Jeff The Killer - The real story.

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Maybe he's right... Maybe I should kill myself.. Nobody cares anyway.. My parents are horrible, I have no friends or caring relatives, and I'm probably just a pain in the ass to liu...

I swallowed dryly and blinked. If that's what everyone wants, what's to loose? I tiptoed to the bathroom and pulled out my trusty razor. I ran my finger down the blade, and it made a thin cut. More tears blurred my eyes.

Just kill yourself... It'll do everyone a favour...

I ran a hot bath and sat in it. My clothes slowly saturated. I held my razor over the veins on my wrist, took a deep breath and sliced at them, my eyes blurring even more. The cold metal dragged across my skin and cry escaped my lips. The blood beaded up and spilled down my arm into the warm water, turning it a light pink colour. I sliced again, watching the blood spill even more into the now reddish water. I laughed, slicing again and again, watching the water swirl red. I started to feel dizzy and lightheaded. Soon after, everything was black. I was finally unconscious.

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Liu's pov

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Jeff said he'd be back.. Where the hell is he? Worrying, I checked his room for him. He said he wouldn't do anything stupid.. After a while, I realised that it was no use, and I checked the computer room. No luck. I remember hearing the bath running.. Maybe he had a bath? I knocked softly on the door and pressed my ear to it.

No sound.

I knocked again, listening even harder.

Still nothing.

I slowly opened the door, peeking first incase he was naked.

There was nothing.

I stepped into the room and looked In the bathtub.

There he was.

My beautiful brother, the one person I'd do anything for, the one person I loved, lying in a bath of his own blood and the colour drained from his face.

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I remembered this was Randy's doing.

"No..." I fell to my knees, weeping. I pounded at the floor with my fists, screaming. It's not like anyone would care. Mom was drunk and dad was out. I fell into a crying heap, the haunting image of my poor brother, laying, finally at peace, in his own blood.