synopsis. a lover deem's themselves unlovable and creates a solution
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Simon Riley knew the moment you jabbed his shoulder with his fist that he was in love with you.
Before he realized it, the affections he had for you were hidden in the layers of sitting next to you during meetings, shielding you with his body once the world became a battlefield, when his eyes unconsciously hunted for yours when he was in a room of people he didn’t recognize.
It only grew when your world got too loud, he would find you sitting on the floor of his room as your hands glided across the page when you began to draw. Those times were always filled with deafening silence, but you manage to make those moments sound pleasant when your pencil sketches lines and shadows of images that caught your attention.
On one occasion he decided to ask what it was you liked to draw. Your eyes would smile knowingly as it met his own and you’d just mutter, “Things I like…” It was always vague and he never understood it until he caught a page with images of those around you. Price with a cigarette hanging from his lips. Gaz out of uniform cradling a cat. Johnny sitting on the floor with a towel over his face after a run. Then himself.
Most of your sketches of him were never finished, particularly his hands and his face. The images were there, his shape was there, his mask was there, but never his eyes or any indicator of the man behind the mask.
“Was it difficult to capture my likeness?”
Your hands stopped sketching the world outside and you’d nod slowly, the kind where you’d nod to appease the speaker than to speak your truth.
He’d press you further because he wanted to know and then you said, “If I draw you exactly. I might never see you again.”
He’d tilt his head, ask for you to elaborate and as usual you’d respond to him with typical vagueness that fell in line with poetry he didn’t really understand.
He should have asked you more about it then.
—
Simon knew above all that he was an imperfect, ugly, hypocritical man. He knew it when he woke up in the morning and washed his face and what stared back at him was the reflection of his father. He can’t bear the sight of his own face.
Yet he hated how you made him tolerate it. Made him learn to like it, even a little bit.
When he’d brush his hand across the scar that marred his face he’d close his eyes and imagine it was your fingers delicately tracing the shape of his skin while you poured his cup with the poison of your tenderness.
He’d bring his hand over your own, squeezing softly as he’d bring his lips at the point of your wrist, grateful that you see him. Grateful that you could hold him longer than a second. Grateful that you could still look at him and still call him by his name without the ounce of bitterness that he looked the way he did.
He adored you so much it hurt to breathe when you were near, it hurt to be away from you knowing that when he’d glance at the corner where you’d draw, you weren’t there. It hurt to know that when he laid in bed he’d imagine that this flimsy pillow he pulled deep into his chest was you. He was pathetic when it came to you and always will be.
—
When his heart stilled at the realization of how much you complemented the days he spent with you he was star struck and so deathly afraid because he knew you realized it too.
You knew it and you liked him. You adored him. You loved him.
You said it yourself.
You said it looking at him dead in the eye, his face in your hands as you drew on his skin with coloured markers.
You said it on the cargo plane back to base with your face muddied with earth and dirt as you grinned at him.
You said it when you laid on his bed together with legs tangled between each other.
You said it when the car park was dark and your staggering footsteps trailed behind him when he forced himself to say goodbye.
Simon forced his gaze away from you as you ran after him. He forced every painful step he took forward and away from you because deep down inside he knows the moment he stops walking he will simply stay just for you. He forced himself to muddle those deep, honest words you spoke into twisted lies because he cannot allow himself to believe that for once in his ugly bloody life was he worth enough for someone like you to love him.
His chest stung when you wept behind him, begging for him to turn around to to simply just talk to you, and with every breath you took he simply kept moving forward. All you saw was the back of the man you thought you knew.
When the door slammed shut the sound of your cries stilled an echo within him and the muffled sound of your voice sounded like fingers pointing in his direction that said, that this happened because of you.
—
“Ghost…”
“I’ve got to go. Price needs to see me.” He didn’t spare a single glance in your direction and it stung.
“Ghost, please talk to me.” Your soft voice lulled him and he wanted to look at you, go down on his knees and apologize for making you cry, but he didn't.
Rather he pushed past you, shoulders brushing against each other as he could hear your voice call for him again.
“What did I do?” You quicken your pace to match his, “Please just- tell me what I did wrong. I’ll fix it- I’ll be better! Just please stop ignoring me like this-” You say, hurried and out of breath, eyes begging to meet him and your gaze was never returned.
He arrives at Price’s office, door just within reach when you step in front of him, blocking his path and for once after weeks of trying to forget your face, your voice, your presence– his world returns to him only this time its a still frame of your reddening face and watery eyes and he can just feel how much he hurt you. How much he took from you that he knows he can never give back.
“What are you doing?”
“Don’t give me that bullshit, Simon.” His body stilled at the sound of his name. Your shaking hands nervously squeezed to a fist, like the way you used to when you first became a part of the taskforce or when you take on a mission you lacked the confidence of fulfilling.
“What did I do? Please just-” Your voice cracks, “I want to fix it. I want to just talk and at least be– friends again..”
He stood like a formidable wall, casting you in shadows from the bright, gleaming ceiling lights only this time, this wall wasn’t protecting you anymore.
“Fix your act sergeant.” Your breath hitches and as his heart claws itself inwards he pushes on, “Since when have I ever cared about you?” He bends down to your level and the hands that once cradled you with fondness became vines with thorns that prickle and poked into your skin that bled.
His hand itched to wipe your tears only he dropped them down on your shoulder, pushing you aside. “I’m not your friend, sergeant. You’re most certainly not mine either.”
It was too loud and the lights were hurting his eyes.
He opens the door to Price’s office and you grab his sleeve.
Simon forces a sigh and rips his arm away from you as she shuts the door behind him.
—
He squeezed his pillow tight into his chest, pretending everything was alright, that he didn’t turn away from you, that he didn’t make you cry, that he didn’t lie to your face that you meant nothing to him.
But he knows that the damage has been done.
You hate him. You need to hate him. You need to hate him so much that his blood is fire against his bones. You need to hate him enough to hate himself. You need to hate him enough that he believes the lies he feeds himself because any ounce of mercy from your kind eyes will melt any preservation he had to ensure he suffered for you.
What he did is the right choice. Simon can’t allow himself to be loved by you when he knows by the end of the game he will simply just hurt you and everything you have built together.
He will hurt you more being with him than being away from him.
He is fire against your still waters and he knows he will burn everything around him that the warmth you thought eased your soul was destruction in disguise.
He will hurt you, scar you, bite you, and burn you so deeply that the marks of how much he destroyed leaves a mark on your heart and you deserve so much better than his flames. You deserve someone who doesn’t ruin you when they stay. You deserve someone who can nurture you to grow to someone better than who you are now. You deserve someone who can make you happy. You deserve someone who isn’t him. Simon Riley, the scarred face bastard who was so scared to be loved by you that he pushed you away hoping you’d forget him forever.
Simon nuzzles his face into his pillow, pretending it's your shoulder and the memory of what was stung and comforted him.
This is for the best. Even if it hurts.
—
From then on the eyes that used to linger on him and his form disappeared. Now they gaze at someone else, someone far more charming, kinder, safer. Someone who eased the nervousness of your shaking hands before an operation. Someone who stopped at the sound of their name being called. Someone who wasn’t afraid to hold you and be loved by you so loudly that it deafened everything around you.
It relieved him so much that you were in the hands of someone who can properly cherish you without hurting you.
It relieved him enough to breathe like his ribs didn’t hurt him. It relieved him that when he walks down the hall he doesn’t hear you right behind him. It relieved him that he didn’t have to hear you sketching in his room late in the afternoon when your world got too loud.
people (gaz) said johnny was the filthiest one when it comes to sex.
you expected a sex dungeon at the highest form of degree of nasty, slutty filth, and the lowest being a bit of public sex. you were ready to embrace it all, you were curious and needed that pussy fucked after a long while of dickless nights so whatever degree of sexification experience johnny had in store, you were ready to take them.
however, after dragging him into your bedroom after a days- no- months of him being away and kissing him with all the courage your body can muster, you were embarrassed to admit that you didn't need to be dicked down to weep underneath him.
oh he was a sweetheart and every word that left his lips sounded like a sweet song.
'you missed me tha' much?' you mewled and hid your face in your pillow as he kissed your cheek, 'i missed you too.'
his hands were doing wonders and as you shut your eyes tight you were seeing stars.
his palm smacks against your cunt, wet, filthy, and sloppy sounds echo along with your sounds of pleasure.
'you feel so good around my fingers' he groans softly against your ear and his sound sent tingles across your body, 'you're so pretty,' his fingers slowed and curled against that damn sweet spot and you wept, 'joh-johnny-'
'i know, i know' its that damn tone, that sort of babying and mocking tone- he knows what he's doing to you.
your back arches as your mind spins and spins, tummy curling-
'come for me, bon. come for me.' oh you did, you spilled and soaked his hand. sticky and wet with your juices, he brings his hand into his mouth and tastes you.
he hums at your flavour, gently caressing your thighs as you catch your breath. he chest rumbled with amusement as you wipe your eyes with the back of your hands with a pout.
