❝I hurt people;
especially pretty girls like you ❞
In which an innocent but broken girl foxtrots with insanity.
And the music only stops when a demented man says so.
➳
Criminal psychology student...
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For the second time in this godforsaken night, did the door swing open thunderously.
It took every ounce of restraint Tahlia had in her, to not flinch at the sound she had come to dread in the four hours that had passed since the last ordeal, one that had left the skin on her fingers littered with nicks and lacerations.
The sound of brazen footsteps approaching her way sent her senses spiralling into overdrive. Her eyes flew shut as she attempted to temper her breathing and stop sobbing, but the entirety of her command over her own body seemed to have been lost; as try as she may, she just couldn't help the shivers that made her limbs tremble not-so subtly, as she feigned sleep.
She felt his presence linger around her limp body on the chair, surely taking his time, assessing her.
She tried her absolute best to not shift and squirm, or give herself away by letting a rogue tear roll down her face. But the minute she heard him draw closer to her slumped form, her chest started heaving frightfully.
For all she knew, he was going to drive a screwdriver down her thigh to wake her up. At that point, Natalia Faith Meyers just didn't know what was possible with an unhinged psychopath and what wasn't.
Days passed, months perhaps, as nothing happened. At least that's what it seemed like to her. Realistically, only a few minutes were spent as Tahlia's heart rattled with anxiousness. She was half-tempted to take a quick peek at what was going on.
"You do not have to pretend to be asleep Natalia."
The sound of his voice so close to her face really did a number on her, for then it wasn't only her body that was left quivering, but her mouth too.
Slowly, she opened her lids, coming to face him.
Immediately she noticed there was something different about him. His face, it was softer, more serene, than it had been the last she'd seen him a few hours ago. As he had steered the knife into her flesh, she could swear she had seen a flash of insanity in his eyes, a flash of Ian.
But right now, he appeared to be less out of it, he was less...manic.
Nonetheless, he was a murderer.
"Back the fuck away from me, you fucking psycho." Tahlia seethed, her broken voice barely audible, but the intent behind them as clear as day.
She was done being afraid of death.
The superficial dauntlessness stemmed from the fact that Tahlia had, in the last four hours of being left alone with her thoughts, come to terms with the fact that she was going to die.
It was inevitable; Sooner or later, she was going to end up in a criminal psychology case profile, much like her own ones.
Victimology, the section would read, Natalia Faith Meyers, 20 years old.
