Collateral Damage

C H A P T E R 8

C H A P T E R 8

CRIMINALS ARE MONSTERS

Puppet

S he’s been gone for what feels like days. I know it’s only been a few hours but when you’re cooped up with nothing to do other than count the markings in the walls, sob until you have no tears left to cry and read a book you’ve read a million times you start to lose track of time, lose yourself.

She took one of my books from my bed side table that night and has given it to me. I already find that strange enough. Why would a killer even give me the time of day, but then again, she hasn’t exactly been the worst, not that that makes this any better. I noticed how she put the cuff over the fabric of my shirt and I might be totally delusional but I think that was to protect my wrist.

Uncontrollable sadness breaks my dam, running my eyes sore once more. They already hurt so much from crying but it doesn’t seem to stop. I've tried to sleep off their faces but it visits me in my dreams and my lack of insulin has already begun to take effect, the taste of acid is taking up residence in the back of my throat and I wish the process would just hurry up already.

My mind has been overexerting itself so much that I am in a state of numbness, thinking about all the terrible things she could be doing. All the people she could be hurting right now. Maybe she won’t even come back and her plan was to flee the country, leave me here to rot. It’s either Saturday or Sunday which means no one will find their bodies until perhaps mid-week. No one even knows I'm gone.

Maybe Kacey will realise when I don’t respond to her texts, I was meant to be going to that party and there is no way in hell she will take no for an answer, she will turn up and find them, she will call the police. My monster must have left some sort of evidence behind for them to track her down, fingerprints, footprints? Even if I am dead before they get here, I hope my monster gets what she deserves. Jail time is too kind, maybe I’ll just kill her myself. Why did I even think that? I’m a piece of rope, torn between empathy and rage. Seeing the good in people never got me anywhere yet I still do it, and I'm doing it now.

Even on death's door I am still seeking redemption in evil when evil does not deserve forgiveness. People choose to be evil yet I find myself sympathising with the devil, trying to find a reason as to why. What hurt them? What pain did they suffer? Were they just born this way?

Sadness. I had never known the full extent of its wrath until this very moment, as I lay here letting it consume my every breath, every good memory, filling it only with a dull ache. This dull ache that's tearing me apart. I've never experienced grief and it's not at all what I expected. Mourning for an apparition you only see in your nightmares. Pain pinches at my chest so sharply that a dull blade may even hurt less than this unbearable hole inside me, trying to pull itself shut.

After a few hours of mind-numbing cries and puffy eyes, the exhaustion takes me by force, allowing me to chase the sweet notion of escape as the room falls out of focus, concentrating solely on the shallow beating of my own heart.

??

Play - ‘Heal - Tom Odell’

D eath .

I’d always wondered what it was like to die. To see that light. People say you see your life flash before your very eyes and I don’t know whether that scares me or not. The afterlife always frightened me. What will I see? Darkness? A world beyond this one? A spotlight to the next life? A void of nothingness, an eternity of emptiness. Family? Will we finally be at peace?

I used to worry when I had something to live for. But now? Suddenly not fearing death makes much more sense to me. It’s freedom . Freedom I have always craved. Who knew death would be my salvation. It now sounds so inviting. The absence of pain, the thought of feeling nothing. 24 hours of grief and I'm already giving up. Some survivor I am right?... I'm so tired of pain, I just want to turn it all off and let death swallow me whole.

She drags herself inside the door, dripping in her leather, I could already hear her coming with the amount of chains she has smothering her attire. She leans against the frame cracking the wood with the metal, staring at me like I'm a museum antique.

“What’s the matter with you?” I'll be honest. I can barely see straight as she gawks at me, I'm seeing three of her and my muscles are far from functional, I can feel my lips crusting dry and this nausea is beginning to churn in my stomach. Slurred words slide from my mouth, dragging them out with light effort. My energy is non-existent… I have no fight left to feel anything other than acceptance. It's funny how being deprived of drugs results in poisoning your body as punishment.

“Like you care…” If she does that’s a first… a psychopath with feelings beyond murder is unheard of.

“You sound drunk.” Isn’t she a charmer … although fuck I could murder a drink right now. I’ve never had a sip of alcohol in my life but I can imagine it would be far greater than this discomfort.

“I wish I was… it would make this process much easier.” She looks, dare I say, concerned? I’m doing her a favour; she should be grateful this doesn’t have to get messy.

“What process?” A hiccup-like laugh jumps out of me at her curiosity, slumped into my seat with a now very dead arm, strung up like a skinned pig...It’s sweet that she wants the ins and outs of my demise. Very serial killer of her .

“I’m alllll out…” I'm not oblivious to the consequences of my own actions, and I knew this insulin wouldn’t last long, but quite frankly, I have come to terms with my white light, I find it weirdly beautiful…a means to a tragic ending. Not long now and I will be rested with them. Maybe that’s why people aren’t afraid to die? When you have nothing else to live for, death becomes your new residence. The dead become friends and the living become foe.

“Out of what?” Her eyes are sinking. Is that guilt catching up to her yet? Good . This is her fault, now she can stand there and watch me die. Even if I tell her, there is nothing she can do now.

“Insulin.” My eyelids hang heavy over my hazy vision, my body is giving up and I'm waiting for the stage of numbness to take over my body so I can stop feeling this unbearable pain.

“And what does that mean?” Each time she talks, my stomach knots a little tighter. I may be silly to think she actually cares, but there is anguish behind her words, like she is mad that something other than her is going to take my life.

“It meanssss, I have an expiry date…” I roll my head back against the metal frame now digging into my shoulder blades, everything feels twice as painful right now and my head feels twice as big, ready to explode at any given moment.