'why're you lookin' at me like tha'?' he teased and you rolled your eyes. if him shoving his fingers in your cunt was enough to have you in tears, one can only imagine once his cock stuffs you full to the brim. you might be hysteric (although preferred, you can't become a brainless little slut when it comes to johnny...it would be embarrassing).
his touch soothed your breathing to a calm rhythm and before you can focus on how damp your legs were with cum and sweat you tugged his shirt.
'off.'
he raises a brow and instinctively you mumbled shyly, 'please...'
he closes the space between you and kissed your cheek, 'good girl' he gives you that cheeky grin before pulling away to unbutton his dress shirt.
he was putting on a show, hands carefully popping buttons with a delicate touch. the slow reveal of the curtains pulling back to his picture perfect body.
how did you even get to move in with a military guy? you can't remember.
you stared, stuck in an embarrassing trance as he lets the shirt drop behind him. if he stunned you just like that who knows what else he'll do to you.
by the time you blinked back to the current state of your reality johnny was knelt between your legs, thigh propped on his shoulder as he nuzzled against your flesh, 'bonnie~, you alrigh'?'
you pouted, 'what are you doing?'
his hand caressed your thighs delicately and pressed a kiss against the space close to your dripping cunt, 'ah think you know' his gaze lingered to that dripping slit and he was in a longing gaze, 'bonnie, can i get a taste?'
fucking hell.
he tears his gaze away from below and he meets your own flushed expression, eyes weak and pathetic and silently begging, yearning, to hear a 'yes' from you.
you nodded, 'please..'
it was like christmas day the way his spirits lifted along with his shoulders as he gently pulled you closer. he brings his face close to your pleasure and pressed both thumbs around the fat of your slit. wetness leaks more out of you and he groans from such a filthy sight.
'so pretty' he leans close and pressed a kiss on your cunt.
tingles ran as a shiver across your spine and as he pulled away to lick the traces of stickiness on his lips he parted his mouth and you hated how you quickly fall apart beneath him .
'o-oh my-' your breath cuts short when you feel him spread your puffy lips apart and he delves in like he hasn't eaten in days.
this was heaven... or hell- whatever it is johnny was taking you places you didn't realize you could even reach. he pleasures you greatly that you feel tingles run through your blood. your brain was turning to mush- thoughts weren't present anymore- just pure euphoria to dull your mind away from worries.
you'd lean forward, tugging on his hair and he doesn't stop (though not like you wanted him to), it only seemed to drive more of his desperation to eat you up even more. the vigor of a starving man was terrifyingly delicious, especially when you are on that platter.
'sensitive-' you mumbled through pathetic cries and as he opened his eyes to meet yours your stomach coiled, his thumb pads the hood of your clit and your orgasm crashes instantaneously.
johnny eats you up, prolonging your orgasm like he wants to have every last fucking drop.
tears of pure ecstasy blurs your vision, 'hold on- waitwaitwait!-' what were you even saying? your thighs were crushing either side of his head and he can't leave and as though a natural response he pushes his face further into you, left hand pushing the back of your thigh further into your chest, tongue flattening and sucking until his lips glistened.
wet slurping noise echo throughout your bedroom and your sheets were starting to dampen under you-
'johnny for -fu-fucks sake!-' your body was weak and you pat his head desperately, 'off! off!-'
he pulls away instantly and if your brain wasn't so high up in the air you would have caught the way his eyes were wide with worry as his palm wrapped around your thighs. the leg pushed up against you rests against his own, his other hand rubbing your waist as if to ease the upcoming ache your joints will be feeling from being folded in such a position.
'i need to-' someone get a doctor, 'catch my breath-' your chest heaves and you throw your head back on your pillow trying to calm your mind yet again.
'was tha' too much bon?' you nodded and you feel that glossiness from your eyes itch to leave your eyes 'mhm-' you take deep breaths and wipe the tears that dared to roll down your face, oh he was just that good youre crying?
'bonnie? im sorry.' his voice was rough with worry, 'are you okay?' you peek to read him and he sat there patiently like an obedient little thing. bright blue eyes gazing down at you with those pure puppy dog eyes like he didn't just eat your pussy out you saw the clouds. '-i told you to wait!-' you kick his side lightly, 'oof'
you feel the warmth of his palm and you push yourself up from your elbows as you begin to slowly regain your breath. he caressed your thighs softly, back and forth, back and forth.
'i'm sorry bon..' he takes your hand and pressed his lips against your fingertips, 'how can i make it up to you?' he nuzzles his face into your palm, his weak blue eyes constantly on yours as sweat and the flushing burn of his blood rushes to the surface of his skin.
your brain short circuits and you were embarrassed to hear that right after that you fainted.
tw: perversion, light necrophilia, amputation, descriptions of corpse desecration, violence, gore, murder, and death
He started out as a murmur in crowds of blurry unrecognizable, pointless faces. The story had a pattern, a string of bad luck, disappearing children or those of unsound mind, more often than not disappearing into the depth and nothingness of the woods left stranded and abandoned in the darkness with only the shell of their former selves, dead or alive, remaining.
No one knows when it first started, there were no records of him and his time until the 1930’s when children began to tell stories of his existence. Like most families they believed he was nothing but a character made to play pretend.
Then the illnesses started. The disappearances. The ringing of the mind. The feeling of being watched. All of it came from the woods.
With constant similarities always striking into light through each investigation of mangled corpses and disappearances of his victims it's no wonder that journalists and reporters made sure to bring his presence to light yet they never had a name for him that stuck.
‘Man of the Woods’
‘The Hunter of the Lost’
‘The Pale Butcher’
He garnered a fuckfest amount of names yet one thing stayed true. Survivors and witnesses to his brutality always reported the same thing to describe him, ‘An inhumane being pretending to be a man dressed in a black and white suit standing as tall as the trees around him. Stares at you with a pale head that bares no face’, others reported of his unnatural body length and size, mentioning the abnormal stretch of his arms and fingers that does not seem to fit well with him and his stature.
Some described the lankyness of the way he walks, his body hunched over when chasing behind you, his legs staggered almost dragging behind him as you hear nothing more than his feet rumbling across the soil and the drilling of what could be his voice or immortal power funneling into your head like siren desperate to be heard before you do something drastic to keep your mind quiet.
No one ever caught him then, some say it was due to the lack of resources and the fact that his appearances were scattered across the country. Who could blame them? How can you capture a man who moves across the country in the middle of the night?
However, one thing was clear. No one knew how to catch something like him. He was an alien, a myth, and a ‘story’ made up by the deranged or survivors of his schemes.
Decades passed and even though his stories have become folklore, science still couldn’t explain the oddities and holes in each investigation in the stories of survivors.
Forensics, Interviews, Scientific Investigations, Theories- in the end they threw the sufferers of the trauma under the category of mental illness and called it a day. Then it was left at that. The world turned and the memories of terror that loomed over the lives of those that lived from him died with them.
Somewhere in the 1990’s to 2000’s, images of his presence popped up in a forum, most were of blurred photographs and candid snapshots of the creature. Stories from the past resurfaced like memories being reminisced. Now his life has a reboot in the digital world and it is creative and vast.
Despite his existence having a comeback, he was still treated as a myth and a legend. Something families used to scare kids to ward themselves away from being in the woods for too long.
Only a few of them would work though.
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I smell like absolute horseshit.
Why did that fucking cunt have to own a damn farm anyway? Why did I have to bear the responsibility of having to slice and dice this bitch anyway? Boss knows I prefer my girls a little more urban, why do you think I love the Gotham style alleyways so much? I use it to my advantage, duh.
Toby was having his fucking tickity-tack-ticks a little more than usual which obviously tells me (because I have more braincells) that he didn’t have a good time in Boss’s office. Honestly, getting sent there in the first place means you didn’t do a good job in the first place. Masky would know since he’s a fucking screw up majority of the time, but don’t tell him I said that because he’d actually beat my ass so hard I’d wish to be in Zalgo’s harem instead.
I wipe the blood off my knife on my white hoodie, the blood staining it in messy red smears because I love it. What I don’t love is that Betty the fucking cow took an aggregious amount of shit on the ground our nice broad kicked me into. For fuck sake– I might as well gut this damn heifer for ruining my hoodie. I washed this two fucking days ago!
“Toby, you're lagging more than usual. The fuck is up with you?”
Toby wiped his face and the soil from his arm spread across his forehead, “Bo-Boss…”
Always vague when I fucking ask. I’m trying to be nice here dipshit.
“What did he make you suck his dick under the table or some shit?” I check the broad’s pockets for loose change but all my hands feel is a pocket of disappointment. Her valuables are probably back in that farmhouse.
“He wouldn’t ca-call me for- for that when your mou-mouth is bigger.” Cheeky shit.
Toby pulls out a ziplock bag and I start ripping this chick’s shirt- woah nice tits. I hear a “You’re fucking-fucking sick.” I rolled my eyes, “Can we flip this bitch over already?” I placed my right hand under her shoulder and the other on her ass. Toby placed her hands crossed over her tits and then we flipped the broad over to her side then we threw her arms across her chest leaving her side exposed.
Behind me I can hear Betty’s breath hanging over my head. She smelled like unwiped ass and the moistness of her breath against my neck– Ugh. I shivered in disgust, I fucking hate farms.
