Whispers of a Killer

Cleaning House

'Rules...?'

My mind repeats what he tells me, though I don't think it has fully registered what he said just yet. Maybe it is the fact that he kidnapped me, has not been all that nice to me, even if he did make me breakfast; he also forced  me  to clean a disgustingly bloody knife, that he plans on just making dirty again. So now I have rules too?

"You have to be kidding me.." I mutter without realizing he could have heard me, my eyes slowly falling to the now slightly crumpled up, blood stained, old paper.

"Does it look like I'm kidding to you?"

He looks irritated, so I just shake my head and look back down quickly so I don't have to look him in the eyes.

"No.." I mutter, hoping he won't bring his knife near me again. I don't like knives very much, and I hate blood. I'm a severe hemophobic- not to be confused with being a "homophobic;" that actually doesn't mean what people think anyway. To have a phobia means to have an extreme or irrational fear of something.. not that you hate it, necessarily.

"Well, then read it." He states, pure irritation with me still present in his voice.

"Out loud?" I question, only to see him smack his forehead in aggravation. Bad question.

"No, I want you to read it in your head. I obviously didn't mean for you to read it out loud." Jeff rolls his eyes and folds his arms. "What are you, annoying and stupid?" He asks, a low growl to his voice.

"No!" My own defiant tone and the look I give him stops me; only in the sense that I quickly retract and shake my head. Clearing my throat, I repeat my answer without the bite. "No. No, I'm not stupid. And I'm not trying to annoy you, either.." I sigh, then look at the paper again, chewing the soft inner part of my cheek as I wait for him to tell me to start.

I would rather not be yelled at again. Stress makes my current 'condition' worse.

"Yeah, well you're doing a pretty damn good job of pissing me off for someone who isn't trying." He snorts and looks off to the side before nodding at me. "Read it."

In response, I nod and carefully begin to unfold the paper. The words are hard to see because of the blood stains; I doubt I could read it even if they weren't there. He has exceptionally bad handwriting. Shaking my head, I clear my throat and try to read the first one.

"One.. 'Don't try to escape.' " I read, raising an eyebrow. "...'If you try to escape then expect to fucking die.' That was pretty obvious..." I mutter, rolling my eyes after reading the scribbly note by the rule. I notice Jeff stiffen to my attitude, but read on instead of choosing to address it.

"Number two...'Don't try to call the cops.' " This one gives me pause. "Jeff, that pretty much goes with the first one.. Why not just lump them together..?" I look up at him, and tilt my head.

"Because maybe I didn't fucking want to. Think of that?" He snaps at me, stopping me from questioning any of the rules thereafter.

"...Rule number three..." I stop. "...Um..I can't see any more of the words..." I frown, looking at him in confusion. This gets a reaction from him I was not expecting.

"Oh for fuck's sake! Give me that, you stupid bitch!" He snaps at me again, ripping the paper from my hands. His last comment makes me feel like I've been hit. My first response is to smack him.

"I'm not a bitch!" My voice shakes, and I can feel tears stinging my eyes when he grabs my wrist. Pinning my back against the counter, he leans in on me. He is so close to me I can feel his breath hitting my skin.