My Peace and Serenity (A Jeff The Killer Story)

Chapter 35

Kerstion's POV

(36 years ago)

With dawn still as similar as night the stars dance with the moon for the short while it has left. The view is almost beautiful up here, given the circumstances of my presence. It wasn't so long ago that I had fought so hard to escape this prison, but after a few days I came to the realization that even if I had left this place...I would have no home to return to.

There was a soft knock on the door, A familiar boy speaking from behind it.

"Come in."

Toby had waltzed into the room sporting a college T-shirt I knew wasn't his and grey sweatpants. Probably just woke up. I should have done the same, but the night only gives my ghosts opportunity to creep into my mind and remind me of my life a week dead.

"It's been a week, you need to eat," he said, "we don't have much to eat, but it will be better than trying to steal whatever is in the cabinet when everyone is asleep"

An embarrassed blush rushes to my cheeks, and I look away from the brunette, his pale freckled skin light in my dimmed bedroom.

"This is not my home. There's no reason for me to eat at the table like a family. Those monsters, sad to say, are not my family and never will be my family."

"You dont have to like us," he spoke low, as if he really didnt care what i had to say. Hell, i dont even care. Maybe that was my problem.
"At least do yourself a favor and get a meal. Or dont. I couldnt care less"

He made for the door and i let him leave, my gaze meeting the vast expanse of early morning.

I wonder what it would be like to fall from this window? How the mess would litter the floor with a noisy splat! Would the impact kill me, or would the headfirst dive be my slow death?

There is nothing for me here.

I could do it, you know.

It would be very easy to leap from this window and accept my long awaited death. My idiot of a father made it clear that is where I was destined to be. Dead.

Tears threaten my vision and a sharp pain stabs my chest just thinking about it. The day my mother came home early. I remember her eyes were deep in her bags as she scoured through her purse for the coupon for a free week at a hotel far away from here.

"We can start over," she said, "your father will be home soon, so we have to go"

I rushed for a bag, my smile returning for the for the first time in months as I wondered what was next for the newly freed Warren mother and daughter. No longer bound by the fists that pounded our backs and fists, always in the spots clothes would cover, because despite how cruel my father was, he was also too smart.

At least when he was sober.

He had waltzed with Johnny Walker Black every night after work, never skipping their date.

But no more did we think we were going to fall victim to his hand. No more would we ache in the morning like rusty hinges in need of oil, struggling to open with our hallowed bones.

The TV was on when I came back down stairs, and I did not remember turning it on.

Mom cried as he hit her, I latched onto his back and did everything I could. There was no way he was going to take our freedom away, not after we were granted a small taste.

But a teen girl is no foe for a grown man working with a purpose.

He had put the pistol to her temple with her own hands before I could blink.