Jeff the Killer(meets a psycho)

chapter 2

Slyly, he removes the mug of tea from my hands, qucikly grabbing his knife. I could easily understand why he was on high alert. After all, there was a strange child who not only didn't fear him, but offered to help a man in which was on his way to kill her.

His lifted his eyes up to avoid the steam from the tea and became to take a sip. I was somewhat shocked at the fact that he did not wait for it to cool off, nor did he wince at the heat. The water was completely boiled. After taking a sip, he lowered the mug from the remains of his lips, allowing his eyes to roll back down to meet mine. Jeff seemed to be aware of my every move, my every breath. His gaurd was never down. It seemed like he rather feared me. The thought of this ruthless murderer having fear on someone made me laugh, which sparked his hand to grip tighter on the handle of his beatiful blade.

Would you like to sit down?" I questioned, pointing to my couch.

Without making a sound, he was laying down before I had a chance to blink. Finally, his mouth opened after sitting there for minutes in utter silence.

"Can I eat the rest of the peanut butter?"

I stared in shock for a minute and his charming, gruff voice, then began to laugh.

"Of course!" I said through my laughter, and a tear trickled down my cheek. For some reason, hearing these words from a murderer were hilarious.

His gaze was now directed toward me as he picked up the spoon a jar.

"What's so funny?" he spat out. Rage filled his voice.

I lifted up my hands and pleaded "Nothing! I just didn't expect you to be like... this, that's all!"

The expression in his eyes lightened slighty and he took way too much peanut butter on his spoon and scarfed it down his throat. Just then, before he took his final bite, a large rumble roared from his stomach. I held down laughter and whispered "Was that thunder or your stomach?"

Flustered, he dropped the containder and spoon and looked at me. I never knew how stunning pink would look on his pale skin. I couldn't help but get butterflies at the sight.

"I'm hungry. Make me dumplings. I know you have them in your freezer."

"Okay!"

I skipped merrily to my freezer and pulled out a frozen bag of dumplings, then brought a pan to the stove and began to set out each individual piece onto the pan. With each piece I layed out creating a sizzle. My eyes closed and I began to sing- "Dango, dango, dango, dango, dango, daikasoku."

Jeff's eyes shot over as if I just recited a satanic ritual. "What the hell was that?" he retorted, but then stopped as he realized I always had a love for Japanese music.

"Never mind..." he said.

I gigggled and finished preparing the dumplings with a side of rice, and my special recipe for tamagoyaki. Placing each different dish into new china, I handed them to him with a pear of chopsticks and fork, just in case he needed to cut the tamagoyaki in order to fit it into his mouth.

Hours passed as we sat on my couch making small talk. He constantly fidgeted with his knife as if he was nervous, or contemplating his next move to remove my internal organs. However, I remained calm and kept a compassionate smile on face; and when night arized, even though the difference between day and night were hardley notticable, I was able to catch a small grin on his face. In fact, I even thought I saw it a few times throughout the day.

"I am sleeping here tonight." he muttered after we sat in silence for an hour or so. I looked at the clock on the living room wall and realized that it was now thirty minutes from midnight.
"Good." I said in excitment, for I sometimes hated being alone, and missed having my sister in the house during storms. I actually just missed having someone to conversate with.

I stood up and motioned for him to follow me upstairs to my room. When we we entered my room, I pointed to my bed and said "You can sleep on my bed, I'll sleep on the couch down stairs." and began to exit the room, when he grabbed my arm tightly. "No." he said firmly while glaring into my eyes.

Yet again, I found a dark blush litter my cheeks and hopped into bed with him. I guess even the most heartless of people need company. He faced the open space of my room and fell quickly asleep, knife in hand. I lay there, breathing in his rotting-flesh scent and drifted off into a peacful sleep.

I awoke to a loud burst of thunder and what seemed to be the brightest lightening ever. I quickly sat up, remembering yesterday, and looked down to see Jeff laying there, with wide eyes. "Is he awake?" I asked myself, but the heavy breathing coming from his mouth told me otherwise. It must be a pain to have no eyelids! "Idea!" I whispered loudly and rolled over him, digging through the drews of my dresser before coming across a black sleeping mask I had received during my time with insomnia.
Trying my best not to wake him, I gently started to place it around his head; instantly, a cold knife was on my neck before I could finish.
"What the hell are you doing?" He said with a tired, grumpy voice.
I put a finger in the blade and pushed it away from my neck and frowned at him.
"Jerk!!" I teased, "I was giving you a sleeping mask so you could fall asleep easier since you have no eyelids!!"
"Oh."
"Yeah! Stupid!"
His eyes switched from a sleepy glow to a fiery glare.
"Heh, it was a joke..."
"Whatever. I'm hungry. I want pancakes."
"For as skinny as you are, you sure seem to be hungry a lot!"
"The only real thing I've eaten before your house was the scrapes of a dead dog."
I wasn't sure whether I was disgusted or amused with him. I always wanted to meet him, to observe him. It was like he was my science project. Everything he did fascinated me to some extent.
"I only have waffles, is that okay?"
"Whatever." He muttered through his teeth and shot me a hurry-your-ass-up stare. Quickly taking the hint, I ran down stairs and "made" his breakfast (all I technically did was put them in a toaster).
"Would you like syrup and butter?!" I called up before a voice grumbled behind me. I spun around, shocked that he made it behind me without me hearing anything.
"Yes. A lot."
"Yes, sir."
Giggling, I finished spreading the butter and applying syrup. The plate was stolen from me and finished, without silver ware, in less than three minutes.
Suddenly, I heard him hiccup.
Stifling a laugh, I asked "Are... You okay?"
Again he looked down in embarrassment.
Running up to him, I jumped in him lap. As I did so, his knife fell from his hand, leaving a small gash on my shin. A grin of insanity crossed his face. I figured he was in need of a new kill. From what I read about him, he killed weekly. This led me to wonder why he hasn't killed me yet.
Apparently I was thinking out loud, again, and he just looked at me. As if he didn't know himself.
A rough, long finger rubbed the blood on my leg, then reached into his pocket, taking out a needle and thread.
Within five minutes, the wound was transformed into a few stitched and stained blood.
"Thank you..."
"Get off me." He murmured in a less intense voice than usual.
Laughing, I did so and sat beside him..