He just couldn't understand it.
He stopped breathing for a second, restrained his soul and his heart in the small span where his mind went mad and devoured his entire body, lost his balance and immersed himself in that sea, of enormous size and unimaginable depth, if he, in That moment remained there for more than that tiny and almost insignificant second, he would have died.
His heartbeat returned to him, the calm came in a wave and tried to hold him tightly but it only managed to get his chest to jump altered, he had a nightmare, not any, one that simply left him speechless, doubting the fact that this, that scene, it was really just an image created by his mind, his upset and tired adolescent mind that maybe and just maybe was just losing his sanity completely, and would need psychological help if he wanted to continue with his eyes open for more time than the one he probably would have if he remained indifferent.
A knife grazed his throat, the cold of the room caressed every fiber of his skin, with a disgusting laugh that disturbing figure remained watching him, examining with those disgusting and uncontrolled eyes all his being, as if he undressed him with the eyes, getting to see his more horrible atrocities, hidden in the depth of the subconscious that tried to pretend that everything was still fine. But nothing was good.
A murderer remained patient in front of a body tied hard against a chair wich was probably older than those emotions of fear that accompanied it twisted, he was waiting for a signal perhaps, an answer, something that would show him that he would give a fight.
But the blond simply couldn't, the fear invaded him and he was unable to cope with that situation correctly, his friend, partner? That boy, that person who used to treat him and see him so friendly every day, and probably night, spying on him, harassing him without rest; Maybe he was developing disorders from a much younger age than he considered a few hours ago, surely that boy with dark hair and green highlights had a manic record that nobody would be able to read until the end.
The knife withdrew without warning from his neck, eyes all the time nailed to him, produced sounds almost unreal and impossible to be created by a human and kicked the chair where the other was, now lying on the floor, that place full of dirt , repulsive blood from bodies now desecrated and marginalized in a room of chaos and curses, enclosing what should not be real, what he didn't wanted to accept.
He walked around, the sound of his shoes was irritating and even more gloomy than his agitated breathing and heavy puffs of air in search of salvation were able to demonstrate.
The sound of a metal table began to vibrate on the floor, countless surgical tools bouncing and causing a hellish echo against the ceramic tiles. He would play with him, use that moribund body plagued with terror for his rituals and experiments without consent or care to even contain the pain that screamed to escape from the blond's throat.
He stretched out his hand for relief, the sheets on his soft bed made contact with his fingers but this was not enough to make him feel alive; The images of how that boy played and handled the life of a body unable to move cuz it was paralyzed by terror... the needles injected into his flesh, the scalpels sweeping and shedding blood, the pills, ruthlessly thrown into a throat that only wanted to vomit the greatest feelings of revulsion and desire to finish with everything and be able to tear off the guts of the brain so he could forget it all.
When he touched some soft hair at his side he felt a certain calmness. It was him, that innocent and generous boy who was still the greatest example of a hero full of values and inspiration for the future. However, he also was who corrupted and tortured his nights without mercy or explanation, who locked him up and destroyed again and again his dreams in a deranged circus where the public only applauds the suffering and misery of others, insisting with more, screaming fiercely for torture and misfortune .
He surrounded slowly with his hands, that thick and flexible skin, pressed with all his might and while the other woke up and tried to moan for help or some explanation, he could only think about making it stronger and faster, finish at once, finish everything without repentance, tear and shred all those nights tied to an endless nightmare full of a damn psychotic fantasy that tortured him incessantly.
When his hands stopped moving, and his breathing stopped in the middle of a sigh he knew it was over, he had killed his friend from childhood, companion and lover, finally, that day, he ended his miserable life. He ended with the worst of his nightmares, his greatest fear, but also, his greatest love.
/Thanks for reading, leave any comments or thoughts!
