》Luke
Michael and I began walking on as if nothing happened. As if I didn't tell a total stranger/warm hearted murder that I wanted to die. As if he refused to kill me.
It's a bit ridiculous, really. No, the word for it is a contradiction. What kind of killer is capable of love or any other emotion other than that of cold blooded murder. But Michael seems to defy the fact. He believes what he is doing is good -- that it helps those he victimizes. And in some cases it could. He could've helped me. I could've been Number Seven.
The psychopath I was walking beside bit his lip, chewing on the soft looking pink tissue. Shit.
"Quit staring, pretty boy. I'm supposed to be walking you home. Keep that up and I'll take you right here in the street." Michael said, not even looking in my direction. He stared straight ahead, a small smirk played on his lips.
"Maybe I'll just keep staring." I retorted.
He scoffed. "You couldn't handle the Cliffoconda."
"Did you really name your dick?" I laughed.
His cheeks painted a cute pink shade-- like cherry blossoms. "You're not old enough to know what it's like."
"To know what what is like?" I asked, as we turned onto my street.
He flashed a pearly grin. "To have an adult body. You're still growing, Lucas."
"One: do not criticize my manhood until you have seen the wrath. Two: How did you know my name was Lucas?"
"One: you just told me," He stopped us and stood before me. His pale hands came in contact with my hips and he pulled me closer; our bodies touching, the heat radiating off of us. I groaned as he applied pressure to our lower regions, but he only chuckled. He put his plump lips to my neck and pressed soft kisses to the exposed area. I tilted my head the opposite direction to offer him more space. He trailed his kisses from my collarbone to my ear (I sucked in a breath as he kissed a particularly sensitive part) and whispered, his hot breath tickling my ear, "Two: I might just have to see it sometime."
I felt like melting into a puddle right there. If he could do this to me, and we still had clothes on, I could only imagine what he could do if we didn't.
"Y-yeah," I stuttered. No, I can't stutter. I'm not going to be weak in front of him. No stuttering. "I mean, no, no you can't."
His chest vibrated against mine and he only shook his head, chuckling. I followed my will and laid my head in between the crook of his head and shoulder. I exhaled a breath I didn't know I was holding.
We must've looked strange, standing on the sidewalk of a subdivision, his arms on my waist and mine falling limp at my sides.
"I should be getting home." I interrupted and looked at the watch secured around my wrist. 11:02.
"But I'm comfyyy." He whined, his grip tightening.
I wrapped my arms around the nape of his neck and twirled his short green hair through my fingers. He mumbled. "Five dollars to touch the hair."
I rolled my eyes and kept twisting.
We met thirty minutes ago and I was already in his arms. I know nothing about him (except his biggest secret) and he only knows mine.
What would possess me to tell my biggest secret to an unknown man?
A cute unknown man.
He's still unknown. Leave and don't look back.
Why? I'm going to die anyway. Why not have fun while I'm still here?
He's going to hurt you.
Emotionally or physically? Because I couldn't care less.
Michael disconnected our touching and just grasped my hand. He walked to my left and swung our arms back and forth.
"You're a really good singer, by the way." He complimented.
"I- How did?-" How did he hear me sing?
"I heard you as you walked out the school. You were singing All Time Low. It was cute."
"Canals is my jam."
He nodded and went silent again.
How can one be so cute and so deadly? Honestly, I'd love to spend a day in his head, if to just escape my own. The mind of a serial killer is a complex one.
"I'm not crazy, y'know," He must've saw my face as I was thinking. He continued, "I'm not. I'm just... My doctor, when I was about seventeen, said I have Borderline Personality Disorder."
"Wha-"
"I don't want to talk about it." He snapped, letting go of my hand.
We continued walking until we reached the front of my house. We exchanged phone numbers, putting 'Cutie Pie' as his contact name and mine as 'Lucas'.
"Goodnight. I'll see you soon." Michael said, kissing my cheek and disappearing.
-
The computer had thousands of results, but I decided to click on the first one.
What is borderline personality disorder?
Borderline personality disorder is a serious mental illness marked by unstable moods, behavior, and relationships. In 1980, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual for Mental Disorders, Third Edition (DSM-III) listed borderline personality disorder as a diagnosable illness for the first time. Most psychiatrists and other mental health professionals use the DSM to diagnose mental illnesses.
Because some people with severe borderline personality disorder have brief psychotic episodes, experts originally thought of this illness as atypical, or borderline, versions of other mental disorders.1 While mental health experts now generally agree that the name "borderline personality disorder" is misleading, a more accurate term does not exist yet.
Most people who have borderline personality disorder suffer from:
Problems with regulating emotions and thoughts
Impulsive and reckless behavior
Unstable relationships with other people.
People with this disorder also have high rates of co-occurring disorders, such as depression, anxiety disorders, substance abuse, and eating disorders, along with self-harm, suicidal behaviors, and completed suicides.
According to data from a subsample of participants in a national survey on mental disorders, about 1.6 percent of adults in the United States have borderline personality disorder in a given year.
Borderline personality disorder is often viewed as difficult to treat. However, recent research shows that borderline personality disorder can be treated effectively, and that many people with this illness improve over time.
I closed the tab and shut off my computer, rubbing my eyes tiredly. Of fucking course the only guy that will ever like me has to be psychotic.
You knew that in the beginning when he tried to kill you.
"Shut up!" I shouted, exhausted by the constant bickering in my head.
Maybe I'm the psychotic one.
--
I love writing this story aye
Creds to the National Institute of Mental Health for the article
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-Katie♡
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Killer || muke
Teen Fiction"So you, the serial killer, expects me, the totally innocent, but unbelievably unhappy high school student, to walk into the sunset with you and be happy?" "That doesn't sound too bad." "You're lucky you're cute." × Prequel to I Never Wanted To ||...