Some parts of this broad’s shirt still covered her back and side so I lifted it up just enough to where Jack told me to cut. I traced over the girl’s ribs feeling the curve of the bone until I reached the bottom of her ribcage, then down a little more below. I feel the muscles on the sides of her body and just like how Jack taught me, wherever my thumb was sitting was where the gold is probably hidden.
I make the incision in a slight, diagonal angle, stretching the cut further down the side of her body. Blood began to gurgle out through the cut, then it pools down the sides of her body and into the soil. I make another incision parallel to the diagonal cut to form a ‘T’ shape and peel the layers of skin and muscle like a banana obviously with a bit more struggle because a human isn’t one but you get the picture.
“So what happened with that meeting you had with Boss anyway? You got your phone back and shanked the bitch.”
Toby tickity tics again, his shoulders and neck jerking uncontrollably, “Apparently-” His shoulder juts, “I nearly compromised myself-myself when I was looking for the pho-phone in the crime sce-scene.” I dug my fingers into the cut, warmth and the gushy walls of muscles enveloped my hands.
Blood flowed out some more and it began to stain my jeans and the cuffs of my hoodie. I more or less fingered the thing until I felt something similar to a kidney against my fingers. Bingo. I took my knife and dug into the cavity until I felt small tube-like things connected to the kidneys, then I gave them a good ol’ cut.
“You did go out in broad daylight. That’s like going to a bank naked and holding them at gunpoint.”
Toby huffed and groaned, probably heard the same type of shit from his meeting with Boss. “Then-Then he did his tor-torture thing.”
I winced at the thought, “Yikes. Sounds like shit. What did he do this time?” Slender was our boss for a reason, if he wants us to learn, he’d make us learn. After I saw what he did to BEN while he was in the cartridge, I knew my ass wouldn’t survive that shit even if I wanted to. The perks of torture for Toby though is that he can’t feel shit the sad part about it is that Slender doesn’t need to be physical with you to hurt you.
I take the kidney out and if the smell of blood and shit wasn’t already strong enough, well brother you are only scratching the surface because damn did I smell iron everywhere. You could make a minecart with how much iron was stinking up the damn place.
My pale hands dropped the first kidney in the ziplock bag Toby had opened for me and I hopped on to the other side of the chick’s body to harvest the other kidney. Blood smears across her back in shades of various red while I measure and find the area I should cut before I make the incision and do the thing again.
“He made me see-see what is happening with my-my mom– threatening her life and all that shi-shit.” Toby stammered out, he had that look on his face that told me that those threats were hitting a big homerun to the shits.
“Huh.. All this for a phone and an already dead broad? Man’s weird.” I yanked out the kidney and dropped it in the open ziplock bag. Toby zips it up and wipes the blood dripping from the lip of the bag on his pants before getting up with a grunt.
“There-there was more to-to it than that.” I brought the blade of the knife and ran my tongue around the flat edge, a soothing metallic trail of blood spilling into my mouth. I tilt the knife that the sharp edge of the blade is directed towards my face and I glide my tongue close to the edge that I nick my tongue. I always loved this damn part. I’m getting hard already.
Toby grunts, obviously disgusted, “Don’t-Don’t you fucking touch-touch yourself. We’re still-still not done.” The grass rustled as he makes a headstart, “Fucking freak…”
I cackled out, “I heard that!”
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The neighborhood was shrouded in a cloud of darkness and the streetlights that should be illuminating my path should be turned on and making this nightmare looking street not look so much like a nightmare and more like a friendlier looking environment where you can walk your dog and your house cats… I miss Roots so much.
It still breaks my mind how me coming here happened because of a lost phone. Tobias Rogers apparently was alive the entire time for the last how many years and now became a psychopathic maniac that’s murdering everyone from high school (at least that’s my theory) and then he tied me up in my own home then played with my apathetic dog and then stabbed me in the chest then I guess I had a coma and sort of recovered something life threatening in the span of just roughly close to a week and then I was announced as missing and now Rivka my only friend is also now announced as missing.
All of that horseshit happening from Tobias losing his fuckass phone!
The sound of my radio was reduced to a low hum as I indicated to the culdesac where I used to live. This was so weird, I don’t get why all the neighbours and neighbours houses refuse to have a light on at night, it’s really good to have one to fend off any raccoons or animals that would go through the trash bins in the backyard.
I swerve into the empty space of my old home’s driving lane that leads to the garage then shut the car off. The trashy pop song playing died as quickly as the car’s engine rumbled down and now I am engulfed in the neighborhood's eerie, terrifying silence, save for the cool winds, the chirping of cicadas and the howling of the owl who my dad affectionately named, Jerry.
I’m reminded on why I moved out. The streets are impossibly empty, it makes you wonder whether you entered a ghost town or a place actively lived in by people with families and children with dreams about the future and the elderly who lived an era so comparable to yours that they can bestow the wisest of knowledge upon you or the hardest lore about the life they lived. I hope I reach that point in my life where I can tell them my wacky life story of nearly dying but not.
I peek over the wheel and more or less stretched my neck to see whether there were any lights in the house but all I saw was more darkness. I grab my sweater from the passenger seat and throw it on before pushing the door open and heading out of my car. The cold was so harsh that it bit my skin with temptations of frostbite. I really need to get inside. My legs dragged themselves across the pavement and on to my dad’s wooden front porch, I could feel that one slot of wood underneath my feet that wasn’t securely fastened. Dad said he’d fix that, some years in college later the plan still remained a plan.
Speaking of dad, I should call him and tell him about this whole mess.
I fumbled around for my phone and called my dad while at the same time knocking on the front door. Gotta confuse him I guess. Should he take my call or answer the door? I need to explain everything that happened for the last five days , like I died but I kinda didn’t? And my killer was some dude from my high school who burned his house down and who was thought to be dead. I also need to ask what happened to Rivka, like how the hell and when the hell did she go missing? Is she okay? Where was she? Who took her? Is she still alive?
The number you have dialed is not available. Please try again later.
Wow, fantastic! I dial his number again and pounded my free hand on his front door again.
“Dad? I’m outside, please answer the door!” I called out into the darkness of our house and like before there was no response. This is just like a horror movie and like a stupid protagonist, I’m going to barge inside like a psycho in hunt of my probably dead dad who I truly hope isn’t dead in this scenario. I crouched down on the ground, lifted the mat for the spare key dad usually taped under the mat but I guess he removed it since I’m not living with him anymore…
The number you have dialed is not available. Please try again later.
My chest began to drum and my brain was racking up terrifying scenarios of what the hell is happening to my dad. What if he died in his sleep? What if he’s being suffocated in his sleep right now? What if he’s actually not here? Now that is one normal thought but he’s not answering the phone when he usually answers the phone– Oh my fuck, what if Tobias Rogers is killing everyone from highschool and their families too?
I dial his number again and trotted over to the side of the house and checked the windows if there was even anyone inside. “Dad?! I’m– I’m here!” I yelled out again and there was nothing. No shuffling, no padding of his heavy footsteps, nothing.
The number you have dialed is not available. Please try again later.
My stomach drops again. This can’t be happening. I hobbled over to one of the windows to the kitchen and forced my fingers underneath a slot and with all my might pushed it open. I climbed over the window and forced myself inside. I face planted on the floor and even though I’m sure I broke my nose, I didn’t let that stop me from pulling my legs that hung outside the window inside the house.
My body thumps on to the ground and my nose begins to burn with ache. My eyes watered slightly and I wiped my eyes with the sleeves of my hoodie as I looked around the kitchen. It was the same as how I left it, the kitchen island that was the size of my study table settled in the middle of the kitchen, the fridge still has the same recipes stuck on it by the magnets we collected traveling interstate over the years and some from outside the country when we have more than enough money saved up.
I pushed myself up from the ground and looked around some more. In the corner next to the fridge was a small shelf with recipe books he bought from our last trip in Japan and scattered across the table was some unopened mail, a lot of it actually and it seemed to pile up.
“Dad?” I headed over to the garage to check whether his car was parked inside and it was. So he’s home. Where the fuck is he? I call out for him again as I beelined back to the kitchen to fetch a knife for self defense in case someone that isn’t my dad is here.
I hold the blade with both hands like a gun ready to be drawn at any moment as I glanced around for my dad or any source of light I didn’t see while looking around the house when I was outside. My hands were shaking erratically from anxiety. I need to keep them still, I need to calm down…
I took my shoes off so the sounds of my feet were muffled by the carpet that lined down the hallway. My feet carefully and as quietly as possible creep around the house. I peek in the corner and I see a faint shadow coming from dad’s bedroom on the wall adjacent to his room. The carpet thumped under each cautious step to my dad’s room, “Dad?”
I hear nothing and the sound of my racing heart is pumping in my ears. Is there a thief in the house?
Adrenaline pumped my body and controlling my breathing suddenly became the hardest thing to do. The hall to dad’s room seemed to bridge further and further and further away from me and my head is ringing with this weight that something terrible is actually happening to my dad, not the kind of ‘what if this happened’ kind of weight but the certainty that he is in the position where he can’t speak up and do anything to save himself from whatever is destroying him.
