Glass Eye (Eyeless Jack X Reader)

Chapter Thirty-Four

It had taken me hours to rinse the final traces of fucking mace from my eyes. She was one tough bitch, and I knew it. She hadn't been able to fool me once, but twice. As much as I felt like an absolute fucking idiot, I also felt an elation that I hadn't known before as I realized that my soulmate could readily defend herself. 

Of course, there was seething rage present in me towards her concerning what she had done, but only because she had done it to me. Had she done it to Toby, I probably would have laughed.

But it was me. It was me that she continuously kept avoiding. I knew my looks were a little off-putting to others to say the least, but was I that terrifying? I had learned to appreciate the markings as a sign of strength over the years. It was my inkless tattoo.

I wasn't supposed to remember my life before becoming what I had became, which was meant to be mindless slave of the Operator. And truth be told, I didn't really remember too much of it anymore, aside from my mother's face when she found me in the bathroom.

As I stood in the bathroom mirror, brandishing a knife with full intent to use it on myself, a self-performed bit of "plastic surgery" if you will, I saw her horrified reflection behind me.

She had raised her hand to her mouth in shock, and had whispered something to herself about how it ever got that far. How I could have slipped so far into a psychosis without her noticing. Truth be told? I wasn't important enough for anybody to have noticed. And if they did notice, they certainly didn't care. They never did care.

My doctors were too eager to hand out pills that we could never afford, and my parents were too concerned with their own image to ever put thought behind the wellbeing of their children.

So of course, it slipped her. It had slipped everybody.

I gauged her reaction as I watched her in the mirror, my hand automatically acting out my thoughts. It hurt. A lot. But once your own mind slips you, pain is but another fleeting feeling.

She watched me steadily hold the knife up to my own mouth, digging around a bit until I had found the true inner corner. And she watched as I dragged that knife deep into it, carving my own skin until it was exactly how I had wanted it; a bloody smile.

That was what all the memories I still had of my past mainly consisted of; blood.

I remember seeing myself in the mirror, both sides of my face drenched in blood, my shirt drenched in blood, the entire bathroom just absolutely drenched in blood. I was told later on that it had stained the wood flooring so bad that they had to remove it entirely. After all, most family homes aren't crafted for the carnage that I had done to myself.

But was it carnage, or was it the final stone I had to step on to fully gain my freedom? Before that moment, from the very spotty and blurry things I could remember about my youth, I was a nobody. I was bullied, beat down, and frowned upon. I was the weird kid that everybody dismissed because they simply didn't take the time to get to know me. Well, after that night, I was known. I was seen, I was heard, and maybe best of all, I was Jeff.

I wasn't little Jeffrey Woods, the kid you could shit on and get away with it because he had no friends to protect him. I was Jeff the motherfucking Killer, a maniac with a vendetta and a 'troubled' past. My face was all over the news. Course, they used old pictures of me. Nobody had any idea of what I had done to myself.

And they had no idea what I would do next, either. I was a man on the run. Well, back then, they had said "teen on the run", but it had been quite a few grueling years since I had last made the paper. The Operator isn't really one for dramatics, so I had to do my absolute best to keep my name and face out of the news.

 I like to think that I didn't snap; that would mean that I wasn't in full control of my actions the night I fucking laid them both out, my mother and father. I was in full control, and knew exactly what I was going to do.

There was no moment after where I sat and thought 'why did I just murder my parents'?

The only question I had about the entire thing was why I hadn't done it sooner. I was instantly free. And, instantly employed.

I had to hone my skills of course, and finalize my weapon of choice while working under the Operator. I ended up choosing a knife due to my attachment to the tool I originally used to commit my first ever act of true freedom, but I had dabbled in hand-to-hand combat as well as dual weapon wielding as well. My rage was so unfocused and animalistic at first that the Operator believed a puny knife just wouldn't be sturdy enough to withstand the force behind the lethal blows I would administer. Eventually though, the rage was worked out of me through the most extensive training that the Operator has ever had to administer, and I became even more deadly with my weapon than before.

Unbridled rage would deliver nasty blows, but concentrated and focused skill would deliver lethal ones.

Though I wasn't mentally sound enough to become a proxy, I was one of the only members of the house that most of them had feared, but all of them respected.

Perhaps that was why I found myself more attracted to (Name) after she had proven that she could outsmart me. Was I scared of her? Absolutely not. Did I respect her? Of course. She had unknowingly proven herself to me twice, though it had pissed me off quite a bit. She would need to be conditioned, as all of us had been, but she would be one powerful fucking addition. She didn't even realize the power she had. She hadn't tasted that freedom yet, and once she did, she'd become a fucking machine. And I wanted to be the one to hold her hand as she took that step. That leap. Bounding from the world she thought she had always known into the world that really is.

I looked up into the mirror, smilingly effortlessly, as always.

I hadn't ever seen a reason in reopening old scars; that is, until now.

A powerful new addition, and that addition just happening to be my soulmate, called for some sort of celebration.

My scars were my strength, my blood my weakness. As I raised my trusted knife up to my smiling face, I saw a little teenage boy staring at me back in the mirror, begging me to set him free once again.

She would join us. She would be freed from the chains of reality. She would taste freedom. And then, she would be freed.

--Jeffy boy is getting a little crazy in the Discord chat yall

I included this chapter to show what, mentally, Jeff has been going through since the whole '(Name) maced him' situation. He hasn't been plotting against her, but more or less is in a weird way proud of her defending herself, as to him it means that his soulmate can protect herself and not always have to rely on him. He thinks that she will be joining them in the household, and wishes to be there when she does to teach her how to use her skills to become a killer like him.

He doesn't show too much regard for Toby running after her in the woods, I wonder why?...

And as always, if you're going to Meatball, do it Extravagantly--

--and yes, he did reopen his scars in celebration, as he really thinks (Name) is going to join the house--