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- Kian L.

"KIAN ROBERT LAWLEY GET YOUR ASS UP. NOW" I was awoke by my drunk mother and father. It's Saturday, a new beating. A new cut added. More cigarettes smoked in a day.

I stood up, holding my arms out for what they were going to do, but surprisingly. They didn't do anything except yell, until a suit case hit my stomach. Hard too.

"We packed your shit, you can finally get the fuck out of our house. With those damn cigarettes you make us buy, I hope they make your lungs shribble  and you die" my mother snickered with a devilish smirk and I picked up the suit case and set it on the bed.

"Everything is in there. Your stupid cancer sticks, your razor, and the nasty ass clothes you wear over and over in a week" my father added as I zipped it back up.

"Oh and where your going, you won't be needing this" they smashed my phone on the tile in my room. I shrugged, I didn't need it like they said.

"I hope you end up in an insane asylum" mother laughed as I pushed past them.

"I hope your life has been as good as mine. Go to hell" I said before racing toward the door before they could do anything.

I didn't have any money. I guess I'll be living on the streets, again.

I bring up my suit case more on my shoulders and and I grab my bike, its rusted and worn down. I'll find a better place to stay then next to a dumpster.

Maybe that abandoned building next to it? People said not to go in there because someone named ' Justin Caylen ' lived there, and they're apparently scared of him.

With the last time 'Caylen' it doesn't sound like such a dangerous name. I've heard he demands people call him Jc, no one knew what he looked like.

The people that went in there, never came out. This should be a fun, joy ride.

People also say that he forgets things easily and is just stuck in his own mind set. Same as me, I forget easily. So whenever I got a beating I didn't know why, or how. Mine is worse, sometimes I've ever forgotten my own name.

I just stay up to remember everything that's happened in a day. My parents never took me to a asylum or at least a place to get help. It would've been better than sitting at home, wondering everyday why I got beat by my own blood.

Sometimes I would put my anger out on people. I've murdered a couple of people doing it actually.

Call me a serial killer.

I just wish my life would get better, a 21 year old man should have a husband or at least a boyfriend. Live on his own. With his boyfriend, I want someone to love me.

I've never felt love and I'll do anything to get it. Anything.

I want to be touched in lustful ways, I want to be kissed with lush lips. I need to be held and told an I love you.

By a kind boy. The guy has to do everything in the relationship with a girl. If its a boy and boy then they both have parts.

I love boys but,

No ones going to love a serial killer.

serial killers K.L - J.C (Jian)Where stories live. Discover now