“What happens if you don’t take it?” Honestly ? I don’t know. I’ve never been this far gone, I don’t know exactly what is waiting for me, or how long my body will fight to not give up, but I know it’s not pretty, and I'm ok with that. There is no living without fear and no peace without pain, being afraid to live and afraid to die concludes weakness, and that is all I have ever been.

“It’s called Hyperglycemia…” I can see her black face paint distort as she quirks her brow in confusion, waiting for me to continue.

“My liver turns into a pool of acid…” I scrunch my face in disgust as the words leave my mouth, and for a moment I don't want to die. I hate vomiting. At this rate I want to ask her to end it quickly so I don’t have to suffer, like she did with them. Like she could do for me. But I am her walking karma, and I want her to suffer for the pain she caused me. I want her to feel mine as I deteriorate in front of her very eyes, maybe ignite that sliver of redemption she has inside her, if there is any, and be too late to stop it. As if she ever would. She is a killer.

“And how long does that take?” Maybe she just wants this process over with, but I refuse to give that to her.

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know…” I scoff, almost dribbling as all my muscles relax, contorting against my fragile bones, my blood running cold like fresh tap water.

“How. Long.” She’s frightened, I can feel it in her abrupt questions, in the quiver against her bottom lip. She’s caving, she’s cracking. Maybe there is redemption in her after all.

“Could be anywhere from. Six hours to four days…depending. But not to worry aye… I’m just saving you the trouble. Now you won’t have to dispose of me…” I lie once more, most likely the last lie I will ever tell, two lies in the span of 24 hours, how rebellious . At the rate I'm going, I'd say a day would be a miracle.

“I would have saved myself the trouble…” She smiles, but this time it’s not sinister. It’s genuine. It’s a smile to cover up the fact she is lying too, I know it.

“ Such a charmer… ”

“I see you have a sense of humour.” She unfolds her arms, the crumpled-up leather rubbing against itself sounds like burning tires. All my senses are amplified right now. She creeps over towards the bed, indenting it as her heavy weight sinks into the mattress by my feet, hunching over with her elbows on the plates of her knees as she glances over at me. Her face will make for a haunting picture when I reach the other side.

“Is it uncomfortable?” I blink subtly acknowledging her concern. Why would she even ask that?

“It’s bearable…” For now. Besides the hot and cold flushes sticking me to the bed, loss of feelings in my legs, the constant nausea lacing the back of my throat and the pounding migraine . What could get worse.

“Are you just going to sit there and watch me die a slow and painful death? I’m sure you would enjoy that.” I lightly chuckle to myself. Trying to make a joke out of my impending doom hoping it might make me feel slightly better.

“I have better things to do with my time.” Her eyes roll slightly, losing the smile she just had, and I strangely miss it, it was comforting in a weird way…a sign I’m not in complete danger. Maybe I'm delusional, these side effects are heavy and I can't exactly think clearly.

“Like… Babysit me?” I mumble sarcastically, trying to revive that hidden cheshire cat smile underneath the fake one painted on her face. It’s hideous, but her real one is not so repulsive, either that or I really am losing the plot. “You have beautiful eyes…” I whisper as I stare at her like someone on molly, and all I can concentrate on is how her eyes are piercing through mine, reading all my thoughts like a book. A familiar understanding that I don't quite know the extent of . Shared pain? She is a book with empty pages, but I'm a book with a plain cover and thousands of unspoken words inside which she is clearly reading. I focus on the silver jewellery scattered across her face now that she is close enough to look at properly.

“You’re hallucinating.” She loosely breaks contact, staring down at the grubby floor beneath her boots, like my words disgust her.

“As I'm taking myself out. Do I get to know your name? Not exactly like I can snitch on you now…” My vision is beyond repair at this point, tripping as my lids quiver and my words become shallow and desolate, whispers of the dead walking.

“Nice try Princess .” She uses these nicknames like we are friends.

“Worth a shot…” I ponder. Trying to numb this incessant pounding. Appreciating the quiet so I can sink in my self-loathing.

…

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tell her? Why would I tell her? So she could stop me?

“Because I'd rather die than spend the next three years and last waking moment of my life with my kidnapper…” I was not expecting my last moments to be with a maniac but I guess life is full of surprises…

“Ouch…harsh, you will be.” Fabulous. Can't she just walk out and leave me to it.

“Luckyyy me…” My body rolls, facing the wall, squinting in pain with every muscle I move.

“Have you gone through this before?” Her words are quiet but bitter. If she means, starving myself of life until I'm a mummified corpse?

“ Nopeee… ”

“Is there a way to fix it?” Why does she ask so many questions now?

“It’s called a Hypopen… and it's back home. You’re out of luck if you’re looking for redemption…” Part of me can hold onto that sliver of hope, that instinct at the back of my head telling me to keep going, to fight but it’s pointless now.

“There is no redemption for me.” Her voice is filled with demise but her actions scream repentance.

“Why didn’t you kill me?...” I've been playing that night over and over again in my head. She was ready to take my life. Burn my house to the ground but she didn't. I know I'm not stable enough to think rationally right now, but there must be more to it. A killer doesn't hesitate, right? She had me in the palm of her hands. All of this could have been avoided so why am I still here?

“I’m a criminal. Not a monster…” I want to laugh in pure disagreement but I don't have the strength to let it out.

“Criminals are monsters.” I spit gently. There is no difference between the two. Both are evil. She can try to cover it up but murder is murder. Nothing will ever change what she is to me.

…

“You got me there, Love...”