Charity Case (Creepypasta/Jeff the Killer Love Story)

Epilogue

Two years later...

I took a sip of coffee out of the mug beside me before typing up more of my essay. It was my third cup that day, and it was barely noon. There would be many more to come, as well. Of course, that was my fault. I had procrastinated way too long, and my paper was due the next day. I didn't realize how terrible my time management skills were until I got to college.

I was eighteen and a freshman in college at Washington State University. Jeff and I moved out of my parents' house and in an apartment off campus. It was just barely big enough for everything we needed, but it was also incredibly cheap. Still, even with the allowance my parents gave us every week, Jeff and I had to get jobs. We both worked at a local café, and our hours were mostly the same. We worked part-time every weekday with weekends off. That usually meant we caught up on homework on the weekends, which was what I was trying to do, unsuccessfully.

"Hey, Ronnie!" Jeff called, walking into the kitchen I was working in.

Immediately, I stood up and tried to push him out, "No way! You have your own paper due tomorrow!" Jeff was taking classes online to get his high school diploma, but even then, he still really hated school. I was usually the one who had to force him to get stuff done.

Jeff had cut his hair a few years back so that it curled behind his ears. It still continued to grow in the dull black color much to the doctor's bafflement, but he never minded. About a year ago, he got plastic surgery to fix the smile carved into his face. That had been entirely his decision. Not only did it bother him to be recognized everywhere we went, but they still opened up, so it was considered a health hazard. They even got it to match his skin, which was still white. There was nothing they could do about that, and Jeff didn't really care. His main concern had been fixed, and he felt a lot more comfortable going out. At the present time, he was wearing black jeans and a blue and purple shirt, along with the sneakers he'd been wearing since he was fifteen. Also, the black bandana was tied around his neck. It almost always was, but he no longer pulled it up to cover his face.

Also, he started therapy after his psych evaluation ordered by the police department. As I had been saying the whole time, they decided he had post-traumatic stress disorder that needed to be managed. It wasn't like it was a huge blow to us. He would have needed it, anyway. It was definitely helping his PTSD and insomnia, and he only had an episode about every month.

I also had to go to therapy. Having to kill Liu really messed with me, and I had been the one getting night terrors. Every single night, I relived the experience of having to plunge a knife through my boyfriend's brother's chest. It was almost impossible for Jeff and I to calm each other down when we were both having attacks, so I knew I had to do something about it. Luckily, mine only lasted for about six months. I had worked through my survivor's guilt. After that, the nightmares stopped.

Jeff got around me, kissing my cheek in the process, and said, "It's almost done! Unlike yours, I see." I shut my laptop and glared as he snickered. He placed the box he was carrying on top of it.

"What are you doing to procrastinate?" I sighed.