He was a mystery, and I couldn’t help but fall for Ethan. What was happening in that head of his?
Eventually I used a pickup line—I knew he was into rock music— “Do you believe that love is a battlefield? ‘Cause I’d like to wage war on you.” Cheesy, but that’s my style.
We were together about a week, and it became a disaster because I didn’t know what the hell was going on. Never do.
Now, he was watching our school‘s basketball game. Nobody locks their car doors, since it was a small, trustworthy town. He left his driver door unlocked, so I was eventually waiting in the backseat.
I pulled out song up on my phone, setting it for repeat just to be dramatic. He was alone, as expected. I waited until he started the car and checked his blood sugar before I pressed my knife to his throat.
“Hello, Ethan. How’ve you b-b-been?” I said. Noticing that my stutter was coming back, I cringed.
He sucked in a breath. “Whoa there, friend. I haven’t hurt you, why don’t you put away the knife? I haven’t got any money. The car’s got a tracker. Nothing here for you.”
I pressed the knife into his neck a little harder. “Wrong, you’re here.” I leaned into the light better, and he recognised me.
“[Dead name]?! What- what’re you doing here? I thought you-“
“Well, right nnnnow it ddoesn’t matter what you thought. And it’s Charles.” I was pissed, slightly. I hated that name and the pain it caused. But he didn’t know any better.
“You’ve changed, Charlie. Darker. What are you going to do to me?”
“Jjjust ddddrive. I don’t care if you crash the dddddamn car, it’ll be more painful for you, ‘specially since I ggggot my knife where it’ll certainly kill you. And at this point in my life, I ddddont care if I dddie.” I leaned back a little, and he looked at me in the mirror. He began to drive, and I gave him directions to one of the forest service roads.
When I decided we were away enough, I told him to get out. Once he was halfway out, I followed and quickly had my knife at his throat again.
“Now, I remember you were strong. Still working out?” I pulled a pair of handcuffs out of my pocket, and cuffed his left hand to the car door.
“A little. What are you gonna do to me?” he inquired again. I ignored him, getting rope out of the car and tying him up more securely. He struggled a little, but I’ve been working out, too. I pulled my knife back out, but instead of his throat, I sliced a ring around his arm.
“Agh! What the hell?!” he exclaimed. “You gonna torture me??”
“Shut up.” I didn’t want him to shut up, I wanted him to beg. Why, though, I don’t know.
I wanted to watch the blood. I cut his other arm, and cut his shirt off, all while making small cuts randomly all over.
“Are you going to kill me?!” he gasped, closing his eyes. “Please, K— Charles. You don’t want to do that.”
“You don’t know what I want,” I say quietly.
“Wrong. I remember early February, you would sing ‘I want you to want me’ everytime I passed. I doubt that’s changed, right?”
I was surprised that he remembered that. It was true, in a vain attempt at making him take me back, I’d sing all sorts of songs to show how I felt.
I hated his comment, so I cut a chunk out of his cheek, sticking the knife into his mouth. He made all sorts of noises in pain. I smiled.
“That’s enough of that,” I remarked. I cut his wrists, long ways, following a vein up nearly to the inside of his elbow.
“Now, Ethan, for the grand finale.” I plunged the knife slightly above his bellybutton, curving it upwards under his ribcage, then yanked it out. He spluttered, if you could call it that, and I left him there. It wasn’t far to the highway, and I make a convincing hitchhiker.
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