Good Enough

Chapter 15- Oxygen.

*Unknown P.O.V.*

I walk into the abandoned old warehouse beside the forest. There's nothing here for miles. There's an old meadow nearby, with Apple trees and pretty flowers, but nobody knows of it. There's a forest, which is hidden in plain sight. The main city is about an hour away from here. So nobody really knows of this place. It's my den. My safe place. It's where I plan my attacks.

As I step into the warehouse, I walk over to my desk, and take a seat in my tall, black armchair. I look in front of me, to see various different pictures of my victims scattered around.

Yeah. I'm a stalker as well. Surprise surprise.

I pick up a picture of my most recent victim, and examine it. She's walking down the streets, her two children clinging onto her. She has long blonde hair, and defined facial features. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she's pretty. I almost felt bad while killing her.

Almost.

I remember how her expression contorted into one of horror, when she realised there was no escape. The way her body shook with fear, and her lips trembled as my blade neared her face. How she clasped her eyes shut when I dug into her skin. How her breathing went jagged, as I placed the blade against her neck. And that look. That pleading look she gave me when she knew she wasn't going to make it. But little did she know. That look. I hated it. It just made me want to kill her more.

But do you know what the best look was? That look of helplessness, fear, and horror. The look she gave me when my blade sliced into her skin. And the way she looked at me with those lifeless eyes, as she fell to the ground, her body completely drained of life. It was a great look. It filled me with satisfaction. It gave me an adrenaline rush, that nothing else ever gave me.

It was a guilty pleasure.

Only. I never felt guilty.

***

A ruthless murderer. Westbrook's most vicious assasin. A heartless creature. This what what they were calling me. They think I'm crazy. That I'm not sane.

But who are they to judge.

They don't know anything.

I wasn't crazy. But I wasn't sane either. Killing is like my oxygen. I don't want it. But I need it. I don't want to kill people and watch peacefully as they beg for their lives. But I needed it. It's what's keeping me going. And that's what makes me want to do it more. I had my reasons.

I want to stop. Of course I wanted to stop. I mean, I wasn't going to remain a murderer forever. But I couldn't. Not just yet. I had to finish what I started.

I wasn't done yet.

***

As I sit on the tattered and torn couch, I look around at what has now become my home. The ceiling is very high. The plain black walls are broken and battered. In the corner, is a small cupboard, where I keep my weapons. You can definitely tell it's old.

I close my eyes, and just think. I think of who I am. Of how I became this person. I think about my life, and how I never expected any of this to happen. But. Then again. You should except the unexpected.

We all should.

I never used to be like this. But I am. I never used to take pleasure in other people's torture. But now. I torture them myself. I never used to enjoy watching blood trickle down their bodies, as they wriggled around helplessly. Withering in pain. But I do now. I never used to like seeing people lie in a pool of their own blood. But I do now.

I never used to be a murderer.

But I am now.

***

I am so proud of this chapter. It's so emotional, and I guess that's why it's short. Did you guys like this. Comment what you think. I want to know you opinions. Share and follow. Only if y'all want to.

Thanks for reading!

Ari x