Good Guys Finish Last (Chucky Fanfic)

Chapter 17

"I killed her! See? I'm no better than you! I killed her in cold blood!"

Chucky looked so taken aback, shaken, even. Almost as if he had just seen a ghost, was I really that frightening? My throat hurt.

"No fucking way..." Was all he muttered in response. He gently shook his head in awe.

"It's all my fault, it's all my fault..." My broken smile fell into a frown. I crossed my arms in discontentment, my breathing was shaky.

"You... You actually killed someone?!" Chucky exclaimed, looking to me in a sort of anticipation.

I simply shook my head to confirm his statement.

"Well..." The ginger looked around as if he thought there was a possibility of someone looking or overbearing even though everyone was gone. He really was one sneaky doll... "You'll get used to it, kid, my first slaughter was definitely something to remember but you'll-" Chucky stopped when he was interrupted by my sniffles.

"Now what's the problem?" He questioned, annoyed and oblivious to my feelings.

"It... It isn't what you think..." I began to explain, rubbing my nose with my sweater sleeve. "And it isn't something I'm proud of either." I almost choke thinking about the image of my mother, dead on the floor, flashing into my mind. Chucky surprisingly stayed quiet. It was almost polite of him.

"I didn't..." I wiped my face and exhaled deeply before continuing. "I didn't d-do it myself..." I stuttered, feeling weak talking about it. "I made her so upset and angry that the only option she felt she had left was to k-kill herself." My voice shook. "I-I d-didn't want h-her to die. I try to th-think to myself every day that I-I d-don't mind she's gone, but I can't help but f-feel awful, like everything that's happened is all my f-f-fault." I felt my eyes swell up.

"Are you... crying?" Chucky began, examining my face which I tried to hide from him with my sweater.

I didn't say anything back, just shaking my head in denial, which made him groan in frustration.

"Don't fucking cry again."

A tear slipped down my face uncontrollably.

"Ai yi yi, this shit I have to deal with..." He grumbled to himself.

"Okay, how about this," A smile twisted onto his face as I began sniveling. "If you keep crying, I'll kick your fuckin' teeth in."

"Or I'll slice your neck open!" He whipped out an intricately designed knife. The knife looked as if it had a blood red shell over top of it, a white squiggle in between the red pattern.

"Y-you won't k-kill me..."

"Or really? This knife here is saying otherwise..." His voice taunted in a sing-song tone. He handled the weapon like it was a newborn child. Chucky creeped closer towards me, and I couldn't move. He edged the knife up to my neck as more tears streamed down my face. I could feel that my face was as red as the design on his knife, and I had trouble identifying which liquids on my face were tears, and which were my cold sweat.

"T-this..." I began, my eyes widening from my realization. "This exact moment was in my dream..." I could only speak softly.

"You're very cooperative for someone who's about to die." He grinned.

"I don't fear death." I confessed to him, which caused him to relieve the pressure on my neck. "M-maybe it's better off being this way, I-I deserve this for the burden I've been to everyone."

Chucky moved back from me. "I ain't used to dealing with this..." He shook his doll head in something like disbelief. "You're the only one who's not begging for their life, and you're taking all the thrill away."

"I-I'm sorry?" I apologized with a shrug, not knowing if I should or not. I thought I was afraid of death, as most people are. I guess I just needed that self discovery moment to learn that nothing matters too much to me, which is a scary thought in itself.

"You are irritating." Chucky grimaced. "I'm not about to kill someone that doesn't care if they live or die, what's the point?"

I looked to the scrape on my leg sadly, not sure what to say.

"Besides, you're still helping me here!" He pointed to me then threw his arm back to his side.

"Do you find joy in taking lives because it makes you feel powerful?" I questioned, my light brown golden locks glowing in the laundry room lighting.

"I..." Chucky paused, opening his mouth but no words coming out.

"I never thought of it like that, maybe that's part of it, the thrill really gets me going." He explained. There was another small pause before another conversation starter came to mind.

"Y-you know, killings seem to follow me everywhere I go. It's like death has a liking to me." I try to stop my voice from shaking, swallowing and attempting to clear my throat.

"Me too, I guess that's one thing we have in common." Chucky smiled. I ignored his comment.

"I never knew my father very well..." I confessed. "He was around when I was a baby and a toddler. After he left, my mother never wanted to talk about him with me. I guess too many painful memories." I looked to Chucky just to see if he was still listening. He had his head cocked to the side slightly, his eyes locked on me. I felt my face heating up.

"Ugh, what's wrong with me? How can I let so much spill out? Should I keep talking? I'm such a mess." I thought to myself.

"A-anyways, when she started getting over him, she had a couple boyfriends. They came and left, no big deal. But one stayed longer than the others, the last one she had. We were all living together in a tiny, kind of rugged place. Her boyfriend-he-he w-wasn't the best of people, I guess. I'd typically see him counting money, he barely talked to me. Whenever I was around him he would tell me to go away. One time he chucked a piece of the kitchen's broken tile at me. That was kind of scary..!" I chuckled nervously before continuing my recollection. "He wasn't that bad, just n-not very good, either. Well, I overheard him talking on the phone once. He talked on the phone a lot. He was sweating so much, he actually looked scared. He talked about giving the person he was talking to anything they wanted for the 'stuff'. He even offered to let them borrow me a-and my mother just so he could have it... A-and so I picked up the baseball bat, and hit him as hard as I could against his head."

"All of a sudden like that?! I don't fucking believe it..." Chucky's eyes widened and he shook his head which he covered with his hands, like he had a headache.

"Y-yeah." I crossed my arms and smiled. Not the happy sort of smile, but the one you'd make when someone gives their condolences for when your pet dies.

"So tell me kid, did that do em in?" He questioned casually.

"N-no..." I rubbed my knees, feeling a chill. "It didn't do em in." I said almost mockingly.

"He blacked out and the police showed up," I began to explain and Chucky twitched as I mentioned the word 'police'. "I wasn't in trouble, but the police looked through everything... Not an inch of the house was untouched by them. They found so much..." I mumbled into a purse before conjuring the right words in my head. "Illegal substances..." I continued.

Chucky just looked to me in understanding. "I-I'm so sorry, I don't talk about this stuff, I'm sorry if I-I bothered you." I looked away nervously.

Images shot through my mind. Police officers storming into my house, rattling of plastic storage bins. The most vivid memory I could ever recall. The police invaded my room and went through all my toys. A doll I was gifted to for my 5th birthday was torn apart by the cops. White powder slid out of the hole from where the arm once was hinged in place. Mother's boyfriend was dragged out of the broken home in hand cuffs and I never saw him again.

"I-I just can't help but t-think it's all my fault, y-you know!" A twisted, sad smile present on my face.

"Kid, you went through a lot of shit, I get it. Now I'm not a therapist or nothing, but I don't mind bullshitting sometimes." Chucky responded.My gaze directed to him, he looked like an awkward teenager leaning against my drawers. Before I could respond, the washing machine beeped.