“Da–!” A pale, wet and clammy hand masked itself over my mouth and nose and slammed me into their smelly body. My body freezes and like a dumbass I drop the knife on the ground leaving me defenseless. Fuck! My hands claw against their arm, their pale skin, anything to fuck with this putrid smelling assailant but he is relentless.
“Mmph!-” My struggle and whimpering noises die at the sound of his heavy, bated breath that crosses between a chuckle and a sort of huff of air, “Would ya’ look at that. Daddy has a pretty little girl waitin’ for him huh?” My heart dropped. What the fuck did that mean? No, No, No! In a fury of all the adrenaline left in me I open my mouth and bite hard against his disgusting sweaty fingers and he cries out, letting go temporarily and I run to make my escape into dad’s bedroom.
“Fuckin- bitch!”
“Dad?! Dad?!-” I screamed, I need to scream and get someone's attention that way if I actually die this time, someone knows about it and that I– at least I hope my life will be brought to justice both me and my dad.
Footsteps raced behind me and they were fast– frighteningly fast that it scares me in a way that I have never felt before except when I ran into Tobias days ago. My feet dragged themselves behind me and I nearly tripped over myself if I didn’t catch my footing the millisecond I nearly toppled over.
“Playing hard to get, princess?” I didn’t look back. Plus even if I did, I know he wouldn’t be my type.
I beelined to my dad’s bedroom and slammed the door shut, flipping the lock to close and suddenly a loud crash echoed from behind the door. My knees were weak when I saw the door nearly fly off its hinges when that attacker’s body slammed against the door.
“Oh my god. Oh my God. Oh my–” I could hear the wood splinter and break apart the more this person is trying to break the door down. Fuck, I need to think fast, I need to– I need to block the door. Yeah, I need to block the door.
CRASH!
Now! I need to– I look to my right and of course! Dad’s dresser! I ran to it immediately and latching both my hands on the very right side of it pulled it to block the door. The friction was rough against my fingers and my hands and muscles began to pound with ache as I grit my teeth and bring this dresser to the door.
“C’mon move!” I groaned as the dresser topples over on its side and blocks the door with a loud deafening crash. My lungs were on fire as I tried to catch my breath, that should stop him for ample time.
CRASH!
Fuck fuck fuck.
I look around the room some more, trying to find something to further block this door down from this fucking maniac and at the corner of my eye I see movement. My heart pangs and I turn to face it only to be met with the monster who started it all. The monster who tied me up, the monster who took a knife and stabbed me in the chest where a scar leaves a memory of what the fuck he did to me.
“You…” I could feel all the blood in my body drain away from me and my body goes slack.
He stares back at me behind those orange tinted goggles, in that striped mask and striped hoodie with those tufts of brown hair peeking out. His hand held like a small axe? A hatchet? I don’t know, but now isn’t the time to figure out what the hell he has as his weapon of choice when he is coming towards me ready to kill me again!
His hand that held a hatchet swings overhead and I step back shakily with my arms covering my head as if it will protect me from the blow of his fucking weapon, “TOBIAS, NO- PLEASE DON’T!” I cried.
My eyes were wet and stinging from tears and I wanted to cry again, “I thought I-I killed you-you.” My breath heaves shaky relief from this, I guess the idea that he’s taking his time to interrogate the prey before the slaughter fills me with hope.
“Toby, if you take my kill I will-” The door crashes and splinters of wood begin to fly into the room, “-kill you!”
My body flinches with every slam against the door and Tobias swings his arms again, ensuring I die. A shrill scream escapes me as I dove down into the ground and rolled over to dodge the attack.
“NO! N-not my daughter please don’t do this!” My head cranes to my dad who I didn’t realize was tied and strapped into his work chair with Tobias’ fucking leather belt and duct tape. He planned to kill my dad. I groaned as I pushed myself off of the ground and before I knew it Tobias was taking a heavy step to me again, arms raised with the blade of his hatchet catching the light and–
CRASH!
“Toby I said, she’s mine!” In the gap of the door a face emerges and I see long thick, disheveled black hair, dark bloodshot eyes targeted at me and a mouth that stretches uncannily to his ears. If I looked deeper, I would catch that the ends of his mouth were traced with jagged edges that healed from the scars of a blade. His eyes. They are terrifying. It didn’t hold restraint, they traced the shape of my body and I hate that I caught how he licked his lips as if the idea of killing me, thrilled him.
I hear the woosh of a blade overhead and I stumble back instantly. My dad cries out, “No! No! You can have everything, just don’t take my daughter plea-please don’t!” His voice was guttural and desperate. I have never heard my dad this way before and in that moment it hit me that when I went missing for a while he must have been just as desperate to find me.
My heart hurts and before I could have a moment to weep, I realized that this moment isn’t the right time.
“You..” Tobias pointed the mini axe–hatchet towards me and I whimpered at the closeness of the blade, “How-How the hell are you a-alive?” I push myself further away from the point of the blade and I feel my head hit my dad’s legs, “I-I saw you die. I know-know you died.”
I have no fucking answer for that, I shake my head, “I-I DON’T KNOW OKAY? I-I DON-”
“WHATE IS HE TALKING ABOUT (NAME)?” My dad panics and I feel the rumble of his anxiety and frustration and his fear run through my body, “He–”
Toby squats down and I tense immediately, lifting my arms above my head like I’m surrendering myself. He doesn’t say anything, rather he guides his hatchet down my chest and uses it to lift the hem of my shirt, slow, and steady as if taking into consideration that the steel would cut me open. I was too scared to even breathe and I just endured it while begging to any God above to make this night mare burn over.
I shut my eyes tight and I feel my shirt expose my belly and slowly up my breasts then to my chin. I hated how sensual it felt and I could only whimper as he let the edge of the blade of his hatchet continue to hold the shirt up to my chin as he studied my body like a psychopathic pervert.
I breathe shakily and peeked through my lashes to see what he’s doing but all I see is the way he tilted his head as he looked to the center of my chest, the scar. Behind me I could hear my dad cursing him out, shouting profanities I never heard him say before and telling him to stop or he will kill Tobias, but his words fell on deaf ears.
“That healed too fast.” He commented and my shirt dropped down. The cool air that met my body shifts back to the damp wetness of my shirt. He didn’t know that would happen either. What did that mean? Was I Wade Wilson or some shit? Could I heal from disasters like this? I don’t know but the moment Toby leaned back, I grabbed the hatchet and in a fit of all fury and rage that he put me and my family through, I raised my arms to attack him.
I don’t care if I am called a murderer just as long as he’s fucking dead.
I swing my arms downwards and Tobias dodges my attack. He seizes my wrist above our heads and I stumble backwards, but this time I hold my ground. Glaring at him through gritted teeth as I push with all my might, through the burn of my arms and the ache in my chest, “I’m going to kill you.” I growled.
He laughed at that and I only hated him more. I will make sure you die tonight Tobias Rogers. I pull the hatchet towards me and we’re caught in this dance of push and pull of the hatchet. I pulled the weapon down to my direction and with all the momentum I had, I jumped from where I stood and tried to dig this axe into his chest but he redirects the blow and kicks me off to the side.
A winded gasp escapes me and I wheeze for air as my body slams against the wall.
“NO!” Through blurry eyes I can see my dad shimmying in his restraints and I push myself up before jumping on Tobias’ back. I wrap my arms around his neck and I put him in a chokehold. We stumble backwards and my back slams against the wall, it hurts but I’m determined to see Tobias in a coffin. Tobias’ arms flail around for a second to balance himself before using the hatchet to try and get a hit on me. I choke him only tighter but it’s like nothing was working!
I felt an ease once he began to wheeze and my arms squeezed tighter around his neck. Tobias uses the hatchet to claw my arm and I reach out with my weak hand to stop the hit or weaken the blow only–
-Blood splatters everywhere. I heard a thump on the ground and the sound of the psychopath behind the door began to laugh and echo in my head. My vision blurs and my hold around Tobias’ neck falters as I realize that my index finger and thumb were sliced off. Blood oozed and drenched all around my hand and it dripped down my wrist and arm.
It must have been the shock and adrenaline but in that moment I couldn’t feel anything, I was just so angry. I tightened my grip around Tobias’ neck and yanked down his mask with what fingers I had left. I shoved my bleeding hand into his mouth, choking him in my blood.
His hand grips my wrist, pulling my hand out but I try and force my hand further down his throat. He’s choking. Good.
I squeezed his neck some more and Tobias began to slam my back against the wall, again and again. The hand that wielded the hatchet swung upward and directed it to my head. Shit. I push us off of the wall and we fall forward and slam against the ground, the hatchet in his hand flies off to a short distance away from us.
My hand eased from his body as I felt my body begin to run with such a pain I’ve never felt before, all of it coming from my amputated fingers. Tobias chokes and wheezes for air. I climb over him, smacking his face against the ground as my bleeding hand reaches for the hatchet. Holding this is going to be a struggle, I reach for it anyway and both my hands wrap around the handle of the blade. I backed into my dad’s position, directing the hatchet to Tobias’s body.
