The groom stared balefully at her.

“Sorry, forgot something,” She reached into the case and delved through the clothes.

The groom gave a high-pitched squeal as she turned the vibrator lodged in his butt on. She squeezed his cheek with a brilliant smile.

“Just some in-car entertainment,” Francis beamed at him. “Sweet dreeeeeeeeeams!”

She shut the case with a snap, then slammed the boot. Shivering in the darkness, waves of pain and pleasure coursing through him he struggled with all his might against the chafing ropes, hating her for doing this to him, and hating that a dark part of him was loving every second of his helplessness. Every breath he took in filled his lungs with the scent of his fiancée, and despair came crashing over him, welling up in his eyes and running down his cheeks as he sobbed helplessly in the case, thinking of all the plans that they had had swirling down the drain.

He rested his head against the bottom of the case as the car started up and bawled his eyes out, his heart shattering into a million pieces.