DERANGED (Jeff the Killer P.O.V and Romance)

19 - I Don't Love You Like I Loved You Yesterday...

I sat in the corner of the lonely room, the sunlight dimly shining through the bars on the window, my back sleepily against the wall and my knees bent, my arms hanging loosely between my legs. I let my neck crane back; my head placed firmly against the wall, my focus to the ceiling of the sad room as the scent of fatigue and utter devastation lingered under my nose. Sighing, I adjusted my focus to the sealed door, growling at it; I was locked in. Sure if I tried hard enough, I bet I could break through, but what would be the point in that? My knife was absent from me, Jenny was absent from me, and so was Sarah. If I had to admit, I missed Chris’s company only because he was tolerable, but after these past couple of weeks simply diminishing in these four walls, I’ve been re-thinking my feeling towards everyone in my life. My enemies were also my friends, and my friends were now my enemies. There was no way around this because no matter how evil I was, there were still those who dared to care for me, and although I was worthy of care, those who did also felt fear and anger towards me for how I am. It was as though I was a snake, hated by most, but cared for by those few who see through my thick skin, demonic eyes, and vicious demeanor.

Letting my attention fall back towards the plain ceiling, I waited patiently, as I’ve been doing this entire time and allowed my bubbling anger to dissolve. At times I would pace in circles for hours, or punch holes in the walls simply because I couldn’t stand the agonizing torture of waiting. I was an impatient man, and being forced to wait by some woman who had openly defied my wishes only made me angrier. Aside from that, to pass time I would find myself scratching images into the walls of mindless things, letting my wild imagination fun free. I would also sprawl myself out onto the hard floor and roll around, humming and chanting to myself. My behavior had changed as well, and instead of sleeping on the bed like I would have normally done, when the sun went down I found myself underneath the bed because it was a tad bit darker down there, and the feeling of being anywhere else left me feeling vulnerable for some odd reason I had yet to figure out. I had even attempted to meditate, the peacefulness avoiding my mind, forcing me to grow impatient and roll around some more. Sarah had tried to feed me by slipping food under the door, but I rejected her attempts, sliding the silver platter right back, making her grow frustrated and eventually give up. I didn’t care though; she was the one who locked me in. The fact that she never stayed to talk with me or to apologize for what she was doing made my chest go heavy with a hole, the need for it to be filled present and growing. I feared that she was falling out of love with me, and if that happened, I wasn’t sure what I might do.

The creaking of stairs caught my attention, and I waited anxiously. A scraping sound began to march through the air, and I could feel the anxiety coursing through me. After a while, the scraping of glue from my seal stopped and the lock clicked, freedom only a doorknob turn away. The frame opened up slowly and Sarah’s shy face came into view as she poked her head through the doorway. She smiled a tad bit brighter when she saw me sitting on the floor and she entered, closing the door behind her and leaning on it, hesitation and nervousness written on her face.

She fiddled with her loose blonde hair for a small moment before speaking quietly as if I had just woken up from a bad dream, “Hey, how are you feeling?”

I shrugged, her presence making my chest lighten up, that awkward empty feeling disappearing, “Better now that you’re here.”

“So you’re not mad at me anymore?” She asked, her shy smile reappearing.

I shook my head slowly, “No…I never was.”

She snickered slightly, rolling her eyes at me, “Jeff, you said you wanted to kill me.”