“Dad?”
“You’re crazy (Name)!” He shimmies in his seat and my legs shook as I stood up to face my dad. He’s still tied up, I use the hatchet to hastily cut him off of his restraints and he rips the tape off his skin as he embraced me for a quick moment, “Let’s get out of here-”
“Not quite!” The Pale Psycho from the door somehow broke in and pointed the knife from my kitchen to us and I shield my dad with my bleeding hand, behind the pale psycho I see Toby getting up after choking on my blood. I could feel him seething.
I hold the hatchet with my not amputated hand and swing to the Pale Psycho. I feel dad run past towards Toby and they get into a bloody fistfight.
Redirecting my attention to the Pale Psycho I scowled as he licked his lips, “I like you. You bite.” He’s disgusting. He parries my swing of the hatchet and speeds to me, the knife directing itself to my shoulder and I cry out from pain as he pulls it back. I gripped my shoulder and he licked my blood off his blade.
“Fresh ones are always the best.” His eyes never leave mine. My arm is fucked from moving unless I want to be in pain while I try and defend myself…
My hand waves with the hatchet anyway and I swing back and forth to attack the Pale Psycho and his eyes only widen more than they already are, gleaming as he awaited each attack and dodging them in a way I don’t understand. In a fit of frustration I step back and throw the hatchet in his direction and he ducks only for the hatchet to dig into my fathers back.
My heart drops. “NO!”
The Pale Psycho looks back and cackles as dad toppled over on his knees, wheezing and howling in pain. Dad reaches for what's behind him and I see Tobias wield another hatchet I didn’t see before and swings it to my dad’s face.
Dad falls on his side, his body thudding against the ground like a heavy boulder. Red stains the floor in waves.
After Johnny “Soap” MacTavish gets discharged from the hospital after recovering miraculously from a bullet wound to the head, he is honourably discharged from the SAS and now is forced to live the life of the people he saves when night falls, a civilian.
By applying for a job as a waiter at a French restaurant called La Perle, he learns to adjust to his new life through the journey of his new job and the relationships he makes.
What he doesn’t realise was how his already shifting world would go upside down when the restaurant’s head chef returns from her trip to France would indulge him in her culinary world.
[Inspired slightly from the K-Drama, Bon Appetit, Your Majesty (2025)]
tw: breaking and entering, violence (choking and verbal threats), murder, death
When people hear tragic stories of others going through traumatic experiences like robbing a bank, witnessing firsthand murder, or vice versa, the majority of the time in the minds of the listeners they’d say they wouldn’t experience such catastrophes in their own lives using excuses like ‘the neighbourhood is safe!’ or ‘that story happened five years ago. The system has improved!’ but then life pulls a 180 and says, sike! Here’s a traumatic experience, packed with character development that fills your entire already fucked up persona with more what the fuckery.
Well, here I am, strapped to my own couch, bound by a stranger’s leather belt, mouth gagged with some clothes I left drying outside, a lovely core memory to remember accompanied by one of my many traumatic experiences. I sure hope the character development I get from this doesn’t make me a psychopath, that is if I even make out of this one alive.
My heart was pounding out of my chest, like it was trying to escape me. Am I really going to die? Am I going to die before I even turn twenty-five? Before I get married and settle down with a husband in an apartment that isn’t infested with roaches and ants, and with ceilings that don’t make you think it could be made with ingredients for the G-virus?
A well of emotions creeped through my heart and I sobbed. Fat ugly tears rolled down my face while I wept and the brutal truth that I will just be another statistic. That I will just be another Christopher Miller, a dead life to be remembered by strangers within a few days then disappear just as fast as I appeared.
My face was hot with blood and my sobs were as continuous as a river.
Are these the kind of thoughts the dying think of before they die?
The masked perpetrator with orange tinted goggles sat on the couch opposite where I sat. He was hunched over, legs spread with his elbows on his knees while his gloved hands fiddled with that knife I bought with my dad when we went to Japan. I couldn’t see the man’s eyes, those stupid goggles have a glare from the lights that makes me blind to what his eyes could be noticing, but fuck, he’s terrifying. While he toys with the knife his goggles were directed to me. I can just feel the way the knife would cut my skin with how his gloved fingers grazed the blade of the knife. It’s like he’s done this before, I just know it.
Once he was done fiddling with the knife he drew the blade in my direction, waving it lazily from its helm, “Where’s my phone?” I threw him a confused look, brows furrowed and all before realizing that phone with cheese stickers and wafflefrogs must be his. I glanced down at the living room table where I last left it, and it wasn’t there. My body only riles up further with adrenaline, I felt cold and hot at the same time.
He got up, the knife flipped to the stabbing position and my body rattled in anticipation of my skin meeting the blade. The murderer reached for my face, and I braced my end with shut eyes before I felt a rough tug of the belt off my teeth. A painful and aching sting spread throughout my jaw and I moaned in pain.
My kidnapper didn’t seem to spare any look of concern for my sudden pain but it’s even a surprise from me to even expect such empathy from someone who barges into your home with the most probable intention to kill you.
“Tell me where it is.”
“It,” My heart was lodged in my throat, my tongue slack in my mouth and I gulped for strength, “It’s in the-“ his hand reached for my neck again and I let out such a pathetic whimper, “Louder.” His fingers were gentle at first but slowly he eased it to a vice grip. He’s going to crush my windpipe because I didn’t say where his phone was. Is this how screen addicted this generation is? “Under the table! Under the table! Let me go please!”
He heeds my request, and I gasp for air. I didn’t realize how much of my breath was knocked out of me when he gripped my throat. I caught my breath as I watched this man bend down like a dog to check under the table and the couch for his phone. He uses the knife’s blade and swipes his phone from under the couch, out slides some of Root's dog toys and his phone.
Once he spotted his phone, he grabbed it and stood up at such a hasty speed the man’s hood whips to his back and there goes some details I can tell the police if I’m spared. I’ll tell them a dog loving, twitching and stuttering five eight-foot man with a rough mid-range tone in voice bound me with his belt. Should I also tell them that he shops at Levi’s for his boxers?
I struggle against my binds as Roots with his lack of safety hobbles over to my kidnapper while holding a ball in his mouth.
Are you fucking serious?
“Roots! Get away from him!” I hissed and Roots just glanced up at me then up at the man's face and whimpered. He whimpered because I said he should get away from the damn kidnapper who tied me up and threatened in subtext to kill me.
This dog with his very own eyes just witnessed his owner get threatened and bounded by an attacker and not once did he think ‘hey isn’t that kinda rude? Illegal maybe?’ not even with my face slobbered with tears and snot did he think was the predicament I was in such a huge issue. No, he went off playing with some dog toys that desensitized his sense of danger and maybe even empathy for me.
Now, when I show my disdain and restriction in Roots’ opportunity to play fetch with the damn person who gripped my throat like a wild hose, he whimpers and gets a hissy fit.
This dog might actually be the death of me.
The brunette took the ball from Root's mouth (don’t ask me why I suddenly felt jealous of my dog sharing his affections to my possible murderer) and whipped his face to me, “You named him after a plant?” Now I’m being pressed by the kidnapper for the name I chose for my dog.
“You don’t get to judge what I name him in my house.”
A heavy muffled breath leaves through the fibres of his mask, his heavy steps bring his looming figure over to me before he squats in front of my face and shoves his mask down his chin. The twitchy killer breaths out some air, and internally I thank you for your services, if you spare me, I can spare some more details to tell the police, like how pale your skin is and the scar over your lips that stretched closely at the base of your nostrils, and how you twitch so much like the kid from my high school…
The news from years ago flashed in my mind and my stomach bails out. There is no fucking way he is real. They all said his body was never found and theories of his body burning to ash from that housefire was the best and likely reason. Everyone at school said so, they all said Tobias Rogers died from that house fire after murdering his own father. It was all pure speculation.
This must be revenge. It has to be. Before he was homeschooled he was ostracized by everyone because of “His tics” the teacher said. I never really cared enough to properly understand then. I hardly knew the kid.
The man leaned close to my face, the flatness of the blade dragging itself cool against my skin and the fear was sunken from my own revelation. Looking at him now, his thick brown curls, pale skin, dead and blank eyes behind the goggles. This was him. Oh my god this was him. It’s Tobias Rogers.
I can’t believe he’s alive.
I can’t believe this is the path he is taking.
He’s become a monster.
His shoulders jerk and the familiarity of his gritting teeth and tics from science class hits me. I can’t feel the blade against my neck anymore as I sat frozen beneath him. “I can kill you.” His words dragged a bit when he said ‘you’ it sounded a bit like he just learned to talk after an intense surgery.
There’s no doubt in my mind. This was truly Tobias Rogers from high school.
He lifts the knife away from my skin and pulls away, tugging the mask over his lips as he pets Roots who barked from behind him and started running around the apartment like he heard me say the word walk, “I’ll keep your dog once I’m done with you.” He leaves the knife at the very end of the table and begins tossing the ball up in the air before throwing it across the house, Roots hops and runs after the ball with an excited bark.
What happened to you, Rogers?
