Please, Kill Me (Jeff the Killer x Reader)

Chapter 1✓

Beep... beep... beep...

The rhythmic, clinical sound was the first thing to pierce the darkness and coldness of the room. The comfort of the white sheets are the only thing I am weakly clutching as I slowly regain my consciounes. My eyes felt like they had been glued shut, but my hearing was sharp.

"How is she?" a voice whispered—a voice trembling with a familiar, desperate worry.

"She’s stable," a man replied, his tone professional and detached. "She was lucky; the blade missed her vital organs. For now, she just needs rest."

"Thank you, Doctor. Thank you so much."

Footsteps retreated, and the door clicked shut. I heard the familiar scrape of a chair being dragged across the linoleum. Then, a warm, shaking hand brushed a stray lock of hair from my forehead. My mother was sobbing quietly.

"Honey... why didn't you run? Why weren't you more careful?" her voice cracked.

It was always like this. They tried so hard to shield me, to keep me safe in an embrace they thought was impenetrable. They didn't realize that the walls were already breached. I had been dying inside for years; the man with the knife was just the first person to make the outside match what I felt deep inside me.

"I’m going to go buy some fruit," my father’s voice rumbled nearby. His tone is weary but I can sense the tune of a relief. "She’ll be hungry when she wakes up."

I heard him walk to the side of the bed, his presence heavy and protective. I wanted to open my eyes. I wanted to put on that practiced, hollow smile and tell them I am okay. But I couldn't. The weight of their expectations—even the loving ones—felt like lead on my eyelids.

The irony wasn't lost on me. It’s only when you’re hovering near death that people truly start to listen.

"Do you remember the last time you were in the hospital, Y/N?" Mom whispered, her hand still caressing my hair. "When you tried to fight that man who hit you?"

I remembered. I didn't regret it then, and I didn't regret it now. I was just a kid, and my punch was nothing more than a light tap against his shoulder, but I had been so angry. He had insulted my father—spat on his shoes just because Dad asked for something back that the man had borrowed. It was simple, yet, why do people always try to complicate things?

I hadn't understood why my Dad didn't fight back. Why he just stood there and took the insults. When I lunged at the man where I landed my weak punch on his shoulder, he backhanded me across the face. Before the world went black, I remember seeing my father’s face switched to something I haven't seen before. For the first and only time, I saw him use his fists.

"Your dad never wants to see you hurt," Mom murmured. "It pains us so much to see our sweet girl suffering like this.."

A sharp ache bloomed in my chest. I felt like such a burden. Again. We were trapped in a cycle of unintentional cruelty: I hurt them because I wanted to die; they hurt me because they refused to see why.

If only you knew, Mom. If only they knew what it was like to be a ghost in a crowded classroom. To be called "dumb" by a teacher in front of everyone because of one wrong answer. To try so hard to be kind, only to be met with looks of pure disgust.

I was useless to my peers because I wasn't "smart" or "cool." I was just... there. Simply existing. I remember you telling me to just "ignore them." So I did. I practiced being invisible until I learn how to just ignore what I truly feel and became a stranger to myself.

I studied until my eyes blurred. I cheated, I lied about my scores, and I pushed myself past my breaking point just to hear you say you were proud of my grades. Proud of me. I reached the top of that mountain, but I did it by becoming a fraud. And now, look at the cost. Did I made myself happy for once?

"Sigh... I just want you to know, honey... you aren't alone. We're right here."

You’re here, but you don't see me. I tried and tried.. but it is so hard for you to understand.

I slowly forced my eyes open. The fluorescent lights were blinding. My mother gasped, her face a mask of shock that quickly melted into tearful relief. It was the same look she must have had the day I was born.

"Oh, thank God! I'll call the doctor!" She kissed my forehead and rushed out of the room.

I was now alone. I scanned the sterile room, my gaze eventually landing on the window. It was still dark outside. Had it only been a few hours? Or was this a different night entirely?

"So, you survived? How nice..."

In a heartbeat, a figure appeared on the windowpane. I did not hear him move the window or maybe it is already open since earlier? But I cannot be wrong, tt was him. The white hoodie was still stained with a mixture of my blood and the woman’s from the hallway. Those unblinking, lidless eyes locked onto mine. That permanent, carved grin was as terrifying as ever.
He hopped down and walked toward the bed. His footsteps were silent, yet they felt deafening in the quiet room. He toyed his blackened knife like it was nothing but a toy that can be bought in a kid's store, his movements fluid and predatory.

"You're lucky," he rasped, the blade dancing near my throat. "Kinda reminds me of someone..."

I wanted to scream, but my throat was like a desert, dry and wither. I could only stare at him, scanning the pale, leathery skin of his face. I wondered if that carved smile felt as fake as my own. Was he truly happy? Or was he just another broken thing pretending?

He leaned in, his hot, sour breath ghosting over my cheek. "The world is unfair... wouldn't you agree?"

Wasn't that the phrase I said right before I blacked out in the apartment? However, he was right. In this world, the kind are used, the weak are crushed, and the strong are hated. There is no safe role to play.

"Then... do you want to die?" he asked, his voice a low crawl.

I do. I am so tired of the masquerade. I was tired of being a "good daughter" who was rotting on the inside. I had lost this game a long time ago.

"I... want... to die," I whispered, my voice a broken thread. "Kill me."

I closed my eyes, waiting for the cold sting of the steel. I pleaded not spare me but to end me. I am sorry, Mom and Dad. I  am sorry for being such a disappointment of a daughter to you.

"I’ve never seen someone so desperate to die," he said suddenly. Almost surprised.

The pressure of the knife left my throat. I opened my eyes, confused as I stare at him. He had stepped back, sheathing the blade. He looked at me with an expression I couldn't read—amusement, perhaps? Or something closer to curiosity.

"I can tell you're still not sure about your answer," he chuckled, a dry, maniacal sound. "I can stil see you are shaking and trembling.. but I cannot lie, I'm quite impressed. You have no fear of death."

Before I could respond, he vanished into the night air, leaving the window slightly ajar and the curtains fluttering in the cold wind. I am confused, dissapointed and.. unsure of how things went. But one thing is clear is that..

.. once again, he had left me behind, still breathing.