I started this last year and have wrote it in bits and parts like a journal so its in days and time elapses. but this is the first 3 days/nights. *WARNING NOT FOR THE FAINT HEART*
Journal of a Psycho
Part One
It was raining. The cool rain drops fell on my face as I sat on the park bench. My clothing soaked, the magazine ripped, and my hair drenched, but I didn’t care. I looked across the road at the little coffee shop. There she sat; the same table, eating the same thing, sitting with the same look on her face as always. She was as gorgeous as ever. Her long black hair nestled against skin as pale as the moon gently shading eyes as blue as the bluest oceans. I could tell she had been a cheerleader, that’s what drove my anger toward her. She hung out with that group of kids who dated the football players, thought the world loved them, and always made jokes about the goofy looking kids. She was the kind I hated in high school. The rain slowly let up as she finished her drink. I could see that she was looking through a magazine and as she turned the pages she flipped her hair behind her ear, such a girly thing to do. I stood up dumping the puddle of water that formed in my lap. I walked toward the building and stood casually by the entrance. Many people passed by. My watch ticked the minutes away, my heart beat faster, and before I knew it, night had fallen and people had cleared the area.
This was it. I vowed I would do this. I pulled out of my sleeve a switch blade and held it along my arm feeling it along my wrist. I watched carefully to predict her next move as she slowly began to stand. Gradually, she made her way to the restroom and when she returned, she headed to the counter. She then headed to the door. This was it. I could really feel my heartbeat, sweat dripped down my already drenched forehead. She walked to the door. As she opened it and stepped out I grabbed her. Before she could scream I covered her mouth and dragged her to the side of the building. I put the knife to her throat and pulled out a pair of handcuffs I had around my belt loop. I placed them on her wrist. She tried to fight me but with the knife to her throat I told her not to. She looked at me. My soaked hair curled enough to hide my eyes. She dropped her purse but I made sure to pick it up. I told her to act normal. I told her that if she screamed she would die. She listened to me. I asked her if she had a cell phone on her. She shook her head no but I knew differently. I looked in her purse and saw the small, fancy, flip phone. I took it out and took the battery and the chip out and tossed them in the trash. I told her to walk with me. We made our way to the park where my car had been waiting. I sat her in the back seat and safety locked the doors. I told her I couldn’t risk her jumping. I began to drive and she began to ask questions. Her first question was who I was. I couldn’t tell her that, but either way she didn’t know me. Her next question was why her. I couldn’t tell her that either, at least not yet. We approached the house. It was a three floored house counting the basement and the attic, but there were plenty of rooms.
I brought her inside. She flailed back and forth as if I was dragging her. I pushed her into the wall while I unlocked the basement door. She was crying but I laughed. The handcuffs had dug into her skin. Blood dripped from both hands. I brought her down the stairs. She refused to walk so I dragged her most of the way. In the corner of the basement there was room with a door made of bars, more of a cage. There was a toilet, a sink, a bed, and a light, a prison cell. There was a desk with the magazine from the coffee shop. She looked at me with more tears in her eyes than before. I pushed her into the room. She asked me to take the hand cuffs off. I thought about it, though I don’t think I wanted to. She asked again. I gave in; this was just the beginning after all. I took them off. Her wrists were raw from where they had been placed. She gently crossed her forearms as if attempting to hug the wounds. She asked me to let her out. I told her I couldn’t. She began to pull at the bars with extreme rage twitching with the pain of her wrists. I pushed my hand through and pushed her away. Again she asked why. I explained that it was people like her that made people like me. People like her who thought the world loved her and that anyone not meeting her standard of living was nothing. I told her that I had always hated the girls that taunted other girls who were not pretty or thin or tall. She looked at me. I could tell that she was thinking how I could possibly know that. So I continued to tell her how she was the girl that made me sick. The one that was so pretty and had everything a girl could want. She was like me in all the opposite ways. She thought the world loved her, I knew the world hated me, she thought everyone wanted her, I didn’t want anyone, she hated people that were less than her, and well, I hated everyone. She gave up on fighting. She sat in a ball on the side of the room. She asked if I would let her go. I told her that was impossible. I knew her plan. She would go to the police and tell them of my crime.
The small basement was soundproof. There was a broken couch and a chair. A few cobwebs and a bunch of boxes. Though I inherited a fortune from my parents when they passed away I decided to live in comfort. It was way past dinner so I had to offer her food. I asked her what she liked. She didn’t tell me. I went to the kitchen and prepared her a salad along with tomato soup and oyster crackers. Girls like her tend to watch their figure. I slid the tray through the little opening of the bars. She looked at the tray, she looked at me. I knew what she was thinking. I asked if there was something better she would prefer. She didn’t answer. I ran my fingers against the bars.