His back pocket began to buzz and he sighed, muttering a brief “For fucks sake.” Before pulling his phone out to answer the call.
“What?”
The man from the phone began to howl in maniacal laughter, “TOBY, TOBY, TOBY, YOU ARE SO FUCKED. ASS TO FRONT.” Roots padded quickly by Tobias’ side, ball in his mouth as he pawed his jeans for his attention. He bends down and takes the ball from Roots mouth, rolling the slobbered tennis ball against his thigh before tossing it across the house again, “What the-the hell do you want?” His shoulders jolted, “I got your knife if this is- wha-wha- what it's about.”
The caller on the other end tuts, “Someone snitched on your twitchy little ass.” This persons voice was light with amusement.
Tobias’ expression hardened and his glare was directed to me. My mind began to spin. His ticking seemed to become dangerously slow, the world was shaking with each terrifying step he took to my bound position. I want dad. I need dad.
His gloved hand clamps over my mouth and my body is running cold, “Mmph-” I shake my head, as if attempting to persuade him to think about this, for him to hear me out, to free me this once and I will swear he will have no one after him once this is done.
“Was it Tim?” Tobias asked.
The caller hummed with amusement, “You know he has the weakest mind between both of them.” laughter follows and Toby ‘s hand drags slowly from my mouth down to my neck, his hold was firm, not tight to kill and suffocate, just there to remind me of what is to come.
I don’t say anything, rather I wonder what will happen after this, what dad will do with the money I saved for his fifty-fourth birthday surprise trip to Bali. I wonder when I last told him I loved him and how grateful I was that he was my father. I can't even say goodbye. My chest hurts.
I want to wake up back at home from this fucking nightmare. My heart is mixing along with my resolve of acceptance of my last evening.
Tobias scoffs, “I’ll be back once I’m done here.” He taps the end call button and shoves his phone in his front pocket before grabbing the knife from the table. There was no beat of silence to dwell in his rushing and rising anger and that meant I had no time to think about how I would plead for my life once his grip on my throat tightened. I writhe and struggle in my binds, I can’t breathe, I can’t move. I can’t do anything!
“hCK!-” So this is how it happens. This is how I die.
Somehow the binds of my legs loosened and for once I am fighting for my life, I flail and kick and do what I can to make him keel over in pain but it was no use. I’m weak. He trapped my legs with his own as he pushed me flat against the couch, his goggles gleamed with hunger to shed blood and the knife he raised above me was going to be the last thing I’m going to see before I die.
My legs try and try to kick him off of me and nothing works.
I struggle to breathe through my mouth, “Please- Please don’t do this!” I wheezed breathlessly, voice cracking, face snot and tear filled but shame and embarrassment is not in my cards if it means to survive even just a little bit. “I want- I need to see my dad!” I wailed but all he hears is nothing. My watery eyes trained to his goggles, please somewhere in there can he find mercy to spare just this one measly life!
Tobias was focused, his grip was crushing everything in my throat and as I choke trying to chase for air or even a voice all I heard were my ugly wheezes and squeals.
I try again.
“To- Tobias-” His grip on my neck weakened before tightening even more and my vision began to spot with darkness, my body was weakening.
“Please-”
There is nothing more I can do anymore. A flash of silver crosses with the light and I feel pressure on my chest.
Roots barks in the distance and as I shut my eyes, darkness greets me.
tw. mentions of smoking, paranoia, grief, breaking and entering
Roots is an adorable dog; I love him to death and walking with him is one way to ease my mind from Christopher’s death. My mind can’t stop replaying the newscaster’s voice, echoing about how he was murdered, and it sends chills down my spine. I dig into my bag to reach for a cigarette and lighter.
Roots barked at the action, and I immediately shove the lighter back in my bag. I forgot this labrador didn’t like me smoking in front of him. According to the vet, the smell of cigarettes and drugs reminded Roots of the slums where he was found. Now I’m guilty, am I making Roots feel unsafe with me smoking? I really need to quit. If I keep this up, I might begin to start to sound like dad. Yikes.
Though I know deep down I won’t.
“Sorry boy,” I bent down and started rubbing behind the flap of his ears and smothered his fluffy face with kisses. The labrador barked once again and nuzzled his little face in my hands. My heart squeezed itself and I felt all flushed with adoration for this cute pupper. “I love you, Roots. No one will ever reach my number one as easily as you. Not even Matthew McConaughey.”
After coddling and roughing up my dog’s fur for a few minutes, I let him explore the park by unclasping his collar from the leash. Roots didn’t waste time and bolted once he heard the clink! Of the clasp from his collar. His paws padded around the green grass, his tongue rolling out and his tail wagging so fast he could probably helicopter his way to space. I could die happy seeing Roots all happy.
Hm, I should make that my reason to quit smoking.
I reached for my phone and started taking pictures of Roots running across the field, his interaction with other dogs and his exploration of plants.
My shoulder tenses once I feel a grip at the back of my waist, “Uhm, excuse me miss. Is this yours?” A young boy hands me this beat up phone and I awkwardly receive it, “I’m afraid not, but I can hand this to a police station’s lost and found.” I inspected the phone and flipped it back and forth. The screen was filled with cracks, it’s a miracle it's still functional at all and the back has plenty of stickers of cheese and wafflefrogs, the camera had a small crack at its edge, but it should still work.
The boy looks back and forth from me to the woman a few feet behind him who I can only assume is his mom. “Uhm, my mom and I need to go now... Make sure to give it to the police, okay?” I smiled and nodded, “Sure.” What a kind kid. I’ll make a mental note to drop this off at the station once I’m done buying groceries later. I shoved the phone in my bag.
══════════════════════
Who knew killing someone so irrelevant would cause the police to start patrolling the neighbourhood, let alone the house that the irrelevant lived in. Well, used to. I should have asked Brian to come with me, but his face was too beat up for the police to not notice. I can just tell they would stop him and start interrogating him with questions about Christo-fuck’s murder. Maybe even ask him if he was jumped by the murderer.
Then again, it’s not like I stood a chance with Brian. Just because I have CIPA doesn’t mean I have unlimited strength.
Leaves and gravel crunch against my feet as I trekked around Christo-fuck’s house, trying to find an opening where cops aren’t trying to actually do their job. Once I did, I hurried over to climb over the fence, cutting my ankle before I tumbled down the ground.
The backyard is as generic as any home you’ve ever been in, white picket fence with tall grass so green you’d mistake it for paint. I took a deep breath and relished the smell of dew after the rain, the smell was just wet grass, but it felt calming. I rip my gloves from my twitching hands, and I feel through the strands of grass emerging from the ground. It tingles against my skin, like fluttering pages of paper that don’t give me papercuts.
I scanned the area, and I’m reminded that I shouldn’t stay here longer than I intended to stay. I need to find that phone fast because I know skinny boss will rip my head off once he finds out that I lost the only device I could use for communication (stealing aside) to do his ridiculous jobs.
Starting from one corner of the yard, I used the lawnmower method and made a line feeling the grass for my phone while I crawled on the floor like a dog. Speaking of lawnmower, I should have let Chrissypants mow the lawn first before stabbing him, the grass is too damn long. I can’t find my phone in these conditions.
I feel more of the grass as my gloves and knees start to dampen from the moist ground while I crawled forward, my arms doing windshield wiper movements on the ground for maximum efficiency but as I neared the patio, it dawned on me that I might have left it on the crime scene. Nice one Toby, you’re so smart, leaving evidence of your existence in the place of your victim with your DNA plastered all over it.
I feel a buzz on my ass, and I reach my back pocket for Tim’s phone which I’m currently borrowing.
Dickhead is Calling…
Appropriate name for Brian, Tim. I swipe left and bring the speaker to my ear as I continue my windshield wiper movements.
“You find it yet?” His voice was gruff, some of his pissed offness from last night is still evident in his tone. Better not make him too mad since he gets mad pissy anyway.
“Nah, I think-think it’s in the house.” I glanced at the door I left ajar a couple days ago and peeked inside. They took Chris-Cross Applesauce’s body. I sure hope I didn’t shove my phone in his pocket, cause that’s a fuck up I will take to the grave once boss find out.
Tim sighed, “It’s not in the house Rogers.” He used Rogers, he’s really pissed. Shit, I fucked up big time, maybe I did put it on Chrizzler’s pocket. I stayed quiet and got up from my shameful position as I started wiping the grass off my damp knees. “Is it close-close by?”
I hear Tim take a breath from his cigarette and a satisfied groan leaves his lips, “I sent the address.” I hum and check the messages, sure enough an address was slapped on there along with which room the phone is placed. “You owe me a ton of favors, Rogers, I had to ask BEN to trace your phone for you.” He isn’t dropping the Rogers thing, isn’t he?
“Whatever.” I ended the call before looking out the fence for cops.
══════════════════════
“Sit! Sit, Roots!”
The labrador walks a circle before sitting himself perfectly on the ground, “woof!” I toss him a treat and he crane his neck to the side just enough to catch the dogfood with his mouth. A crunch like noise stills the air with Roots little grunting noises as he chows down the treat.
