Here, a story. I'm going to try to stray away from gore and do psychological. No clue how that will work out. Well... enjoy?


She opens her red, bloodshot eyes, breaths coming in increasingly painstaking gasps, her face horribly wrinkled from the crying, and she grabs my destructive hands.

Tears.

My breath catches.

So many tears, slipping down her puffy cheeks. Her cringeworthy bawling is gradually morphing into awkward snivels.

"Please..." Haven manages to croak out hoarsely before crumbling into herself, her sobs turning sporadic, yet still shaking her thin frame, ultimately sapping all of her meager strength, She collapses against me, too tired to hold herself up, her fingers attempting feeble grabs on my jacket sleeve to stop the fall.

I catch her, since she is unable to do so herself. A sharp pang stabs through my heart. She's been crying too much... She hasn't been eating much either. Her obsessive worrying over me is killing her. This brain-dead fool is crying for me, trying to divert me from my goal.

Why?

My chest throbs painfully, as if about to simultaneously combust and freeze. Her sobs are getting softer and softer, but not less haunting. I hear the sheer torment in her soul loudly and clearly. Her pain latches onto my soul, pulsates through it, digging its ragged claws in, tearing wounds that will scar, planting poisonous parasites that will breed, multiply, and destroy all that is within.

Why would Haven cry for me?

Tears, guilt, shame materialize. Parasites germinating, pushing, breaking through the confines of my ribcage, becoming all-consuming. I squeeze my eyes shut, against the flood within, the pain within, the pain she was projecting onto me. Her pain is swamping me, drowning me, suffocating me. The air surrounding us is tight. Oxygen is escaping, fleeing from my desperate lungs far away the sleek, black, and white room we are occupying.

Why does she care?

Questions swirl and clash, scream and whisper.

Why does she make me care?

The breathy whispers were no less terrorizing, paralyzing, than the thunderous, tortured wails that slice through my inner ears. The questions almost overpower, almost roar over her sobbing, yet it doesn't. I swear I'm going deaf now because of it all, but I distinctly hear her venting her heart out, trying to give the crumbling organ to me.

That long-dead soul in me stirs as agony beyond all human limits rips, shreds, burns through my chest, my veins, my mind, the unused aerosol in my fist almost causing physical pain to my hand, the flames fueled by the guilt, forcing my fingers to unclench, the container clackering to the clean tiles we were both kneeling on, while her sobs echo through my entire being, in the otherwise silent kitchen. There was just quiet all around us. Nothing to be heard but the slow rise and fall of the chest of the unconscious victim on the checkered ground and her pained breathing.

"Please." She mouths before she loses consciousness, her breath slowing.

My body catches her head without thought, my fingers curling softly along her hair, despite the terror, despite the uncertainty, the raging storm in my mind, and I instinctively cradle her to me, gently brushing strands away, then pressing a kiss to her perspiring temple as a conditioned reflex. I am not a naturally affectionate person. However, Haven needs affection, craves it like a puppy.

As I feel the tension in her body fade, the creases surrounding her eyes softening, smoothing...

as her breathing evens and the heavy atmosphere in the room gives...

my demeanor lightens.

All of the fears, the insecurities, the intrusive questions cease. A light, floaty feeling envelops me as I remember.

She cares.

She is safe.

I know that.

She makes me want to give up this lifestyle for her. This vicious repetition of inflicting irreparable suffering on enemies, eliminating those who are unnecessary from the areas where I reside.

She makes me want to put down this pride of mine down. This utter lack of caring about other lives. This inflated ego of mine. And all of my negativity.

Right now, for her, I will spare that imbecile on the floor over there. I was bleeding him dry of all of his life savings and tearing his family apart, instigating infidelity allegations from the female coworkers and ensuring custody of the kids go to the wife. All because I can. That hormonal scumbag really was cheating. That duck can't keep his lousy dick in his pants for the sake of his children.

Pathetic.

