Yandere Shin- with Chojo and Daku! (The sequel to Yandere Shin)

I only care for the memories.

Shin's POV

Kizana Sunobu. Who the fuck do you think you are flirting with my Taro like THAT!?!

PUNCH

Stop it. Punching walls like some delinquent never did anyone any good. I have to think of something- I have to get her away from him! I've only met her today and the sight of that arrogant bitch makes me sick to my stomach. Sigh, why is this happening...

All of my time is going to saving Taro from these ignorants for the last two weeks, and now I'm going on my third. If I had it my way, I would have killed 7 people and be done with this soul-conjoining, but why does life have to give this poor paranormal enthusiast such opportunity? Daku and Chojo will never understand what I have to go through- what I've been through my entire life. Rejection, pain, worthlessness. I can't go back to being alone. I can't go back to nothing!

PUNCH

Taro... How do you do this to me? How do you make my heart go crazy when I'm.near you, and my will to live nonexistent without you? Oh Taro, sweet Yamada. Can we be friends forever?

Of course we will- I'll make sure of that.

"I knew it."

I didn't have to turn around to know that it was Chojo standing behind me. He's behind me for about 80% of my time nowadays.

He takes a couple of steps toward me, but his body language doesn't show any emotion, no sway in his walk, no balled up fists in anger, nothing. The walk of a sociopath, as my mother once called it. I was only 6 at the time, but I guess I was some kind of demon child even then.

I unclenched my fists and stood straight. "Know what? What do you want Chojo? You're supposed to be helping Daku with-"

My disrespectful tone rewarded me with a slap to the face.

"Stop calling me by my first name, you freak!"
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I am human; memories come and go. I remember, I forget- as everyone else in our wretched humanity. There are little things that separate us from the person next to us, from our ability to communicate effectively to our way of presenting ourselves to the world. I only care for the memories.

What we remember is what we deem important. How long we remember it is what we care about to know. Those who forget me, those who've never cared about me and give me false hopes and dreams of a life together...

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The smell of blood is one of those things I'll never forget, and I'll never forget my first whiff of it.

I've never seen blood before I stabbed my mom in the leg with her favorite cooking knife.

"Aaah...! Damn it Shin!"

I gasped at the red rivers trickling down her leg. The blood oozed so gently despite it being such an imperfect stab. I didn't reach for a phone to call someone or handed my mom a towel like she screamed at me to- cause that's NOT the way you ask for something, mommy. I didn't even care that she was hurt, and I still don't, but I remember exactly what I was thinking after I did it.

Good. You deserved it. That's what you get for letting Daddy do whatever he wants.

She panicked for a long time. I wished I hadn't had stabbed her before she made my breakfast. I was so hungry.

"Shin, mommy's hurt, you have to help mommy! Mommy's bleeding!"

... Nothing. Nothing came out.