Apparently, grocery shopping with a dog would be more difficult than I thought. I’ve had Roots for several months now and despite me bringing him to the park, I somehow forgot that it’s written in Roots doggy DNA to constantly explore everything and anything. Happily, may I add, his adorable tail would helicopter crazy fast when he explores things. He is by far the friendliest and most airhead of a dog I have ever met, he has no sense of danger, and I know for sure that he is unafraid to approach anyone, even a murderer, which is ironic because he used to live in the streets but oh well.
While I tried getting eggs, a bag of rice, and orange marmalade off my shopping list. Roots thought that the leash was optional to his free will, so out of nowhere, he would drag me to places he would sniff and stare at. For example, a can of Milo was in someone’s cart, and he started sniffing the cart, circling it and just bared his teeth as he barked to play.
I got him to calm down in the baby section where they have those baby piano’s that have number’s one to five in different colours and three button instruments on top which play a tune from whatever instrument is pressed. Roots was enamoured, so enamoured he pawed the keys and when the voice from the toy said “Colour Red! Do you know other things coloured red?” he would bark out an answer like he understood the question. It’s adorable but I knew this was setting me up for a trap.
A trap that I gave in to.
“Colour Orange! Do you know other things coloured orange?” “Woof!”
I bought the toy.
I got down on the ground with roots and laid myself flat on the living room carpet, my lobes prepping themselves for what could most likely be the worst purchase of my dog mom journey and stared up at the ceiling.
This apartment is ridiculous, not because of the very obvious safety hazards like the tangled electrical wires at the electricity pole next to my apartment or the continuous growth of mould in my kitchen cupboards or the fact roaches and rats are creeping through some parts of the washing machine. No, I can handle those, I just hate the damn popcorn ceiling, it looks so horrendous. The fact that my intrusive thoughts want to touch them and pop pre-existing air bubbles with moistness that could spark up a new version of the G-Virus from Resident Evil is making me go crazy.
“Roots, what do you think about moving downtown? I know we won’t be closer to your favourite park bu-“
Roots claws scrape against the piano buttons, “Colour Red! Do you know other things coloured red?” Roots eagerly barks and I continue with my ramble, “-but living conditions would be better than here. And cost effective too.” I run my hands through my hair, “I can’t stop calling a plumber every time I flush the toilet every few weeks because some fat rats got stuck and clogged the toilet.”
I grimace at the memory, what an unpleasant thought.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, feeling air leave through my nose. I wonder how Christopher’s family is doing. I never really met them but I’m sure no matter what kind of relationship he had with his family they should grieve him.
Grief. Yesterday, I grieved Christopher Miller, my high school sweetheart of my last year in high school. What did I even grieve about? Memories of our relationship together? His existence as someone who gave me an introduction to dating? Or did I grieve the loss of life? Not specifically the life of Christopher Miller but the loss of a human being’s life. I think I grieved on what could have been Christopher’s future. His dreams, his career, his family.
I guess I grieved more on what he could have done and experienced in his life. It makes me upset, the upset where you hope others don’t experience it too.
My phone buzzes from inside my bag and I suck in a breath as I wipe my face with my hands. It’s Rivka, she called me late last night to check up on me and see if I’m okay. I should actually tell her I’m feeling better. The rattling buzz in my bag seemed to get louder the longer I laid down on the carpet, so I gathered some strength to reach over to my bag and pull out my phone.
It’s not buzzing anymore. I wrapped my hands around my phone and pressed the power button to see my notifications list full of Rivka’s messages.
Rivka
I hope you’re okay.
Talk to me if you’re sad!
I’m praying for his family!
https://www.facebook.com/millerfundraiser
his family is doing a fundraiser for his funeral on facebook.
Im thinking of sending his family a message
Should I ask to attend his funeral?
I tense at the question. Despite knowing Chris for just a year and grieved his death in the span of 37 hours, that question felt too straightforward. Was knowing him for one year a good enough reason to even attend his funeral? Did I even have the right?
Maybe I should go out of respect…
I unlocked my phone and sent Rivka a reply.
You
Let’s go for it.
I’ll ask the family first if we’re permitted to go.
I don’t think they’ll be comfortable with you asking to attend the funeral first though especially when you only knew Chris through second-hand accounts.
Rivka
Okay!
Then I heard another wave of buzzes that didn’t come from my phone. I got up and rummaged through my bag and it felt like an anvil dropped on me.
I forgot to bring the phone to lost and found.
I quickly rip the device out of my bag and check the caller’s name.
Tim Tam
Is this a kid’s phone? I swipe left and bring the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
Silence on the other end, no breathing, no ASMR crunching, absolute quiet. I put the phone on speaker and asked again, “Hello? Are you the owner of this phone?”
Then the call ends. Totally not eerie, not like it’s a scene ripped out of a horror movie. I looked down at the beat up phone, the broken screen frames my face in its cracks. It felt like a bad omen. The hairs at the nape of my neck are standing up, I need to cuddle Roots right now.
The phone suddenly buzzes in my hand and a message notification pops up on screen.
Tim Tam
You got my phone?
I wanted to reply to the owner, but he forgot that he placed a seven-digit passcode on his phone. So, I can’t get access to his messages to send a reply that said yes, a trustworthy person has your phone and actually wants to give it back, free of charge, unfortunately, I can’t tell him that since I haven’t even gotten past the lockscreen.
So, I waited for a call so I could answer and tell him where I could drop his phone off. Certainly not my house, it’s too beat up, plus the owner of the phone could be some evildoer. You don’t know what human beings are capable of these days, he could be a stalker for all I know, maybe even a crackhead.
I left the phone on the living room table and headed for the kitchen to make cereal for dinner. Roots seemed to have fallen asleep so the diegetic sounds in my house, my neighbourhood is loud in the silence. The trees dance from the wind’s song, the sounds of my light feet pervade the air in light thumps against the creaking floorboards.
My ears are perking up at any noise from outside the house, like crunching footsteps, knocking against the windows and walls, chattering voices. I made sure to be perceptive of the world around me. That call was far too eerie for me, I feel like there are eyes everywhere despite the majority of the curtains in my apartment drawn shut. I’m getting paranoid. I need to call Rivka.
I hobbled around the house, rattling doorknobs back and forth to make sure the doors were all locked, especially the backdoor. I’ve seen enough horror films to know that being that kind of stupid is what gets you killed.
Once I felt like I was safe enough, I sat myself in the living room to call Rivka, maybe ask her to come over or stay on call. I should call the police, but is that enough evidence? Just one measly phone call with no signs of crazy on the other end? Maybe the owner of that phone has poor reception from where they’re calling. Maybe this Tim Tam dude called the owner of this phone assuming said owner still had it but once he heard my voice, he just ended the call because it would be super awkward to talk to a stranger. Or maybe this was an elaborate ruse by a serial killer trying to add more statistics in his roster?
I’m overthinking this. I skim over the floor where I laid with Roots, “Where’s my phone?” I felt a hole cave in my belly. Did Roots swallow my phone? No, is there someone in the house? No, I locked all the doors, so I don’t have to worry about that. Are they going to pull a Scream movie kind of thing by calling the dead apartment phone?
I feel a figure looming behind me, and I know it isn’t Roots because it’s a gloved human hand wrapped gently around my throat. My blood runs cold.
“You forgot to lock-lock the windows.”
My chest felt weighted with bricks, I can’t breathe.
I craned my neck up to see my attacker and before I could say anything I heard a dreadful sound.
“Colour Blue! Do you know any other things coloured blue?”
It’s rare for me to kill people like that. I’m blaming it on the dog.
My hand tugged back on the handle and pried the knife away from her chest and slipped it in the gun holster slot I stole from another victim. The heat from whatever life is leaving out of this woman’s body seeped through my worn-out gloves. The cicadas outside chirp their songs, sometimes I imagine these songs are for every soul I robbed from the very husk they thrived in or they are songs for the dead so at least for a second if they strained their ears hard enough they would hear something peaceful rather than the blood in their ears pumping the last of their measly lives.
My fingers are damp with the warmth of her blood giving it a shade of darkness than it’s worn out grey. I spare this girl another glance and I see the line I drew on her chest deepen with red. As always, there was so much damn blood. My hands itched, to reach out and palm her chest to stop the never-ending gush of blood from her neck, maybe to preserve her life.
I don’t do it though, my life is dependent on the death of others and even if I don’t feel the rushing cold of my body when the boss fucks with my head to try and make me kill myself, I know I still want to live. I wipe whatever blood leaked from her and for a moment I feel this annoying coil in my stomach. The kind of coil where you stop to breathe, the kind of coil where you have to sit next to the dog and listen to everything, kind of coil.
Regret.
I’m human, it’s natural for me to feel this way. That’s what the internet said. I guess I’m just absorbing the fact that this feeling returned to me after I burned my house down, mom was devastated. I can still hear her wailing screams begging me why I killed dad, why I did what I did. Her body had layers of burns, and some patches of her skin bled. Her face was stained with tears and soot from the fire, she looked miserable. More than the time we heard the news from the doctors that they couldn’t save Lyra. I hated how she cried. I hated that I was the one that made her cry.