That piece of trash was also trying to lead Haven on. So, apparently, I slipped and he figured out it was me. That overconfident narcissist came with fists flying, hence the need to knock him out. Really, he wouldn't have gotten in the house at all if it wasn't for Haven. I saw it coming a mile away, yet he thought he would win. Since he towered over me and viewed me inferior because of my gender. Why would she help a dumbhead like him? Why does she help people at all for no benefit?

Haven can make me gentle. She can make me worry over her numerous weaknesses and overall uselessness. She makes me care.

My body becomes rigid, muscles tensing.

Therefore, I am scared silly. Scared to the point of nauseousness.

She...

she cares so much for me. For the me who has done nothing positive for her. For the me who has only made her cry until she faints.

The stress in me thickens.

What if one day, I slip too far?

What if I go too far, actually, directly kill some idiot, breaking her heart? I've never literally stained my hands with blood before. I've driven people to insanity and suicide, yes. However, I've never struck the final blow. I have no problem with that. I just prefer not to.

She is all I know.

If she crumbles...

My heart freezes. I stop breathing at the mere thought.

If she is no more...

That notion is enough to further drown the world as I see it in a bleak, hopeless fog.

Well, yeah, I will be able to go on. However, I will end up obliterating the world she cherishes so much, the people she treasures so much. This world abound in violence that she views with rose-colored glasses, these avaricious, mindless monsters that she calls humans.

If all she loves is gone and she goes with them, for what will I be living for? For what?

For what?

Haven's my only friend, the only one I consider a friend, yet I know fully well that she has so many other people who she can associate with, who also will not stress her out to the point of exhaustion like I do. So why?

WHY?

I... I do not understand.

I cannot understand.

I will never understand.

All I know is that, one day,

she will surely leave.

One day,

she will have enough and she will leave. There is no doubt in my mind. No matter how nice she is.

And on that day I will no longer let anyone else in.

However, I will go on.

Since I must.

Death is not an option. I will not succumb to a moment of weakness.

However, more friends? Hell no. I... I won't make it through another bond.

I'm a master manipulator. I use and discard others, keep the useful ones, and bend them to my will without them even noticing, much less protesting. I'm what people would most likely call a psychopath. I'm actually a sociopath. Yeah... media doesn't really help with the distinction.

I can form connections, dammit. No matter how much I pretend to be incapable of. It's pretty difficult and takes place over a hella lot of time, but, yes, I'm not a completely unfeeling creature, thank you very much...

Right now, my emotions are all over the fudging place because of her. This... this strange being who, no matter what...

WILL NOT LEAVE.

Yet.

I don't know why.

Why?

I give her no reason to fight for me, to pray for me, to worry for me. Heck, I push her to her limits, trying to scare her away. Was I too nice to her before I finally deemed her useless? Did she get attached to the fake smile, the feigned friendliness? However, there is no more she can do for me.

Yet...

I want her to stay. She no longer serves any purpose for me, yet I still keep her close.

She is able to surge forth emotions, cause me to shake with mirth, worry for her, care for her. She is able to bring out the gentleness that I never knew existed, and make me want to sob as pitifully as she does for me.

And, that...

That scares me silly.

She senses the changes the light in her activates. If this idiot can see it, that must mean so can others.

I resent that. It makes me want to tear out my precious, perfect hair and shriek like a simpleton. It makes me want to tear someone down. I know I loathe it with a burning passion because it terrifies me.

I am the manipulator. I am the one who controls.

Anyone who takes that from me,

MUST go down.

Yet I can't bring myself to get her kicked out.

I certainly have the power, status, and brains to execute that thought. A few words, and the hordes will turn on her. They will gossip and shun her. They will make life hell for her till either she runs for the hills or she makes a mistake while being overly emotional and gets escorted out the revolving doors by guards.

Then, why is her exhausted form cradled so carefully in my arms as I cry over the pain I've single-handedly caused to my only friend?

Well, I'm just as much of an idiot as her... That's why...

Dammit.


...is the scariest thing hurting your loved ones?

I don't know. I apologize for the lack of horror. Hopefully, the next chapters?

Thank you for reading. A lovely present and future to you.