Psychopathic ✔️

Chapter Fifteen

Frankie's eyes softened a bit as he stared at his former best friend. He felt a pang of guilt hit his chest and swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump that had somehow formed in his throat. He sighed, his face going blank again.

He looked over at Mitch, studying the older man's face. Mitch's eyes were filled with amusement although his face was blank. His lips turned up at the corner a bit, but that was it. He didn't show much emotion. Neither did Frankie's face, and the younger boy made sure of it.

He didn't want to show any emotion on his face, it didn't feel right anymore.

But he did have feelings.

"Alright, now." Mitch uttered, a full out grin on his face by now. The brunette boy wasn't sure of what he had meant by it, but soon caught on when Mitch pointed his gun at Kayla. The girl looked up, the gun immediately being pointed at her forehead.

The tears were coming stronger and faster now, and Kayla didn't care that she might've looked stupid and childish. She feared death greatly, it was one of her few fears. Her mind flashed back to when her and George were walking down the street, and she suddenly wished that she didn't ask to go outside.

It was her fault. It was her fault that Frankie had gotten kidnapped and turned into what was in front of her now. If she hadn't been taking so long, the two of them could've walked to school together and the chance of Frankie getting kidnapped would've been very low. He would be fine right now. And so would she and George and everybody else. Or so she thought.

Mitch held the gun with both hands, getting a good grip on it. His grin was a sick one, full of the anger he'd felt all throughout the childhood that had been taken away from him. He pulled the trigger, the noise making Frankie freeze.

Frankie stood next to Mitch, only a few inches behind him. His hand dropped to his side but he didn't have the will to drop his weapons. The classical music was still playing, making the room eerily calm. Frankie stood there as his former best friend slouched on the ground, her head lolling to the side. Her eyes were trained on the ceiling, and Frankie knew for a fact that the girl he had held close to his heart was dead.

He watched it happen - he let it happen.

Mitch grinned at the younger boy, his blind eye more glazed over than usual. He patted Frankie's back, walking towards the door.

He never got there, though.

"I'm sorry Kayla." He whispered, words coming out shaky. Mitch turned around in question and Frankie threw the butchers knife at him. It sliced through his skin, sinking into the flesh of his chest. It didn't hit his heart, but it was enough to make him bleed out.

"This," he started, walking towards Mitch. The scar-faced man fell to his knees, holding his chest and dropping his gun. He continued, "is all your fucking fault." Frankie then proceeded to take the butcher's knife out of Mitch's chest, the wound still bleeding.

He stabbed Mitch for everything that he was mad at.

I don't have a normal life.

I won't have a normal life.

No one will accept me.

No one does accept me.

This is all his fault, not mine, his.

He repeated the last thought over and over again in his head, wanting to believe it. But he knew that a sick little part of him enjoyed watching Kayla struggle to stay alive. He knew that a part of him wanted to kill Mitch just because; not because of anything that Mitch has done. He just wanted to see people suffer, for them to feel how he had his whole life.

Fear.

He wanted them to feel fear. He wanted them to fear him, to fear their life, and to fear life itself as much as he had done countless times. Frankie just didn't want to be different, he wanted to be like everybody else; and because he couldn't seem to blend in, he'll make everyone else blend in.

He just wanted to be normal.

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