|Eight|

•Week Five• (4)

(I have no idea what possessed me to write this story, but it's too late to go back. Ignore spelling/grammar mistakes)

(TW: Adam)

I let out a slow, even breath, finally calming down. Everything was all right now, everything was okay. I didn't care about the murders anymore, all I wanted to do was go back home with Jack and Ryan and forget this ever happened.

We discussed trying to find the killer, and finally, we all agreed it would be best if we gave up. I mean, the killer would still probably come after Ryan, but I knew I could trust myself to protect him. I needed to find a different weapon to defend Ryan with, though, because my knife was currently lost in a sea of blood. I honestly didn't care about the innocent lives being terrorized by the murderer anymore, all I cared about was making sure Ryan was safe. That's all that mattered.

The best way to do that was to go home and keep an eye on both of them, that way I could get rid of the killer easily if they ever tried to attack Ryan or Jack.

Of course, Ryan and Jack will most likely see me kill the murderer, which honestly scared me. I didn't want them to leave me again, and if they saw the kind of monster I truly am, they wouldn't hesitate to leave. Or worse.

I shook my head, I had to think of more pleasant things. Like the fact that I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders and I could finally breathe for the first time in what felt like forever. The knife was a curse, a tool that possessed my body to commit violent acts. Even though I was glad it was gone, completely out of my mind, I couldn't help but feel like a part of me was missing. My hands twitched, almost missing the feeling of the blade.
I loved it. It made me feel alive.

Memories of the pure exhilaration I had while murdering the man in room 100 flashed through my head, causing me to smile a little. I felt free. I felt like myself.

The knife was an addiction, my heart skipped a few beats when Jack tossed it away, and now I knew I couldn't live without it.

Who says I have to stop? Maybe.... if I figure out a way to do things discreetly, I can continue to carve people's insides with the sharp blade. No one has to know, and I could do what made me feel so excited and delirious. As long as I wasn't hurting Jack and Ryan with my new.... Hobby, I could do what I needed to do to keep my sanity. 

A shiver ran down my spine, causing me to tremble. Jack and Ryan were still holding me, and they started to hug me tighter when I began to shake.

I was grateful for them.

They were the only people that were really important, so it didn't matter if I murdered a few people just for the thrill of it. Jack and Ryan wouldn't get hurt, and that's all I care about.

All I wanted was to feel the knife in my hands, the blood leaking onto my shirt, their pained screams. The thought of it alone made me shudder with excitement.

No. I need help, I need help, I need help, I need help-

I need to kill. I need to dig the weapon into someone's throat just so I can stop myself from going mad.

I need to forget about the knife, I need to come clean. I can't do this.

I can do this, it doesn't hurt anyone important. Other people's lives were worthless and meaningless.

I'm going insane. I can't just murder for fun. That's wrong.

But it's thrilling and makes me feel incredible. If I don't use the knife soon I'll go insane.