Please, Kill Me (Jeff the Killer x Reader)

Chapter 2✓

"What do you want for dinner, Y/N? I'll cook anything you want, sweetie."

Mom's voice was soft, her hand resting gently on my shoulder as we drove. I didn't turn away from the window. I just watched the blurred landscape of the city passing us by.

"Honey?" She squeezed my shoulder, trying to draw me back from the void.

"Anything, Mom," I answered. I forced a smile-the same mask I'd worn for years-before returning my gaze to the glass of the window of our old car that seen me grew from little girl till now. Dad managed to make this old car still working by bringing it for maintenance.

"Sure, honey," she said, her tone bright but fragile. Then for a second, Mom change the topic. "Oh, dear... honey, have you seen my phone?" she asked Dad, rummaging through her bag for the third time.

"It's at the house, along with mine," Dad replied while focusing on the road.

"Oh, no! Why didn't you grab them? What if there's an emergency?"

I felt the weight of my own phone in my pocket. I pulled it out to show them, a small peace offering. "I have mine, Mom. Don't worry." They both exhaled in a shared sigh of relief, and I slumped back against the seat.

It had been three days since the massacre at the Velvet Apartments. The encounter in the hospital felt like a fever dream, yet the memory of Jeff's unblinking eyes was clearer than anything else. I know that's his name, his one of the famous killers circling around the town. The doctors had begged me to stay, fearing my wounds would reopen, but I had used every ounce of my energy to convince them I was fine.

The police were baffled since I was the lone survivor from that massacre. I had described him in perfect, haunting detail, but they looked at me with a mix of pity and disbelief.

One question haunted me more than the killer himself: Why am I still alive? Was I too pathetic to kill? A waste of a blade?
Then memories began to claw at my mind, unbidden.

"Hey, Y/N, throw this away for me."

"Even with makeup, she's still ugly. Look at her."

"Why does she even bother trying out for some clubs? She's a loser."

"Are you actually stupid, or just really really stupid?"

"Don't talk back to me. My family owns this neighborhood. You're nothing."

We should never fight back, Y/N. Remember that."

"Ignore them, honey. They don't matter."

But they did matter. They were the world, and I was just the dirt beneath its feet.

Then for a moment, the press of the brakes snapped me awake. Outside, the world was dark and silent, save for the sound of shouting. I looked at Mom; she was fidgeting with her seatbelt, her face pale as her eyes focused outside where my father is.

"Mom? What's happening?"

"Honey... it's your father."

I looked through the windshield. We were on a deserted stretch of road. Dad was out of the car, his hands raised in a placating gesture toward a man who was screaming at him.

"Did our car hit him?" I asked, reaching out to steady Mom's trembling hands.

"He cut us off-a sudden U-turn without a signal. Your father dodged him, but we... we grazed his bumper. Just a scratch," she whispered frantically despite her tries to reassure me.

Through the glass, I saw the other driver-a heavy, bald man in a tuxedo, his face contorted with a rage that didn't fit a simple fender-bender. Dad was trying to be the peacemaker, the man who never fought back. I knew this wouldn't end well. I grabbed my phone, dialed 911, and gave our location before pushing my door open.