My Life With a Killer (Jimmy Casket. VenturianTale Fanfiction)

Chapter 8

(Carter's POV)
I quickly ran out the front door, still wearing my blue pajama shorts and white tank top. The air was still and cool.

"Jimmy!" I yelled.

No answer came. The houses loomed above me in the darkness. The night was silent.

"Jimmy! Get your butt out here!" I shouted.

After a few deathly silent seconds I heard some rusling. Jimmy slowly stepped out from the trees. He kept his head down and had his hands in his pockets.

"What was that?" I asked.

He just shrugged slightly and nudged a rock with the toe of his shoe.

"Jimmy?" I questioned.

I took a step closer so we were only a meter apart. The grass was cold and covered in dew, causing my feet to go a little numb.

"Jimmy, why did you kiss me?" I asked.

"That wasn't me," Jimmy mumbled. "I would never do that. I don't even know what love is and I hope I never do. I'm a killer. I don't care for people."

"Are you okay?" I asked.

Jimmy's skin was pale and there seemed to be slight bags under his eyes. He was jumpy and kept tapping his foot. I reached out to touch his shoulder but Jimmy jerked away.

"I'm fine," he said hastily.

I took a step back in shock of his sudden outburst. Jimmy looked up at me with big, sad eyes.

"What's wrong with me?" He whispered.

I had to fight the urge to say there was a lot of stuff wrong with him.

"How come I can never think anymore? I say stuff that I don't even understand. Like in your room when you hugged me. And my hands, they get clammy and they shake. My stomach starts feeling like it's twisting or something. It's almost hard to breath, like after you run a lot and you're trying to catch your breath," Jimmy said. "What is that?"

"Nervousness," I answered. "You're getting nervous about something."

"No," he denied. "I'm not nervous. I don't get nervous. Nervousness means you need fear and I'm not afraid of anything. Except the occasional bird but that's only when Johnny comes out a little while I'm in control."

"Jimmy, you're nervous," I stated.

"S-sometimes I don't even feel the urge to kill," Jimmy whispered in horror. "Killing people used to be pleasurable and refreshing. I couldn't wait until I got to do it again. But when I'm around you it feels like I don't even care about that."

I didn't say anything for fear of him losing his rythm and clamming up again. It's like if a mentally slow person were to start explaining gravity, you don't want to interrupt for fear of them losing their place and forgetting everything.

"There's something inside of me, somthing I can't put a name on and it's making me insane. Well, it's making me more insane," Jimmy corrected. "You make me calm, not crazy like people always call me. You're constantly on my mind and that drives me crazy. And when you talked about Joey for the first time I got mad. I wanted to run to Texas just so I could stab stab stab him. And I-I don't know what to do. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Nothing is wrong with you," I said.

"Have you just met me?" Jimmy asked. "There is lots of stuff wrong with me."

Jimmy laughed his insane laugh but quickly cut it off and continued frowning. He looked solemn as he stared at the ground. He started blinking a lot and rubbed his forehead with his hand.