4 Am (#Wattys2019)

Criminal

Trigger warning: this chapter is not for faint hearted people, it has psychopathic conceptions. Do not read of you think you have the slightest risk. Do not read if you get scared.

"And the villain was once, a hero."

He ambulates with conscientious steps, unnessasaryly putting his hoodie down, to hide half his face. He checks the time on his phone, it is about eleven in the night. He enters the hospital as cool breeze from the AC hits his hands. He has a scarlet rose.

One that is going to scar Elenor. A scar he desperately wishes stays with her for lifetime. He ambulates up to the reception, he takes in his circumventions. The hospital is immaculate and smells of bleach, he abhors the atmosphere of the hospital. There are sick, destructed and pained people around him, and he isn't the reason for their pain. This noetic conception makes him unhappy. Whenever he visually examines more impotent humans, he imagine what's it like to touch the skin on their weak necks and snap it. He desires to see their pain, their eyes wide in terror. He feels erotic thinking this. But he hasn't tortured anyone ever. To his dismay.

"Hello, how may I assist you?" The receptionist asks as he stands afore the desk, her expression shows curiosity.
He pulls up his ebony hoodie, and gives her an unauthentically spurious smile.
"I would like to know which room is Elenor Rossette Parker staying in?" He verbally expresses very altruistically, so unlike the sadist that he is.

The very professional receptionist check her computer, moments before answering him.

She visually examines him through her spects, "May I know who you are?" She questions. "I have to write it in records." She verbalizes dryly seeing the skeptical look on the teenagers handsome face.

He replies quickly, making up a ficticiously unauthentic name in his mind.

"She is on third floor, room 45. You will find the elevator few steps to your left." She says in a monotone, her night shift was getting hard on her.

"Thank you." He replies, surprised at himself. He follows her ordinant dictations. Soon and conveniently enough he finds himself on the third floor, the lobby is spacious and at many intervals there are waiting areas. He navigates his way to Elenors room, with the help of denotements on the white walls.

He looks exhaustive the square glass on the wooden door. She is solitary, lying on her bed. Seeing her he wants to turn his steps and not hurt her, but he doesn't. He enters the room not before hiding his face with the hoodie.
He places the flower on the table adjacent to her, visually examining her pale face all the while. He wishes that they were friends. That she would be inclined to sacrifice something for him, think of him as tolerable and intriguing. But no, her so called standards are to high.

His manhood hardens, as he thinks of all he could do to her, pull her hair as he thrust into her hard, scream and shout at her, hitting her all the while. Biting her soft, plush breasts. He wants her to cry at his name and tell him to stop as he relentlessly strokes inside of her depts. He wants her to feel helpless.

He touches her soft cheeks, wanting to push her off the bed. He feels revolted in a way, but at the same time he wants intimacy only from her. He abstracts his hands from her cheek.
He hates the sound of her breathing, he wants to choke her neck, and slash it with a razor, see the blood dripping from the whites of her skin.

But this thought scares him. No. No he isn't like to that. He is very gentle. He thinks. His issue with this mindset is that it scares him and his parents. They hate him for being like he is. He is cruel in his own ways. Wicked in another.

Elenor has to pay for making him a monster.

He knows he has a problem. He knows Elenor can fix him. Because she is the most attractive thing he has seen in his life. Her beauty is innocence. And he wants to glom her of that, remove the last shards of innocence from her. Only then can he reach ultimate contentment.

He is thrown off his thoughts when someone enters the room, he palms feel sweaty.

"Who are you?" A girls confident voice asks. He turns quickly and walks past by her, hiding his face woth his hoodie and sinful hands all along.

He steals an look of her, she is pretty. But she's going to suffer for interrupting his thoughts. He quickly walks out of the room.

Isabelle looks at the rose on the side table. Thinking it was her sisters secreat admirer.

Little does she know.

Hey everyone!! How are you doing today!
Hope you like the chapter!! I know it was tadbit of creepy, but damn, it's important for the story!!