I gestured for her to get up. She headed toward me. In a whisper I told her that I didn’t want any funny business through the night. I ran my fingers through her hair lightly. Before I spoke again I tilted her chin upwards and kissed her gently on the lips. She pulled away. I jingled the cuffs in front of her. I noticed her wrist were not as bloody and saw that she had washed them in the sink. She was smart. But I was smarter. She was mine. She is what I had so badly wanted to have, to be with, to torture. So badly I wanted her type to know the pain, the rage, the hatred people like me had gone through and what others still go through in school. I believed now she would listen, I believed now she would care.
DAY 4
The next day came fast. I started my day normally except now I had a pet to feed. I made a warm meal and brought it downstairs. She was sitting on the bed rocking back and forth crying silently. Again I laughed and told her to cry all she wanted. I told her she would never be able to cry the amount of tears people like myself cried to get to sleep. No sympathy. I opened the door and walked in. She had calmed down a lot. Sweat had matted her hair to her forehead and neck. I sat on the bed next to her and began to spoon feed her. She turned her head away, but I insisted she ate. She hadn’t eaten the day before or much since she’s been here, so I made sure she at least had breakfast. I pulled the cuffs out and placed them on the bed. I told her I had ways of making people do as I wanted, I had ways of being persuasive. She looked at me and accepted the food. Her eyes were red and swollen. She hadn’t slept much the previous nights but I told her she can torture herself all she wanted, either way, I owned her. She was mine. She whispered in a raspy voice how sorry she was for what I had gone through. She told me that she was not that type of person but I knew she was lying. Girls born with looks are born with attitudes. She was getting a taste of her own medicine and she didn’t like it, as I have said many times, she was the girl who wouldn’t be caught dead with people like me in school. I looked at the stairs. She continued to tell me that she was truly sorry. Again I didn’t care. She tried to make me believe that she was not the type I thought she was. I was not stupid. I didn’t like her insulting me. Before she could continue my hand came in contact with the side of her face. Her head turned from me. Her cheek was red where my hand print rested.
The phone rang. I stood up and left the bowl on the bed. I locked the door behind me and headed to the stairs. I picked up the phone. It was a friend. They had wanted me to join attend a party at the club. I was not much of a partygoer. I didn’t care too much to be with a group of people either. I didn’t want to go and leave my pet alone. It was too soon. Hesitantly I agreed. I didn’t want them thinking something was up seeing how it’s been a while since we have hung out. They offered to pick me up. I couldn’t allow that. I couldn’t risk my friend coming inside…that could lead to hearing noises in the basement. We agreed to me driving to their house. We would go from there. The moon was glowing. How lovely a night it was and my pet would never see it. In fact there would be much she would not see. I arrived at my friend’s house. That night was long. The party was okay. I was asked to dance but I turned it down. There was no reason. I just hated dancing. I got a drink from the bar. The bartender looked at me as if they had known my secret. As if it was obvious because they too had a secret just the same. The bartender spoke to me. I didn’t say much. They asked where I was from. I answered. They recommended a drink they thought I would like, but I don’t care much for alcohol, then they leaned on the counter toward me and began to pour shots. Like a skit from a movie. They smiled as if there wasn’t a care in the world. I didn’t know if the bartender was hitting on me, so I told them to stick to their vows, as I stuck to mine. I walked off and head out with my friend. We headed back to my friends house. I was anxious to get home. I got in my car, waved farewell, and left. I returned to my house with that feeling in my gut. The feeling a child gets when waiting for Christmas morning and new toys. I unlocked the deadbolt to the basement. I walked downstairs slowly as if I was torturing myself. I looked at the room. She had been leaning against the bars with her arms through them.
