I Wish We Met Sooner (BoyxBoy)

Chapter 12

Daniel

"THIS IS A FIRST," grandpa hands me a cup of coffee he'd just prepared. His morning is never complete without caffeine. Especially if it's not a double shot. "You set your victim free by choice."

"I don't want to talk about it," I lightly blew down the hot coffee before sipping it. It's still hot as it stung my lips, just a slight. "This is the first and definitely last."

My life is back to normal again. I can go back to hunting my prey without having to babysit one. But then why do I sense an odd feeling circling in my heart? It was the first time I didn't want to do anything but talk to someone. To him. My mind kept replaying the conversations we had while he was here, and somehow, it felt good talking to someone. It's the same feeling I get after coming home from a long day of hunting and downing cans of cold beer.

"You have friends?" I asked.

"Of course," he chuckled. "Some are good people, and some are just plain stupid."

"What's it like having friends?" Somehow, I can't see his eyes, even though I'm not wearing my mask.

"It depends, really," he starts. "If you surround yourself with good people, you'll get the same feeling. And that goes the same if you surround yourself with the wrong set of people."

I wonder which group Oliver belonged to.

One thing my cunt of father taught me is to trust no one so quickly. In fact, don't trust anyone at all because trust is meant to be broken, and people will always bring you down, no matter what they say.

I never had a friend growing up. I was a bully victim in middle school. My nightmares remind me of times when the kids would throw my stationery down the toilet bowl, and when I tried to take it, they'd gather toilet water and dump it on me. It was then I started hating kids. I was a kid, and I hated myself.

How I wish to return the favor now that I'm no longer weak. I think shoving their heads down the toilet and flushing chemicals to burn their skin sounds mighty satisfying. Or maybe throwing them in a pool filled with piranha.

The satisfaction of soaking my legs in the bloody water is awfully tempting.

The people in high school feared me. I left when I turned fifteen, right after I committed my first murder, so I couldn't make any friends before I left. Perhaps that doesn't count.

Oliver... a mystery I'll never discover again. Maybe I let him go too soon.

"I'm guessing you've made friends with your victim?" He teased.

"No!" I blurt.

"Really?" He stood next to me. "Then why'd you follow him last night?"

He's getting really annoying right now, but he's still grandpa, and as always, I can't get rid of him.

"I knew that idiot would do something stupid," I responded.

"Indeed, which is why you followed to protect him," he sniggers. "My boy, it's not a crime to admit you've made a new friend. In fact, I think it's excellent."

He headed over to the sink, washed his finished coffee cup, and kept it on the dish rack. He then adjusted his lab coat by viewing his reflection in the oven.

"For real, Danny," he turns around and picks up his bag, slinging it over his shoulders. "Having a friend could be rewarding to our lives. You deserve to feel that, and I think he fits the role. Oliver seems like a good person, and therefore, I encourage you to give him a chance."

"It's too late. He's gone now," I reminded him. "Just go. You're running late."

"Indeed, I am," he checked his wristwatch and brushed the imaginary dust off his coat before heading towards the door. He fastens his sneaker and uses his set of keys to open the door. "I'll see you in time for dinner. Take care, kiddo."

He shuts the door, and the sound of his footsteps fades within seconds.

"What am I going to do today?" I thought to myself while stirring my cup of stale coffee with my finger.

I began rolling a list of clips portraying the possible things I could do today. One, rob someone who's just finished withdrawing money from an automated teller machine.

No.

Two, find a damsel in distress and cause her more stress.

Nah.

I turn around and rest my elbows on the kitchen counter, eyes wandering the house, hoping I'll catch an idea or two on what I could do. My visions stopped in the weapon room, where I caught sight of the pistol I used when I captured Oliver. Hung on the door of that room was a picture of a rabbit. Grandpa's rabbit, Carrots, died two years ago from old age.

He's always fond of rabbits.

And that's when I knew what I wanted to do.

Rabbit hunting. We could have that for dinner.

Perfect.

There's a jungle by the coastline of Sunset Beach, just a few miles from my neighborhood. People rarely visit that place because the waves aren't friendly. And wild animals lurk in the jungle. Over the years, there was news of a wild boar attacking people who were minding their business. Some were bad because they obtained a bruised arm and minor cuts around their bodies.

Aside from the bad things about the beach, there's a pathway leading to a cliff where the eyes can marvel at the view of the ocean. I often go there to get my mind off the murders I've committed. Or sometimes to simply waste my time. In a way, the ocean music and crystal blue waters relax me, and I can't help but go there frequently.

I got off my seat, left the finished cup of coffee in the sink, and headed towards my room to change. Also, to gather some supplies needed to hunt a rabbit. I stand in front of the wall of weapons and debate on which to use. My eyes peer over to the corner where my bow and arrow are set. The sun radiated upon it as I noticed dust speckles gathering on the smooth wooden board.

"Archery it is," I muttered as I reached for it. Since modern weapons came into the picture, my archery skills had been rusty. It's time to refresh.

Out of nowhere, the doorbell spooked me. And it couldn't be grandpa because he has the keys to open the door. I grabbed my mask and circled it with my arm, making my way to the door. My jaw dropped the moment I saw Oliver through the door's peephole.

"What is he doing here?!" I breathed as I fastened the Red Demon.

I open the door, but wide enough for me to stick my head out.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Sup, Danny!" He waved with his free hand while the other held a McDonald's paper bag. He lifts it. "Can I come in? I bought us lunch. I hope you like chicken tenders."

"L-lunch? No—why—how—lunch?" I kept losing my words.

"Huh?"

"You're not supposed to be here! I told you to never return," I reminded.

"Well, I didn't listen," he sighs and lowers his hand. "I just want to hang out with you, that's all. You saved my life yesterday, and I wanted to thank you by treating you with some food."

"You've already thanked me yesterday," I said. "Twice, as a matter a fact. I think that's more than enough. Now go home!"

"I can't come in?"

"Yeah, that's right, go!" I slammed the door and continued looking through the peephole.

"Fine, I'll just stay here until you let me in," he said.

"Sure, see if I care!" I'm concerned that I might actually care.

He crosses his arms and leans against the door, the back of his head facing me.

In my mind, I think he'll never last for the next hour. But also, he might. Which is why I'll leave once he does.