He Can Have My Heart if He Wants it

The Deaf Scene Girl

I don't know how I found myself outside her window, peering in.

My hunting activities tended to occur later in the night, while my victims were in the dead of sleep, or prowling the streets committing heinous crimes. I might be a killer, but at least I didn't torture my prey. Put them through pain, yes, but they deserved it. You have no clue how many rapists I've caught in the act. My heart has long hardened against their pleas for mercy. I wish I could help the victims further, but I would only terrify them. Plus I didn't want to give myself away. If I was spotted a few times, it wasn't a big deal. The victim must be in shock, right? Imagine that I killed them slowly, cutting into them. After all, they ran off the second I began to pursue their attacker. It isn't as if they actually witnessed me sawing kidneys out of the guy, right? They were simply suffering from PTSD. At least, that's what the police and doctors and therapists and family members they went to would think.

I would know; I had been training and prepping myself to be a doctor my whole life, after all. From the age of six, maybe even earlier. Varying illnesses and diseases ran in my family, and I as a child believed myself to be the savior to cure us all, to save my parents and siblings.

Little did I know that I would be the only one who needed saving.

Little did they know I would be one of the first to become immune.

Sure, it costed me my eyes, but not my sight. My humanity, but not my conscience. Any semblance of a normal personality or appearance, but not a humanoid frame and longing to fit in. And, obviously, a twisted sense of humor with a darkened mind (which was so much more different than my more serious and sarcastic, "bedside manner" with all of my acquaintances and school friends), but not the urge to make others laugh or smile every once in a while in a happy moment. But you being you, one must think, for all of the "benefits" I must have, these things were a small price to pay for immortality, right?

Wrong.

I would give it all up if I could, be sick if I could, as long as I could save them. I was worthless. I let myself become a victim, fall into a trap, be tortured and cut up as a sacrifice. Little did they know I didn't want to be a god, and sure as hell not their god. They could worship me all they like, it would just make their death slower and more painful. I would make them scream out their hatred and disloyalty to me long before I'd send them off to the hell they deserved.

I guess that's why I was here, I suppose.

Fangirls only brought back the horrible memories, the torture. I pretty much despised interacting with women, but I knew not all were that bad; after all, I had my mother, whom I loved. And my grandmother was the sweetest lady I had ever known. If it weren't for them, I wouldn't bother to descend onto murders and rapists and muggers before they had their way. I'd have waited, patiently, until they were distracted and at peace, which any expert killer will tell you is the best time to strike. That five second opening is the only time they won't be on guard; before that they're worried about being caught red-handed, and after they're worried about being caught while fleeing. I can easily imagine myself doing it. How many of those girls had hurt others? Why were they out so late at night?

What propels me forward is the knowledge many of them haven't done a single thing wrong, maybe some normal human mistakes, but no sins warranting death. They were just at the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people. Like me. In fact, exactly like me. If it happened to me, a normal guy with a mostly normal, loving, happy (albeit sick) family, it can happen to anyone. I didn't even like killing bugs as a kid (though as I got older I had to for my shrieking little sisters), and now I kill weekly, if not daily. I don't consider myself a hero, or a vigilante. I'll never be the good guy, but I don't consider myself entirely evil either. People who hurt others deserve to rot in hell. I was just speeding the process along, and in time it would be my turn to burn. I know I would when I finally met my end, and even in the flames I'd be at peace, knowing I would hurt others no longer. I had suffered many bruised jaws, aching noses, swollen eyes, and split lips because of this. Jumping in to save the victim while the attackers were alert was pretty stupid, but I couldn't stand by and do nothing. My mother didn't raise me to be a coward. Most of the time it went smoothly; they didn't expect resistance, so they didn't bother bringing a weapon. Other times, they had a knife or a gun, which forced me to break their hands, rendering them incapable of attacking. I hated doing that, because it wasn't a fair fight, but if you really thing about it, it wasn't a fair fight in the first place, now is it?