The Macabre ➸ Psycho C.R.

《PROLOGUE》

WARNING:
If you are searching for a cutesy fanfic filled with fluff and hugs and awkward dorkery, leave this one now.
This story involves gore, violence, swearing, and potential triggers. If you are in any way sensitive to these things, I'd advise you not to read further than this author's note. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Comments and votes are always appreciated....

Now

-Darcie-

I thought he was odd.

I knew he was different.

I didn't know that he would change me.

I splash cold water onto my face and shiver as it trickles under my collar and down my neck. I look up into the mirror, and see everything...everything but myself.

My grey eyes are surrounded by puffy, dark circles, making my face look even more gaunt and pale than it already is.

The scars which have become white over time form a trail, intertwining between my freckles and under the drying blood of fresher scars.
Red droplets continue to pour out of my split lip, dribbling down my chin, staining my skin.

The familiar burning sting comes from my shoulder again, and I push the shoulder of my sweater down to see the bruised and bloodshot bullet hole scar.

The only part of me that remains the same is my hair; a wavy, auburn mess sticking up from my face.

I sigh. Then I look down, squeezing the handle of the baseball bat in my hand. I don't want to, I think to myself. But I have to. I can't let him be better than me.

A bash on the locked door sways me from my thoughts. "Darcie, you need to come out. Shit's got to be done."

Him. Again.

"Uh," I start, clearing my throat, still staring at the wooden bat in my hand. "One minute."

I wipe the warm blood off of my face with my black turtleneck sweater sleeve and made sure the grip on the baseball bat was secure.

I pick up the black beanie, tugging it over my masses of hair and looking at myself
one
last
time.
You can do this, Darcie. You will. "You must."

I tighten the straps of my backpack whilst walking slowly towards the bathroom door.
I unbolt the lock and reach for the handle.

One step

Two step

I see him. He's leaning against the wall, staring right at me. He blinks slowly, standing up straight and coming closer to me.

I gulp quietly.

Before he can say anything, I open my mouth. "Don't come looking."

A furrowed eyebrow.

I pull the bat from around my back and hit it hard against the side of his head, too quickly for him to stop me. His head hits against the wall, and his body drops to the floor.

I stare, half breathless, but use the time to take his small metal axe from his holster belt.
I step away from his body and see his chest rise and fall slowly, signalling that he is still alive. "I'm sorry."

With slight hesitation, I drop the bat and run down the stairs, towards the front door.

I bust the lock with the axe and run out.

I'm free.

For now.