Smitten or Psycho?

Penut Butter

Okay so uh...this story contains mature themes and profanity. It involves unhealthy obsessions and kidnapping. So obviously do not proceed if you are uncomfortable with any of these topics. I would just like to say this was an idea I had for a while and I wanted to put it out there so I used Watt-pad. Also I have bad grammar and may not always edit. Enjoy the story!
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       I stood in silence, with only the sound of rain seeping into the city sewers, staring at the remains of my father's belongings that were ever so neatly packed in a tiny box in the police woman's arms. I find it odd, how one man's entire life could be stored inside of a twelve by twelve by twelve inch box. The cop stared at me with sympathetic eyes. "I'm very sorry miss, this was all we could find in his apartment" she silently spoke. I looked up, maintaining my stoic expression. "Oliver Hayes was a heroic officer, and his life will not be forgotten" she said. Shut up. I don't understand why one must be consoled after losing someone. Death is merely a natural function that all mortal beings must face. I examined her tightly pulled back hair. It lay in a round, brown bun at the base of her neck. Her pointed nose and brown eyes made me sick. "Thank you very much..." I managed to get out, sniffing to add some depth to my sentence while the cardboard cube from her hands. "Thank you for bringing me this...I'm glad to know bravery is rewarded" I barely said, "I just wish I could've said goodbye". Bullshit. I couldn't give a damn about that man. I managed to stir up some pretend tears to get the officer off my back. "I truly am very sorry Ms. Hayes, if you need anything please contact me, my number is in Oliver's cell". With that the officer stepped down the stairs that lead to my apartment and disappeared into her car. I stepped back inside to my apartment tossing the sealed box into a closet, as I then made my way to the kitchen to make myself a sandwich. Peanut butter jelly is fucking delicious. I opened the fridge to grab a jar and realized I was out. Dammit, can't a woman enjoy some PB and J. Despite just loosing my father, I wasn't able to muster up any emotion. Not even pity, hatred, or sadness. I confidently grabbed my brown trench coat and slipped into some black ankle boots. Stepping outside, I opened my umbrella and watched the rain poor.

        My walk to the convenience store was simple. One foot in front of the other. In the distance, a little girls sobbing could be heard. I chose to ignore it and continued walking, until it followed me and I felt a little hand grab my left leg. This caught my attention and forced me to turn around and face a young girl. Blonde, soaking wet, possibly around six years old, and in a huge yellow raincoat. The hemline almost reached her heels. She wailed up at me but it was impossible to understand anything she was saying. "What is it?". She continued to wail. "What? What do you want?".  I only managed to hear the word lost escape her lips. I looked around, and saw a woman in her early thirties standing by a shop, occupied by her phone. "There. Go." I pointed in the general direction. The child waddled her way over wailing just as loud as ever. According to my now deserved father, I barely shed a tear, no matter how many times he struck me. I take pride to think I was made of steel since childhood. I could never brag about this of course.

        Finally, entering the store I was greeted by the ringing of the usual bells when a costumer enters. A few people were scattered across. Surprisingly the ship was empty. People of New York usually crowd any shop they can find, even on rainy days. Thankful for the extra space, I walked over to where they kept the peanut butter and picked up a jar. Just as I was about to pay, the bells rang again. Now, usually I'd pay no attention to such a detail, yet I turned my head regardless. Thankful I did too. A young man with hair as dark as night walked in, similar to myself. I noted how he pulled up his black hood over his head and shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. So he doesn't like attention? I don't see why, his face is sculpted like a Greek god.  The man turned his head and I got a full view of his angled jawline. It looked to be sharp enough to cut through steel. The lighting in the store was dim, yet I was able to spot his greenish-gray eyes. What's it like to be God's favourite?

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I people read I might update. :')