[Jinx's POV]

My throat is burning from the stomach acid. But it just won't stop.
Tears are streaming down my face as I tighten my grip on the toilet seat.
I've been sitting here for about an hour now. At this point, all that's leaving my body is pure stomach acid.

What's happening to me? Did I poison myself or... is it just the realization of what I've done?
I have killed before. But I've never stabbed someone nine times, pushed the knife through their torso and been drenched in blood literally from head to toe.

The thought of that makes me puke again.

You know, when you shoot someone from close range, all that hits you are a few drops of blood. Having your arms covered in someone else's blood up to your elbows is something entirely different. Especially when you don't remember doing it. There is still dried blood under my fingernails.

Do you know what it's like to wake up and realize you've done something horrible? This isn't the first time it has happened. Last time it happened, I was in and out of insanity for a whole three months. What if this is just one of those clear moments that I used to have back then? What if I lose myself again in an hour or two?

The first time it happened, I came to my senses after murdering all my friends and my girlfriend. On her birthday.

And all of this because my father wasn't satisfied enough with his wife and had to use me as his sex toy. Mind you, I don't think my mother was in any condition to have Sex with anyone. Most of the time she was high out of her mind, in an almost comatose state. So my father took on me. I'll never understand why he chose me. He never even touched Vi.

Until that one day, where he almost did. I saw him looking at her with that look on her face that I had learned to fear so much. He grabbed her and I just – I snapped. I smashed a bottle on his head and then set the house on fire, grabbed Vi by the hand and ran.

Vi was everything I had. We were bullied in school because our family was poor and filthy. We only had each other. I couldn't let him touch her. I always thought if I play his games, if I do what he says, if I let him use me, he'll spare her. I had to save her. And I had to save myself. I never told Vi what my father did to me. All these years we spent living on the streets, I never told her that he raped me, again and again, every day.

I told her the whole story in tears after they'd locked me up.

Killing my parents – it's the only thing I feel no remorse for. Our mother had already been basically dead for years, anyway, and our father should never have been born in the first place. The only thing I regret about killing him is not making it more painful. I sincerely hope he was awake and alert when he burned to death.

Even after everything I had been through, I was... sort of okay for several years. Repression is the best therapy, right?
Let me tell you: No, it's fucking not. I repressed all the things I had been through, convinced myself that the fire was an accident and "forgot" that my father every laid hands on me, "forgot" my mother's drug addiction.

And then, I was raped again. On my girlfriend's birthday, at her birthday party. And then, I remembered. Remembered everything, every last detail. If I hadn't tried to forget and dealt with it instead, I never would have snapped like this. I blacked out that night and when I woke up, they were all dead, I was still holing the guns, and Vi was gone. She saw me kill a total of eight people, and I was most likely trying to kill her as well.

She ran away, traumatized, lost her memory. I ran after her, got lost in the woods and lost my mind for good. And now, I'm fucked. Fucked beyond repair. And I killed the person who desperately tried to fix me. And I didn't just shoot her, quick and painless. It was a gruesome, slow, painful death. She didn't deserve that. What have I done?

I gag and cough, but my stomach is empty. But I still feel sick enough to puke up my guts.
Oh God, Vi, what have you done? Why did you let me go? I need you now. I've never needed you more.

With my hand shaking I reach up to flush. I can't get up though. Instead, I crawl to the bathmat that's lying in front of the shower and lie down. I am drained of all my strength. My vision is blurry, I feel weak. My whole body is shaking. Am I going to die? I don't want to die like this, on the bathroom floor in a filthy motel room.

I reach into my pockets and pull out my phone. The screen is cracked and it takes me several tries to get it to turn on and stay on.

"I nerd yupo. Pleras. Im n that chep motel dowm th sreet from my aprmet, room 109. Com alone. Live u, sis", is what I manage to type.

I hit the "send" button, not even sure if I'm sending it to the right person. Once more, I feel the urge to throw up. I clench my fists and, on all fours, crawl back to the toilet, just barely missing it.

My elbows on the toilet seat, my head in my hands and my fingers buried in my hair, I want to scream, cry, but I'm to weak to do either.

Why did I think running was a good idea? Now I'm here, alone with myself and my body that's going haywire over the picture of my dead therapist that is etched into my mind. Why did I think I could somehow avoid being locked up again? They'll find me anyway. I'm fucked either way.

Tears are streaming down my face without me even noticing it. Vi, please come quick. I don't care if you lock me up, as long as I can hug you for a while beforehand. I haven't hugged you in way too long and just now, in this situation, I realize that I have crushed the relationship to the only person that has always loved me, through everything I've done. I'm so sorry, Vi.