Kip's POV
There's little more left of winter break than two months. In a week, I'm going back to campus. I've been stuck thinking for the last hour about how I've gotten myself into that. If asked, the reply would be 'Why not' but I'm starting to think the real reason is wedged between two prompters. So it's either Hendrik's pointed stare that has me hauling back to the grounds after a month off or it was the heated sensation of Enid's glare on the back of my neck.
Either way, there's no backing out now. Not for me, at least. We came out of class with 9 volunteers, I'm certain at least one of those is going to pull out. Everyone forgets how much they enjoy being at home until they're there.
I skip through my playlist. None of these songs are hitting me in the feels today. That's what I need, a reason to look like a madman dancing around on my mattress. A reason to break my bed a little more.
My eyes roll at that thought because it's not what it sounds like. I've spent enough of my time convincing people that I'm not biting pillows on a nightly basis. Or ever. A huff escapes my lips as I find a song I can move to. Anything to distract myself from The Film Project, as my professor called it. If it weren't for the several degrees and certificates hanging behind his desk, I would question his ability to teach us. He acts more like a drug addict who's broken onto campus than an actual teacher. That could just be his signature bug-eyed look.
It amuses me that the theories are so plausible. The slackers. Security there sucks. I ignore the constant buzzing of my phone. Right now I don't want to know. Music blares, filling my head but not the room because if I wake the house I'm going to be left for slaughter. I throw my arms around, risking chopping off a finger on the fan blades. My feet don't move. One incident with tangled sheets is enough to set you against it for life. Thinking of it causes phantom pains in the scar that curves under my ear to the point of my jaw.
Never leave a guitar by the bed, my life motto for the last few years.
After five songs, I fall back into the same pattern of restlessness: muscles strained as lyrics, rhythms and melodies fail to hit the spot. I drop to my knees for reasons too boring for my liking, and grab my phone.
Ky: Hey.
The buzzing hadn't been who I thought it was and though I didn't feel like messaging Tarek for the fifteenth time today, it's preferable to this bullshit. Kyong hasn't messaged in months. Fifteen months, to be exact.
K: How can I help you?
I want to throw myself off over the banister for replying, but I'm fighting against a part of me that didn't receive closure from this self-absorbed man. It happens to be stronger than the little fucks I have left.
Ky: I was wondering if you'd heard anything from the others. Feels like we should have started talking before this point.
K: Why would I have heard anything?
Ky: You're the approachable class clown, remember?
This question strikes the wrong chord.
K: Ask someone else, Kyong.
Ky: Settle petal ㅋㅋㅋ. It's cool anyway. I had the plan finished in the first week of break. We're going to win that competition.
When I don't respond, I receive another message.
Ky: Wanna get some food? That barbeque place is open again.
K: Why? Ky: Need to get out. Parents are driving me crazy.
YOU ARE READING
Psycho Killer
HorrorCan a person be broken before they are forced to break? Nine film students. Two months. One supervisor. The entirety of their college to themselves. This is the opportunity they can't afford to jeopardize. With such a limited timeline, there's no ro...