I walked over to her and folded her hands in mine. She looked in my eyes. Her false innocence made me hate her more. I asked her what she would like to eat. Her head nodded from side to side as if her body was too tired to hold it up. I guess she gave up. She sat on the bed. I went up to the kitchen and made her dinner. It was well past late. I went back downstairs carrying her food. She finished eating and begged me to let her go. I laid on the bed and thought of how things could be different. I pulled her arm down coercing her to lie next to me. I began to play with her hair, she tried to sit up but I refused her request. Her hair was curly from the sweat and tears. She turned away from me and faced the wall. I wrapped my arm around her waist. I kissed her neck slowly and moved my hand up her shirt. She grabbed my hand. I told her that I only wanted what people like me had only dreamt of. I listened to the quiet of the room. I could hear her sobbing. I kissed her cheek and then her mouth and continued to get up. The rest of the night was quiet. I sat by the bars and watched her as she finally allowed her eyes to rest and sleep. She looked so precious it made me want to suffocate the air from her body. I sat there plotting ways to torture her. None of them seemed interesting. When she moved it startled me. I headed upstairs when the phone rang. My friend had called and we started chatting. Talking to this friend reminded me of the time they had cashed their paycheck, only to have the money stolen a few moments after and their arm broken by the thief. My friend was always willing to lend help when someone needed it but people took advantage. That made me mad that no one ever stood up for the little guy. Well I stood up. I made my way down to the basement and when my pet woke, she stood up I threw her into the wall. I felt the rage pour out of my hands. I hit her and then threw her to the ground. I took the switchblade that lay on a box and slowly dragged it along her arms and wrists. Her lip and nose were bleeding. She tried to stand and all though I was only slightly larger, I threw my weight on her and held her down. Her tiredness made her a doll.
I finally caught my cool. When I looked at her she had bled more severely and bruises had already formed. I backed away from her. I didn’t care. I grabbed a towel off the banister of the stairs and threw it at her. I told her to clean herself up and then I walked away. It felt good. Releasing my anger and rage on the person I was mad at. I think humans are despicable creatures. I made myself lunch. I was not very hungry. I remembered I hadn’t fed my pet. I grabbed some bread and some condiments. I didn’t bother putting it together. The least she could do was make herself a sandwich. I went back to the basement. She was curled up in the corner crying. I mocked her. I could tell she was in no mood to put up with me. People like her never let up on people like me. Every day was the same hell. This was nothing compared to that.
I placed the food on the floor and slid it to her. She jumped when she heard the noise. I told her I was sorry. She asked how I could be sorry and still treat her like that. I thought before I told her that it was no different than what she had done to people like me. I told her that no matter how many times sorry was said it was never enough to make what happened go away. I could have told her I was so sorry for hurting her but that wouldn’t mean that it never happened. She knew that. She was smart. I sat down in the chair and folded my hands under my chin. I sighed before I explained to her how lucky she should feel. I always looked at being ignored and picked on like they chose me because I was “special”. She should feel the same. She should feel pleased that out of all the ladies in the world I thought she was the prettiest. I scooted the chair closer to the bars. She hadn’t moved at all. I stood up and unlocked the door. She didn’t blink. She didn’t look at me. I moved toward her slowly. She sat there as if expecting me to do something. I sat next to her and looked at her. She was covered in bruises. I moved her hair behind her shoulder. A gash from where the knife struck her lay on her cheek. I slowly laid my hand on it as if trying to comfort her. I helped her stand. I helped her up the stairs. And I helped her to the shower. I helped her step into the tub filled with warm water. As she did blood began to change the water to a deep crimson color. I took a cloth and soaked it. I slowly began to bathe her. She sat quietly, starring at the wall. I began to talk to her to make conversation. She just sat there.
DAY 8
It’s been more than several days now. I decided to go for a jog. The sun was shining and the birds were singing. It hadn’t been that nice since God knows when. I stretched a little. I grabbed my headphones. I headed out. As I was running I noticed there was a lady running the same route as I. She was ahead of me. Her hair was flowing in the wind. Her arms moved with her body. She was in shape. She was gorgeous. But I didn’t care about another woman. The one I found was good enough. She was more so than any other I have seen. Sweat began to drip down my back, arms, and neck. At that point I felt it was time to head home. The sky darkened. I could feel the wind pick up. There was a final breath of sunlight before the entire park was engulfed with darkness. I continued up the street toward my road. I could feel that little pain again as I approached knowing I soon would be entering the world I belonged. I finally reached the steps. My breathing was rapidly increased. I opened the door and headed straight to the kitchen for some water. After I cleaned up a little, I headed to the basement. It squeaked as I opened the door. Each step I took down the stairs was like a step into a new world. A world I created for no one but myself and the one I so badly needed. I looked through the bars. She sat there with her hands folded around her knees. It’s been so long since she’s smiled. It’s been so long since she spoke.