But I don’t regret killing dad. He can stay dead forever, in the depths of hell where he belongs where he’ll burn for so long that he won’t believe in a God anymore. When I die, I only hope to be in the bits of hell where I don’t see him. I might kill him again and bring him to another afterlife worse than hell.
I remove my gloves and settle myself next to this girl’s spot on the couch. The gloves left stranded on her thighs. The dog, Roots (that’s his stupid ass name, right?) barked at me then rolled a ball toward my feet.
Wow this dog doesn’t give a flying fuck that I just killed his owner.
My hands feel the familiar fuzz of the tennis ball and I stare at the way the blood on my hands leave a mark on the ball. I can ramble on about philosophical thoughts, kind of bullshit my brain concocted looking at it, but I had to get home soon.
I leaned my head back on the couch and looked up at the popcorn ceiling. I threw the ball in the air a few times before giving it a big throw across the apartment.
Roots barks and gives chase for the tennis ball and his heavy form shakes the floorboard with his steps. I push myself off the couch and stretch my back before reaching for my gloves and I stop. Her face was calm with slumber, lashes shut across her eyes, eyebrows that lost the knit of panic from earlier and face damp with tears and snot. Aside from the tears and snot she looked like a porcelain doll now.
I slipped my gloves back on and loosened the binds I wrapped around her.
I’ll take care of your dog for you.
══════════════════════
Death, an ending for all of us that we can never stray away from. No amount of protection from the strongest police force or talismans from a shaman who can speak to the immortal Gods or sacrifices to an evil hell spawn can stop us from meeting our end.
I guess that’s why geriatric seniors or office job workers are so hell bent on the saying of “Live your life to the fullest.” Risks and all, make sure you make your dreams happen no matter what and suddenly when you try and make that dream happen you get cold feet and realise maybe stealing money from the bank wasn’t the best highlight of the process of having to make your dreams become reality. Then as your face is slapped on the hood of an officer’s car you’d think ‘There goes my vacation plans to Fiji.’
Kidding aside, “Memento Mori”, ‘remember you must die’, is the basic gist of that saying if we rip out the hopeful aspect to “Live your life to the fullest.” You only have one life to live so release your inhibitions and so be ambitious. If the endgame is the dust and dirt we’ll become anyway, might as well fuck it and ball, who gives a damn if society built a set of rules on how you should live your lives, at that point that isn’t living, you’re just following a recipe that doesn’t fit the cards for most people.
I can’t believe I’ve only begun to realise this when a psychotic killer gave me a stabby stabby on my damn chest. There is no way I’ll survive something like this. I just hope I get reincarnated as a ghost so I can haunt Tobias-Fucking-Rogers days. Ensure my wrath is stuck to him and have him do double takes at every dark corner he sees.
Twenty-three years on this plane and yet I still feel like I wasn’t ambitious enough. I should’ve done more with my life. I should’ve sneaked out of home to go to Chris’ party to drink, maybe even have sex with him which I’ll regret in the morning because I overthink that even with a condom on, I’d still think I’d be at risk of getting pregnant. I should have told my dad that I didn’t want to do hospitality, that I wanted to become a businesswoman because I wanted to open my own café. I should’ve taken more hours at work so dad and I could travel to Italy and make his dreams of seeing the Colosseum come true. I should have made more friends during college.
A minty swirl in my chest stretches through my veins and around me. The place where I last felt the cut shrouds me in cool ice before I feel a stretch of my veins from my chest to my throat. The pain is unbearable like the clash between fire and ice is raging to fight for control over my body. My throat felt like it was being ripped from the head and body and at the same time as it was being dug by the claws of an evil creature. The gap from where I think I was cut seemed to be sewn shut by this entity, and I wondered for a moment how my soul is being sewn. Isn’t my current consciousness my soul?
The pain was never ending, it felt like things were only heightening and worsening, my ears ache with the ringing of bells, my eyes can only see nothingness yet everything at the same time, my chest expands and expands as I’m trying to gasp for air, I feel my belly dip from my desperation to breathe.
I gasped and my eyes sting from the bright light.
My bones tingled under my skin and the pain from before dissipates. I felt real, like I was existing again.
When my eyes adjusted to the blinding sun, I raised my arms before my face, and I observed the bumps of my skin and the hairs on my arms. I could see the ridges of my fingertips and the small cut I got from years ago that left a scar and almost as if I forgot, I realized that this was my body. I knew from my manicured nails that Rivka did for me, the ridiculous uneven layer of polish that took her an hour to do.
I palm my body, feeling the warmth, the life, the perks of being alive like my beating heart and the loudness of the world.
I’m alive?
I looked out the window and it was morning now. Despite the blinds drawn shut the edges glimmered in the sun’s rays.
Was last night a dream?
I shakily bring a hand to my neck then down my chest, feeling the bumpiness of my skin and underneath my fingertips I feel a long line stretching from just below my collarbone and down to the right side of my chest. The world rings and my soul rattles in my skin once it occurred to me that the stain on my hands was coated with dry blood. My body numbs in fear once I realise that my entire torso is drenched with blood, my blood.
I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
Last night, Tobias came to my house and tried to kill me.
I didn’t know what to feel. I didn’t know how to feel. I just felt overwhelmed but grateful to be given a chance to live again.
I cried so much that day.
══════════════════════
Roots was gone.
Tobias took him away from me. Maybe he killed Roots and turned him into some parts of a barbecue or sold Roots to an illegal auction with a pitch that probably runs along the lines of ‘Dog with no empathy, but he loves to play catch!’ I don’t even know Tobias well enough to gauge whether he’d do something as stupid as that but I wouldn’t put it past him either. The world is his oyster after all.
The house is quieter now, I don’t hear the panting and padding of Roots' silly little feet running across the hallway to the living room anymore. The lights are dimmer now and when I sit on the toilet, I don’t hear him running into the bathroom with me to just paw at my leg and stare at me with his big black eyes as if urging me to shit faster so we can go on a walk. When I look at his dog bed and his dog bowl with his name I sharpie’d on it, it just dawns on me even more that I will never see him again.
Those photos I took of him running at the park was the last I ever took of him.
He’s such an asshat of a dog when Tobias stabbed me but even then. He saved me from holing myself up in my apartment when I was struggling to pay for dad’s medical bills when he crashed into a stop sign or the time when a customer yelled at me for forgetting the foam on her coffee. Despite how shit he was with empathising with my life or death situation I still love that little bastard.
Right after I calmed down, I realised that my phone was flat and dead. So I left it to charge in my room while I took a merited and well deserved bath. The bathroom floor was dark with red and brown and the metallic smell stung my nose. While I showered I wondered what I was going to do with the blood soaked couch then tossed that responsibility for tomorrow me to worry about.
Once I was done and wore some better fitting clothes, I reached for my phone and pressed the power button. The screen flickered with life and as the logo filtered through the pixels then disappeared my phone buzzed and rang with the symphony of what could have been never ending notifications.
Rivka
You coming to work today?
Missed Call
Where are you?
Are you okay?
Missed Call
I’m getting worried, no one is answering the door.
Missed Call
You changed address right?
Missed Call
Missed Call
Please answer me.
I scroll down the long list of notifications.
Dad
Rivka says you’re not answering your phone
Missed Call
Where are you?
Missed Call
Missed Call
Missed Call
Missed Call
Answer my calls, (Name)
I checked the date and time.
It’s been five days since that night. Wait, what? How did that happen? I bring a hand up my chest and I feel a bumpy and lengthy scar stretch across my left breast. The bump was jagged and messy, like the healing process was done with the sheer desperation to survive this attempted murder.
How did I recover so quickly? Why am I still alive? What kept me alive?
I’ve never had an injury so bad as this that had me recover so quickly. I need to call dad. I need to call Rivka. I need to tell them what’s going on.
I rip my phone from the charging cord and take my keys from the dining table before heading out to drive down to my dad’s house. A forty-five minute drive in the dark that I’m willing to take, I just need to see him right now. Right after my near death experience and losing Roots forever and meeting Tobias Rogers face to face after so many years.
The drive was quiet and cold. Frighteningly and weirdly cold. The darkness of the night along with my headlights casted shadows amongst the trees and houses of the neighbourhood making it seem like the shadows are running after me, tracing and chasing every step of the way of the direction of my travels. Every dark shadow has my mind racing, wondering, who would be emerging from the shadows, if Tobias will slip out like batman and ram himself into my car, smashing the windows and taking another breath of life from me again.
Reaching a red light, I turned the radio on and switched some stations until a pleasant music channel came on. I need to keep my mind from worrying about what might be after me. I glanced up at the rearview mirror and all I saw was the flashing and beaming lights of the car behind me. I can’t bear looking back at the mirror again so I focus my attention back on the road then the brick wall of this old building that's up for lease.
Scattered across the wall was a series of posters and advertising materials. There was even a poster advertising a new sci-fi movie coming to the cinemas. The guy next to me noticed my staring and he looked back at the wall I was looking at then back at me. His face paled and as soon as our eyes met he tore his attention away and ran the red light.
What was that about?
I glanced back at the wall and my heart stopped. The sounds of the beeping cars behind me blurred along with the ringing sound of this deep bellyful drop.
