A Match Made in Hell

39

I glance down at the boy sleeping in my arms, his head rested in the crook of my neck as he snores lightly, his breath hot against my neck.

He's so warm, to the point where I think he has a bad fever. I touch his neck gently with the back of my hand, and I can feel my skin burning as I touch his.

His face is so red, his cheeks rosy and burning up. His lips slightly parted as he inhales and exhales deeply, his hands resting on my waist, slightly up my shirt.

I turn my eyes to the clock behind him, 03:46 A.M, it reads.

As much as I don't want to disturb him, I still get up nevertheless. I slowly remove his hands from my body, taking his head in my hand as I place him down into a comfortable position on a pillow.

He blinks once, which makes me scared he might wake up, but instead he just turns away to sleep on his right.

Slowly and steady, trying my best not to make any noise. I turn on the table lamp, watching Karl for a reaction, but he doesn't seem to be bothered by it.

I let out a sigh of relief, sitting down on the chair by the table, staring down at all the papers rolled into balls around the floor.

On the table, there are about a hundred pieces of paper, not a single spot left blank and white on any of them. The worst part about this is that I realise I'll have to number and count all of these one by one.

I throw my head back, wanting to slam my fist on the desk but not wanting to wake Karl up. He's probably sick or something, we barely talked today, but I hope he's okay.

I snatch one of the blank papers on the top shelf, begging to write whatever is on my mind.

Writing is what I always do when im stressed, I let everything out on a piece of paper, even ripping it on accident sometimes when I press down too harsh on the pen.

My hand is shaky so my handwriting turns out messier than usual. If it's for work, I usually try to write as professionally as possible, but it's not like anybody is going to read this, it's not that big of a deal.

Usually, I'd sit at the table to calm myself down and take it all out on a paper by writing what's on my mind, but I decided not to write about that today.

I've always wanted to write a book, but I've never had any time for it. I started writing one in December, but I eventually gave up on it because of the stress and stopped writing it.

Right now, I want to continue writing that book. I feel motivated to actually show my work right now and continue.

I hope that one day, I'll actually be able to publish this and have people read it. I hope that one day, I'll stop fucking around and actually focus on something that I enjoy doing.

Anything other than violence.

It's so stressful, words can't describe it. I was a kid, I was fourteen and I was fucking stupid. I thought I could change a man's mindset, but instead I just found myself an enemy. I never wanted it to be like this, I never wanted to kill hundreds of people, I never wanted to watch people die, I never wanted to be a burden to anyone.

But sadly, there is no turning back now. I wish I could, honestly. I wish I could turn back time and stop myself from doing this. I wish I could go back in time and prevent all this mess from happening.

Though it is stressful and it does suck, I surprisingly found happiness in here.

I found my best friends, I found people who supported me and respected me no matter what. I found Karl. I found my happiness, my only reason to stay and keep going. The only person who can successfully motivate me. The only person who'll stay by my side no matter what.