Cold Blooded \\ Kellic

1

Kellin's POV-

I violently scrubbed at the dried blood on my hands, but it wasn't easy to get off; it never was. This was the fourteenth person's blood I've ever had on my hands and it never got any easier and I'm not just talking about the blood. The guilt always consumed me for hours after I had killed someone, but the feeling always left and I'd go out and do it again. It's not like I meant to get addicted to killing people, it's not like I even meant to start doing it, but I did. What started off as self-defense turned into a way to get by in life and I have my step-father to thank for that.

***TWO YEARS AGO***

I sat in my room against my door, my hands covering my ears, willing the sounds from the other room to stop; the sounds of my step father grunting in pleasure and my mother screaming for him to stop. No one should hear these noises, especially a sixteen year old like myself. But that's exactly what I heard almost every night and it pained me to hear it. It pained me that I couldn't go and help her, but if I did then it would make it worse; I found that out the hard way when I did try and help her one night.

"Stop stop stop." I whispered to myself over and over again, rocking back and forth. "Please stop." It went on for so long and there was nothing I could do about it. It was times like these where I wished my father hadn't died from cancer years ago, leaving my mother to do the only thing she could; find another husband to help us stay afloat financially. But why did she have to pick him? Of all the people, why him? He appeared nice enough at the beginning, but he soon turned into a devious son of a bitch with such malicious intent.

The sounds finally stopped and my hands left my ears, listening out for any sign that they were done. I heard heavy footsteps pass by my bedroom door and head towards the living room. Of course, the football was starting any minute now and my step-father would soon have himself parked in front of the television like the brain-dead moron he is.

I pushed myself up from the floor and slowly turned my door knob, being careful not to let it make a sound. I walked out into the hall and tip-toed down to my parents room. Peering in I saw her there just like every night, with the sheets wrapped around her, curled up into a ball crying.

"Mom?" I asked quietly. I just wanted to make sure she was okay. She looked up at me, just noticing my presence and sat up, holding the sheets to her chest.

"Oh, Kellin, honey. Uh, go back to your room. I'm fine." She said, keeping her voice strong and calm. This was a lie. She was not fine and she never would be. I don't know what was so different about tonight, but I found myself getting furious quicker. Hatred towards that man boiled up in me. He came into our home, pretending that he was this perfect man and then he turned around and did this to her every fucking night. I knew my mother was too weak to break things off with him because he provides us with financial stability and she's afraid that he'll hurt us, hell, I'm afraid he'll kill us.

Seeing my mother like that, crying, bruised, completely dead inside; that's what set me off on this particular night. That's what made me back away from her and turn down the hall, walking towards the kitchen. I like to think that I wasn't really thinking straight that night. I had completely lost it and in my mind nothing was right or wrong. I found my way into the kitchen and opened up one of the drawers, pulling out a knife, the sharpest one I could find. I wasn't even nervous at that point. I wasn't even scared.

I strolled into the living room, standing behind the man who had ruined our lives. He was on one of the recliner chairs, facing away from me. My hands were shaking unsteadily, but I still wasn't nervous. I felt nothing for what I was about to do; absolutely nothing. That was something I had become quite good at- turning off my emotions. I could do it almost all the time, except for when he's hurting my mother. That I can't ignore.