Bittersweet | Ticci Toby

7 || ❝𝐂𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤.❞

You think back to that weird encounter with Jeff on that godforsaken night. Now that you look back, all the insults and banter you exchanged seem kind of silly. Nothing has changed, though. He still treats you like a rag cloth, even though you've kind of warmed up to each other.

He visits you sometimes, living off you basically. Using your kitchen in the middle of the night or your washing machine. He never visits during the daytime, which you don't mind because you don't think you could handle all the insane stuff he talks about first thing in the morning.

He's talked about the thing you keep seeing. What's been hunting and plaguing your mind since Christine's death. The voice that made you kill your friends. Can you even call them friends?

That's beside the point, though. It messed with your mind enough to turn you into a bloody killer. You know you shouldn't let it rot your brain, but you just itch to have another body, another kill. Like a high you're chasing.

And the fact that Jeff is so unbothered by the concept of killing doesn't help either. He keeps going on about how you're gonna get turned into a brainwashed "proxy" as well, whatever the fuck that means, and that seems to be his only problem regarding the situation.

You continue driving, growing familiar with the foggy image of the houses you're passing by. It's a perfectly silent night.

THUD

SCREEEEECH

You hit your brakes as hard as you can. Did you just fucking hit something with your car?

You get out of your car to get a better look and see the outline of a person.

'Oh my god it's the superfreak.' you think to yourself.

You're frozen in place, unsure whether this is a hallucination or reality. It's hard to tell anything apart anymore. A groan from the killer in front of you snaps you out of your trance.

You quickly get back into your car, making sure to run him over as you continue to drive. The slight bump you feel under your car makes your stomach twist and churn in discomfort, but you ignore it. The sensation of the car rolling over a human body, the sudden jolt and the sound, sends a wave of nausea through you.

Your mind races, a mixture of adrenaline and horror. You try to push the image out of your head, but it lingers, a gruesome reminder of what you've done. You grip the steering wheel tighter, knuckles white, trying to focus on the road ahead and not on the sickening feeling in your gut.

Checking your side view mirror, you stare at reflexion in disbelief.

"IS HE FUCKING CHASING AFTER MY CAR?!"

You laugh in shock as you drive faster, slowly losing sight of him.

You went through a different route and circled through your neighbourhood for almost an hour, after that you pulled over at your house.

The sound of your keys jangling echoed through the silent night as you hurriedly unlocked and entered your house. Slamming the door behind you, you leaned against it, gasping for breath, your heart pounding in your chest. You struggled to process the events of the night. Had you really hit someone with your car? Scratch that, did you really hit TOBY with your car? That question seemed to loom larger and more terrifying than anything else. You hoped to never see him again.