I opened the door and walked over to her. I asked her why she was so sad. I asked her how she could be put through the same thing people like me were put through and be so sad when I had to walk with a smile. She looked at me like I was someone she has never seen before. Until several days ago she never knew I existed. Then again she probably didn’t know my kind did. I patted her head. She stared straight ahead, it made me mad. She could just sit there. Why wouldn’t she talk to me? My voice changes as anger becomes rage. I walked over to her and grabbed her arms brutally with my hands. I could feel my nail break as I shook her violently. I could hear the sound as her head and the wall came into contact with each other with such force. I looked at her and threw her on the bed. I felt her heart. It was beating fast. It sounded like a humming bird. I got some water from the sink and wet a cloth. I wiped her face. She looks thirsty. I grab the glass that sat on the sink and filled it with water. I tilted her head. She didn’t swallow the water. I told her to. She refused again. I told her she needed to drink or she would get dehydrated. She slowly sipped the water. I went upstairs to prepare her a meal. Considering how resistant she was to anything I tried I prepared her mashed foods. I grabbed a hair brush and a clean night shirt. I brought the items downstairs. She was still sitting in the position I left her. I placed the items down and began to feed her. I brushed her hair. I told her the story of when I went to an event and missed my stop on the train. She began to speak. She told me of how she planned her mother and fathers anniversary for them in Hawaii. She stopped for a second then continued. She asked me again to let her go. I pulled her hair forcing her head to snap back. I already explained to her. She knew why I could not let her go. I told her again. She tried to sound as if she would just go as if nothing happened. That was impossible. She was missing for eight days. Her boyfriend, parents, friends, they were all probably looking for her.
I lifted her head upright and placed the brush down. I wrapped my arms around her waist and kissed her neck. She was gorgeous. Her body became a doll. I pushed her down on the bed and began to kiss her. I gently lifted her shirt off. She was covered in bruises. I kissed her stomach before letting her up. I removed her bra and slipped the clean night shirt on her. I then removed her pants and underwear. I can feel the tears stream down her face. I wiped them away and look in her eyes. She didn’t understand how badly I wanted to be with her but she would never choose me. She didn’t understand that in order for me to even like myself I needed to prove that I could find someone the world thought was drop dead sexy. Someone that people would ask me how I got someone that hot. I needed to stand my ground. People had standards for others to meet. I just had two. She had to be gorgeous and she had to love me. Right now I only had met one. She was hot. I took her clothes and moved them off the bed. I told her I didn’t want her to be sad. I told her I wanted her to be happy. I wanted her to think she was special that I chose her. I told her, until she was happy being with me, this was only going to be hard for her, she sighed. I took the clothes and locked the bars. I headed upstairs and closed the door. The phone rang. I answered it. It was the wrong number. I lay the clothes on the bathroom floor.
I went back down to the basement and stood in the door frame. After a short pause I walked toward her and I tried to wrap my arm around her. She tried to bite me. I slapped her. She grabbed her cheek and told me to go to hell. I looked at her. I then continued to tell her that given the position she was in, she had better be careful with what she said. There was no telling what someone like me could do. She asked how I could be so cold hearted and insane. I told her that 3 out of 4 doctors proved that I was insane therefore I would only be lying if I tried to act as if I were not. Time passed slowly. Though I had money I had to go back to work, it gave me something to do although with my new pet, I wasn’t too sure I needed to work. My short lived vacation was over. My pet would be left alone for a long time until I returned. The next morning I woke up early and stepped out of bed. I looked at the clock. Big green letters blinked 4:00 am. I grabbed my robe and headed downstairs. I wanted to get as much time with my pet as I could. As I walked down stairs I couldn’t hear anything. I peered over at the cage. She was lying in bed. She looked like an angel when she slept. I walked over and unlocked the bars. She didn’t wake. She turned over in her sleep. I slowly walked over to her and ran my hand down her hair. She was so peaceful looking. While she was sleeping, I almost wanted to strangle her. I continue to watch her. She didn’t move. Her body was perfectly shaped under the blanket. An hour went by. She finally woke up. I looked at her as she sat up in the bed. I walked over to her and whispered a sweet good morning in her ear. She jumped. I looked at her. She asked me a simple question, to call her by her name. She told me that was the least I could do for her instead of calling her my pet. She spoke softly and sweetly. Her words flowed through my mind and swirled into vivid scenes. I saw her name. It was everywhere. It was plastered to the walls and it stained the floors. A name as sweet as that deserved to be used. Unfortunately not used by me and not used for her. It was a while since the first day. I see that day, the day my pet came home, I see it as if it were an old film reel in black and white, playing over and over and over in my head. It was my dreams.
I went up to get her breakfast. I didn’t know what she wanted but I didn’t bother to ask her either. She wasn’t the decision maker in the house I was. I heard crying well, more like whimpering. She was lonely.
