INSATIABLE [DARK ROMANCE]

Masky's Room

Chapter Fifty Four

||KIT||

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I don't know what I was expecting when I pushed the door to Masky's room open and at first I wasn't even able to make anything out in the darkness.

I closed the door behind me before blindly running the pads of my fingers over the wall. Locating the light switch a few seconds later, I flicked it on.

Squinting at the sudden blinding light, I looked around the room. The first thing that caught my attention was the manic scratching along the walls that I imagined to be some kind of artistic outlet.

Random words stood out, scratched deep into the paint, and following the trails of lines with my fingers I realized the medium used to create them in the first place was a small sharp object, probably a knife or maybe a shard of glass based on the amount of red that accompanied the scratch marks in certain areas.

I knew what dried blood looked like by now.

The words were scratched so haphazardly across the wall that I couldn't tell if they were supposed to be random or if they had some kind of significance only he would know.

Taking my hand away I looked around.

His room wasn't messy but it was cluttered in a way that made me wonder if he was becoming a hoarder. Boxes upon boxes were stacked on top of each other, spilling over with different articles of odd trinkets like jewelry, which I knew he didn't wear.

I dug my hand into a random box, coming up with the soft fabric of a long black and white scarf. Lifting it from the box, I ran my fingers along its length with a smile until I felt an odd texture greet my fingertips and I turned it over to see that it had dried blood stains dotting its fringes.

Could it be possible these were souvenirs he kept from his victims?

I laid the scarf back into its designated box when something else caught my eye. Moving a few boxes out of the way, a smile instantly bloomed on my face when I saw what was scratched into the wall next to the bed.

I could recognize that hair anywhere.

My fingers trailed over the large eyes and lips of the image that looked almost exactly like me, if only slightly exaggerated. The lines were deep, much deeper than any of the harmful words he'd dug into the paint and red stains littered the entire portrait.

I stepped back to admire the work in all its glory.

I never pegged Masky as the artistic type.

My fingers trailed over the cheeks with the large red teardrops rolling down them and I let out a small breath.

Is this how he saw me?

I spent a few minutes looking at the caricature before me, chest swelling with emotion.

That was his blood on my cheeks, wasn't it?

Why did he do this? What did it mean to him?

After a while, I went to sit on the bed, sighing heavily. It didn't seem to have been slept in for a long while now and as I sat, I looked around the sparsely decorated room. There wasn't much in terms of furniture so he was quite the minimalist. The only table next to the bed had a few miscellaneous items and next to them was a stack of what appeared to be polaroids.

I gathered the pictures, sitting with my back against the headboard as I sifted through them.

There were various pictures of everyone I'd met in this place and a few more people I didn't even recognize. Each one more unique than the next. Despite being who they were I suppose they still managed to form good relationships with each other and it caused a smile to come over my face again.