12:01 (Sequel to Midnight Man)

chapter nine/pete

twenty seven hours.

that's how long i sleep. after the drugs, after the swings, after the drive home, my body can no longer function. i distinctly remember the smell of vanilla and sprig leaves before being gently laid across my bed, and the feeling of disappointment that tyler no longer smells the way he used to.

when my eyes open, there is a searing pain in my forehead. i clutch it in agony, fighting against the blinding light streaming in from the open window to my right side. i turn to face away from it, my eyes catching sight of a small note and glass of water on my bedside table.

to josh:
zack and i went out for groceries. i know you may think this is counter productive but here's a pain-killer for you. when you wake up, it's going to hurt like hell. drink lots of water.

love tyler.

my heart swells at his short note. i wonder vaguely if this is a part of his real personality that i just never saw. maybe it was covered up by our endless arguing and murder-sprees. maybe this is who tyler should've been all along.

i sit up a bit too fast, sending a dizzy whirlwind through my brain. i power through it, reaching a shaky hand toward the pills. i pop one after another, slipping them down my throat with the assistance of water.

i wait a few moments for the room to stop spinning before standing up slowly. i venture out to the living room at a sluggish pace, afraid of toppling over. my head settles into a dull pounding, not entirely as bothersome as it was before.

my mind reels, trying to remember the last time i was conscious. images of tyler swim through my thoughts, but i can't piece together a coherent situation.

everything's kind of blurry.

thoughts buzz together, and i fear i'm on drugs again. did tyler ...? have i been drugged? is this his plan? did he do this to me? everything's kind of blurry.

does tyler remember? did he decide to take revenge? how long has he been planning on this? it's been months. why did he choose now? everything's kind of blurry.

why didn't he try to kill me when he first saw me? why did he wait so long? am i going to die? when? everything's kind of blurR R R R R R RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRERRRORERRORERRRORERRORERRORERRORERRORERRORERROR

everything's kind of blurry.

* * *

i set my coffee cup to the side, wiping the pumpkin spiced residue from my upper lip. the air has become cold, rather than the heated summer i've grown so accustomed to. i zip my jacket a bit higher, covering my neck.

i watch people in the coffeeshop mill around, a quiet and peaceful chatter buzzing through the air. i wonder what this place sounds like at night. i wonder who comes here at night.

i've probably been sitting here too long. i didn't bring any type of work to feign productivity with. no laptop, no book; not even a newspaper. i chuckle to myself as i think this must be a café sin. i should leave.

i order another drink. i stay.

the past week has been kind of blurry. tyler found me passed out on the floor after i had taken those pills. he started screaming and zack had to come help him wake me back up. they forced two fingers down my throat and left me to vomit down the bathtub drain.

i woke up with a sore throat and a headache so terrible i feared my head would explode. tyler was holding my hand. he had wet splotches beneath his eyes and i asked why he was crying. he told me he was crying because he thought he'd killed me. i had rubbed my thumb across the back of his hand soothingly and told him it was okay and i would always forgive him even if he had actually killed me. deep down my subconscious screamed that if he did, it would make things even.

now, at this local café, i shiver at the thought. i can feel the beast inside of me awaken, and i panic. someone is going to die today, and i hear my subconscious pray for it to be me. personally, i find it quite rude.

my eyes land on a pretty boy with blonde hair that shimmers in the sunlight pouring in from the open window. his eyes reflect a friendly brown tone as they meet mine. i pretend to smile coyly, 'blushing' into my drink. i glance back over to find him still looking.

i scoot down off my stool, striding towards him. he's alone in a corner booth, a copy of catcher in the rye propped up in front of him. he watches me as i walk over, a tiny smile playing on his lips.

"is this seat taken?" i smile, pointing at the chair in front of him.

he gestures with his book for me to sit down, still smiling. i sit down across from him, leaning my chin on my hands.

"i'm josh," i say, extending my hand.

"pete," he shakes it gently, holding on after the shake is over.

i don't want to mention what happens next, because my subconscious has been trying to block it out for the past three days. all i can really say is i followed pete out of that café. his dog is probably going to starve to death. his funeral is next monday.

i feel like i've begun reverting.

a psychologist would probably proclaim me pushing the edge of a mental breakdown. a therapist would call it a relapse. i prefer to say i am simply disintegrating away and rebuilding myself as the person i once was.

or the person i've always been is ripping me to shreds.

i used to wake up every night in cold sweats, needing to dash to the toilet immediately to throw up. the smell and sight of blood made me hurl. killing was something i tagged along for and collected the money for doing. zack, jenna and i ran on a murder business. we kill a target given by whoever wants someone dead, and then we get the money. no personals.

after i killed tyler, everything became personal. all i could think was how fucking awful i am. how sinful killing truly is. there was a line between good and bad that i understood. for a while i was a moral human being. i hate that it's beginning to shift again.