Confessions of a Serial Killer: Cynthia Young

Chapter Nine

I was still laying on my bedroom floor. My lethargy grew worse, my veins ran dry, and my tongue turned into a brittle rock. With all the strength I could gather, I forced myself to stand.

I was unsteady, but I managed to mostly stable myself with only minimal support from my bed. When I felt ready to move, I took a step forward, only to nearly fall back onto to the floor. I waited for my head to clear and for my balance to return before I moved forward. Every time I took a step, I felt the entirety of my weight shoot from my ankle to my spine and then back to my ankle. The less pressure I tried to put on my feet, the harder I seemed to stomp.

I wanted to go to the kitchen to get a drink of bottled water, but I was confident I wouldn't be able to walk that far. Even if I were able to, I wouldn't be able to maneuver around the shards of dishes that littered the floor. The bathroom was closer, and my desperation for hydration outweighed any qualm I had about drinking tap water.

When I got to the bathroom, I couldn't even manage to turn on the light. I turned the handle of the sink and scooped the water in my hands to drink, trying to leave some of my dignity intact. Most of the water escaped from the crevices between my palms, only giving me a teaspoon when my body demanded gallons. I went animalistic, and I put my mouth directly on my faucet. I turned the handle for the cold water, and within seconds, I had already had more than I could handle. The coldness of the water had passed the stage of numbing my throat and instead skipped to the pain stage.

I turned off the water for a second, and when the pain disappeared and the thirst returned, I drank more. I resumed this cycle until I regained some of my strength back. The drowsiness had not gone away, but I had not expected it to.

After flicking my light switch on, I glanced at my reflection. I expected to see puffiness around my eyes that would rival Dr. Mann's. Instead, I found my face to be stained with streaks of red. I looked down at myself to see that my clothes were also covered. The dampness I had believed to be sweat was blood. I brought the front of my shirt to my nose to smell it to validate my assumption. A metallic smell burned my nostrils. I ripped off my shirt, and I heaved into the sink.

More than anything, I wanted to call Dr. Mann. He would be a calming presence in my predicament, but I couldn't talk to him. He had made it clear he didn't want to be my therapist, but more importantly, if he saw the state of me, he would try to talk me into getting treatment or turning myself in. Neither of those options appealed to me. I would have to get through myself through this.

After regaining my composure, I peeled off the remainder of my filthy clothes. I needed a shower, but my towels and my clean clothes were in my bedroom. I wondered what my room would look like with the lights on. My mind spun into a frenzy as I made a list of all the things I would have to do to clean any evidence that may be in my home. I had hoped it was confined to a minimal trail and a stained comforter, but I didn't suppose I would be that lucky.

I walked into the hallway, the chill in the air soaked into my skin to tickle my bones. Despite this, I was grateful for the coolness, as it had startled my mind out of its stupor. My bare feet slapped the floorboards as I walked to my room.

The light from the window was hardly enough to make shadows, let alone to see which pajamas I had grabbed, but it didn't matter to me. I needed to just clean myself of the filth that had defiled me in my lost time.

I walked back into the bathroom, and although I knew what I looked like, I was still taken aback when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Unable to look at myself any longer, I turned away to get into the shower.

I wanted to take the water to be blistering, but I worried the steam would worsen my lightheadedness. Throughout my time in the shower, my eyes remained squeezed shut, only opening when I needed to grab a toiletry. Instead of visualizing a bug crawling on me when a water droplet would hit my shoulder, I believed it was a blood clot. I would panic and brush my shoulder off, never peeking to ease my delusion. I used my nails to scrub my skin, replacing the red hue from the blood with the pinkness of irritation.

I stayed in the shower until the water ran cold. I kept my eyes closed until I felt the water around my feet flow down the drain. I prepared myself for a scene out of a horror movie. When I finally opened my eyes, I was surprised to see that the only evidence of the blood that remained was from my clothes laying on the bathroom floor.

Now that I was clean, I was ready to go back to sleep and forget about my lost time for a few hours. Because my linens were most likely soiled, the only option I had for rest was to sleep on my couch.

I had just left my darkened hallway when my feet slid off the ground. I held out my hands in front of me to catch myself, but once my hands made contact with the floor, they too slid out from under me. My chest banged against the ground, sending a shock through my body that made it stiffen. Thankfully, I had managed to keep my head from suffering the same fate as my chest.

I could feel the wetness on the soles of my feet and the palms of my hands. I had slipped in a puddle, and although I already knew what it was, I had to see it. I crawled out of the liquid, the entirety of my torso  and the fronts of my legs becoming covered in it. I created a trail all the way to the light switch. I pulled myself up just enough to turn on the light. After my eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, I twisted myself to look to where I had fallen.

In the middle of my living room, just beside my couch, was a puddle of blood. I didn't know much about forensics, but I assumed that the amount of blood was too much for a person to lose and survive. I wondered where the body was. Although part of me was relieved it wasn't here, I found myself worried that blackout Cynthia hadn't properly dispose of it. I wondered if in my lost time I thought like I do now or if my subconscious takes over. I hoped it was the latter because conscious me hadn't the slightest idea about how I would get rid of a body.

I knew I couldn't leave the mess until tomorrow. I felt panic when I wondered what my neighbors would see when the sun rose. The blood was already starting to dry to my body, but my clothes remained soaked. I had not experienced this stage in my conscious moments, and it was unlike anything I would have expected. The stickiness of blood that belonged to someone else caked on my body caused me to become overwhelmed and fall into the beginning stages of hysteria. I wondered if I would lose my memories of this. The thought that I was living through my lost time at this moment caused me to spring into action.

I bolted to my dining room. The shards of the glass I had broken were still on the ground. I felt miniscule pieces lodge themselves into my feet, but the pain did nothing to stop my panic.

I got on my knees and began to dig through broken pieces of glass until I found my phone. My hands were shaking as I turned it on. 4:27 A.M. appeared at the top of the screen, making it much later than I had thought. My panic increased as I opened my text messages. I clicked on Dr. Mann's number.

Once my call went through, my nerves started to ease. Dr. Mann would help me get myself through this.