Him (bxb)

My Name Is Cameron

My name is Cameron. And I don't have a heart. Physically yes I do. But I couldn't care less about you. I couldn't care less about my family, my friends, anybody at all.

Tonight especially. I really didn't give a shit. My parents had once again decided that I had a problem. And they planned to send me away. I tossed and turned until around 1:23 AM. Exactly. I was 14 at the time.

I sat up in bed. I didn't really have much running through my mind. All I wanted was to be let out of the house for once. Maybe even treated like a normal human being. I stood up, hearing the floor boards creek beneath my feet.

I dug through my closet quietly, tossing things about thoughtlessly. I didn't really care because I knew I wouldn't be having to clean it up. I found my knife. It was a dark blue butterfly knife, sharpened for hours on end considering I didn't have much else to do with my time. I stood in the middle of my room for a while. Deciding on who was first. My mom or dad. My sisters or my little brother. I decided on my dad.

The only one who could fight me off. I snuck out of my room, trying to make as little noise with my door as I could. I slowly crept down the empty hallway to my parents room. My mom was downstairs on the couch. She had fallen asleep watching television earlier.

As I entered the room my skin started crawling and I suddenly felt a rush of excitement. I slowly walked towards the bed. I stared down at him. He was calm and at complete ease. Deep asleep. Completely unaware. Ignorant.

I pressed the knife softly to his throat. His eyes opened and went wide. I pulled it across his neck swiftly and watched as he gasped for air. Drowning in his own blood. A slight grin crept onto my face. I backed away and pulled on the shelf, watching as it fell loudly. I smiled at him and slipped into the closet as my mom ran upstairs.

She opened the door and turned on the light. "Mike! What happened to you darling?" She whimpered running to his side. She reached for her phone. I slid out of the closet and slammed the knife into her back. She fell in pain, unable to speak as I pulled it out.

I rolled her over and stared into her eyes. I ran the knife down the middle of her face. Making a deep slit. I giggled to myself. She coughed up her own blood as she stared at me in shock. I drove it straight into her head. Watching as the life left her eyes.

I stood up and glanced at my dad before walking out and running downstairs. I went quietly into my sisters room. I turned on the lights and watched her slowly sit up. "What do you want Cameron?"

I held the blade behind my back and walked towards her. She stared at me annoyed and wiped the tired from her eyes. She noticed the blood on my clothes. "Did you get hurt or something?"

I showed her the knife. Her eyes went wide and she opened her mouth and breathed in to scream. I quickly jammed it into her eye. I stared at her for a second before pulling it out. She fell back on the bed. I ran it across her face. Over and over. Making straight lines from one side to the other.

She finally stopped breathing and I walked back out into the hallway. My other sister stepped out into the hall. Even if she screamed nobody was around to hear except my brother, who was only 2.

I slammed it into her stomach, throwing her back into the ground. She screamed instantly as I ripped it out and drove it in over and over again. I dropped the knife and shoved my hand into one of her wounds, pulling out her kidney and tearing it from her body. I watched her body fall limp and her give up the struggle.

I sat down on the floor and fell into deep thought. Everything flashed back in front of me again. I didn't know what to do from that point on as I listened to my brother start crying in the other room.

As I remembered what I had done that night so long ago I turned to the window. I now lived in an old abandoned hospital. Everything still worked because part of the hospital was still in function.

That's the fun part. They can't run far if they're sick or injured. It gets so much easier. I love the fight but watching them fail is hilarious. I watched out the window as a teenager slowly shuffled into the building. He carried a big backpack that looked almost empty and a thin walking stick.

I knew exactly where he was by the sounds of the building popping and creeping. I knew all the specific tones and sounds by heart. I waited until he reached the main hallway where he could easily get turned around and wind up lost before I made my first move.

I screamed. High pitched but gravelly. I listened to the sound of him running wildly about the place. Suddenly frantic and clearly unsure of how he would return to the outside world.

I heard the loud creek of the eastern stairs and stood at the door of the room I had taken shelter in. He was like a cornered rat. His only escape was back up the stairs, across the entire building through torn and broken floors, and down the stairs on the opposite side of the building of which would collapse easily under the pressure of his frantic steps.

Everything suddenly became silent. I heard a loud thud and peeked around the corner. He lay on the ground unconscious across the long hall. The rising and falling of his chest was calm and I could easily tell he was out of it. I stepped quietly around all the spots I knew would make some kind of creek or groan beneath heavy boots.

As I reached his side I knelt down. His lips were dried and he showed obvious signs of dehydration. This is when things started to hit me. He was cute.

He had light blonde hair that was shaved along the sides and back but long on the top. It seemed like he usually kept it back in a bun. He was pale and had light freckles. He had light muscles and almost no fat on his body. He was a bit messy. Covered in dirt and mud. Caked all over his dark blue torn jeans and black high top converse. He had a thin Lover Boy tank top on that seemed old and faded.

His backpack laid beside him. I opened it. It held a small dull pocket knife, some waters, a box of matches, $36, and some bagged chips. He seemed to be homeless.

I pulled him to the side of the hall and took his stuff down to my room. When I returned to him I lifted him up lightly and brought him back, laying him down on my mattress and pointing the fan at him. I shook him lightly and tried my best to awake him.

I didn't know why I cared about saving him. I just did. I checked for a pulse and decided he was fine. Only dehydrated. I could take care of him for a while. But he couldn't find out.