under the wraps

Where Mercy Was Removed

She said and got up from her place. I turned to look at my surroundings. I was on a chair in a study room, the door wide open. I ran my eyes around the room, searching for something—anything—that could help me, but there was nothing. Even if I had a chance to run, I doubted I could. My body felt unbearably weak, as if it had been drained of every ounce of energy. She hadn't tied me. I was just too weak to move on my own. Maybe that was why.

She ran the knife she was carrying along my hand. She didn't harm me, just lightly dragged it from my palm, up my arm, all the way to my neck. She leaned down to my ear and whispered—

"I already told you, it's not my first time killing. I know everything you could try to save yourself. You can run, stomp your feet, scream—do anything. And that's the best part of the play. It's the most entertaining. But in the end, you're just destined to die. In most cases, I kill people while they're still unconscious. But in your case..."
She smiled.
"I really wanted to see you begging for your breath. Because you are the most annoying person in my life."

I tried to walk toward her, but the moment I attempted to stand, my feet trembled. I collapsed onto the floor. Standing again felt impossible. My whole body screamed in pain, everything spinning, the world tilting.

"Tch. Tch."

She sat in front of me again, lowering herself to my level, a smirk—or maybe a smile—on her face. I couldn't tell. Everything was too dizzy.

"Look at you. Always acting all high and mighty. And here you are—on your knees—being the most pathetic person alive. I don't know what Rudra sees in you. Actually... I might have let you live if you hadn't messed things up between me and Rudra. He's the only person in this whole damn world I remember having feelings for, before I went numb."

Her eyes were terrifying. The more I looked into them, the tighter my chest became, my stomach twisting into knots.

"What are you saying?" I stuttered. "You're lying. Psychopaths don't feel anything. You can't love him."

The moment the words left my mouth, she grabbed my chin, forcing my face up with her palm.

"I know," she said quietly. "But I wasn't always like this. It was only after—"

She stopped mid-sentence, as if something had dragged her back into memory.

"Only after?" I asked.

"Only after my brother died. The day he killed himself."
Her grip loosened.
"That night, he met me on the terrace. He said he wanted to sleep, but still had revision left. He said he wanted to sleep for a long time—didn't want to wake up—because he was compromising too much sleep for his studies. I asked him if that was really all he wanted. He said yes. Sleeping isn't a bad thing, you know. You can deal with every problem just by sleeping. But sometimes, even sleep doesn't shut your brain up."

Her voice grew hollow.

"That day, he wanted to sleep forever. Because he had too much to deal with. Because he was pathetic. And he did. He slept that night... forever. And he dealt with his problems."

Her deathly calm terrified me more than her rage ever could.

His death shattered everyone. I cried endlessly—until one day, the tears stopped coming. And then the headaches started. The worst headaches imaginable.

She sat there, staring at the bookshelf. She knew I couldn't run. The only choice left to me was to listen to her story before I died. I didn't know which book she was looking at, but her gaze was intense—emotionless, empty. When our eyes met, a shiver ran down my spine. She used to walk around with stars in her eyes, smiling like the world was kind. Now she sat there with the emptiest eyes I had ever seen.

I'd watched haunted movies, read thriller novels—but never, not once in my life, had I been this terrified. The woman sitting in front of me, holding a knife in one hand and my pistol just inches away, was a psychopath. I didn't know how many people she had killed. I didn't know when she would slit my throat. Every second felt unpredictable.

She kept staring at the books and began again.

"So where was I? Ah—headaches. They were unbearable. I felt like banging my head against walls, like a wrecking ball smashing behind my eye sockets. My mind and body screamed constantly. Rudra was the only person who comforted me then. My parents—like always—were busy. And during that time, I fell for him harder. I'd loved him since childhood, but then I was at my most vulnerable. I had only him."

She swallowed.

"He was alone too. His only friend was my brother. He felt my pain. He took care of me. But it kept getting worse. Every second became harder to live."

Her fingers tightened around the knife.

"When they ran tests, they said I had a brain tumor. Right here."
She raised her hand and pressed the knife against her forehead.
"In the frontal lobe."

"They said I had suffered too much stress, too much loss, and that it worsened the tumor's growth. My parents were rich, so they sent me abroad for treatment. Rudra hugged me that day. He said everything would be fine. He made me promise I'd come back alive and safe. He said he didn't want to lose one more friend."

Her voice cracked, just for a second.

"He was everything to me then. His words felt like heaven."

"I got the treatment. They removed the tumor. They said I was out of danger. But one thing changed after the surgery."

Her eyes returned to me.

"My emotions."

"The surgery went well—and horribly wrong. I started making stupid mistakes. I'd spend hours choosing a pencil. I skipped an exam because I couldn't find my pink eraser. I didn't sleep an entire night because I forgot which switch controlled the light. I ate soup with a fork. I missed my math quiz because I went out to buy a calculator."

She laughed softly.

"It looked stupid to everyone. But to me, it felt normal. I didn't feel embarrassed. I couldn't focus on studies anymore. I didn't care about grades. My parents shouted. I barely listened. I forgot what mattered... and what didn't."