2P! America X Reader: Dear Lemon-Lima Ch.4
Violence, gore, blood, Sexual themes (No sex), swearing, nudity.
When I checked the mail box there was another letter addressed to L.L., I decide to write back. Maybe I can get her to open up. I open her letter.
'Dear Lemon-Lima,
It's me again. Yesterday was horrible. We had group assignments. Then I got detention, and to top it all off, I sang in front of the others in detention! To think it all started with Kat throwing her pen at me. Then Al grabbed my arm, I hate being touched, unless I know the person very well. An old childhood memory of mine. I was kidnapped when I was about eight years old, I was going on nine. They kidnapped me just because we live in a big house. However, we didn't have money, far from it. We were nearly dirt poor. Mom was never completely aware of her surroundings. Like whether or not I was with her. Not that it mattered as I went out by myself all the time. They never harmed me too bad. Just a few cuts and bruises here, a few broken bones there. But then they started getting antsy. They brought prostitutes over and fucked them, afterward they killed them. Only they got tired of having to kill their playthings because they saw or heard me. They decided that I'd be their plaything. They never got the chance to rape me though.'
Anger flared through me as I stared at those words over and over. I finally crumpled the letter and fought the urge to tear it to pieces. I hadn't finished it yet and I needed to know what happened. I unrumpled the wrinkled letter and read on.
'They were going to, they touched me all over to get me to respond to them. I'd never been more scared in my life then that moment. I knew no one was coming to rescue me. No prince on a white horse, no knight in shining armor. Not even my own father, my mom didn't even realize I was gone. There was no one I could cry out for help to. I didn't believe to strongly in any god, I dabbled in many different gods, but I knew none of them could save. So I didn't pray. So I did what I could and I surprised them. I allowed them to remove my clothes and kiss me all over. One of them stuck his fingers in me and another stuck his cock in my mouth. I bit down as hard as I could, severing whatever he could fit in my mouth from his body. I was so numb, I couldn't feel anything. I couldn't feel the coldness, the warmth of his blood and semen as it sprayed all over my face. I couldn't taste the bit of his cock in my mouth. He screamed horribly, but all it did was make my anger grow. How dare he cry out at the pain I caused him! I never once cried out from the pain they caused me. Not once. That scared them to some degree. A nine year old girl, partially starved and covered in cuts and bruises gets a broken wrist, and all she does is stare at it before snapping it back into place and tightly wrapping it. I spit his severed appendage from my mouth and pick up the crow bar that he dropped. I didn't stop to think whether or not what I was doing was bad or not, but it couldn't have been, because it felt so right. I just swung the crow bar with everything I had, right into his head. I didn't stop with him, no. When he was dead and his buddies came to reality they tried to get me to stop, I just targeted them. I didn't stop until they all were dead. I couldn't recognize them, how disfigured they were. Their mouths were open in eternal agony. Poor souls never had a chance. I dragged them from the warehouse to a close river. I dumped them in and walked in after them. I washed as much blood from me as I could. I still couldn't feel anything, it was as though everything I once felt had been sucked out in those few hours. They police still haven't found their killer, and that was nearly ten years ago. Once I saw my house and my mom on the front porch offering cookies to where she thought I was, I could feel again. Relief flooded me. I swear I cried some as I embraced her. One of the rarer moments we had. Ever since then a feeling will well up inside me. The need to kill, to hear the cries of my victims, the feel of their warm blood as it sprays me. What a wonderful feeling it is. But I try, I try to hold on to the little bit of sanity I have left. I really can't help it. It's all my mom's fault, for not noticing I was gone. My dad's for not being there for me. The police for not investigating the missing prostitutes. But never my fault. No, I didn't do anything wrong, I was a victim. I'd move in with my friend Ivan and his sisters, but I can't risk them finding out my secret. I can't lose them, their as close to family as I'm getting now a days. It feels good to get this secret out. Cross your fingers, hopefully today will be better.
-Killer Instinct'.
I stare in awe at her letter. Such a young age for such violence. I have to write back now, I have to let her know she's not the only one. I take my lighter out and burn her letter. No one can know it ever existed. It can't fall into anyone's hands. Not even my families.
When we go to school I see _ walking to class. Such beauty. Definitely an angel trumpet if I ever saw one. Beautiful, yet so deadly. Kat tries to throw herself at me again, doesn't she realize I have no interest in her? I side step her and she sprawl face first to the ground. When _ saw what happened a smile like an angel graced her lips and a sound like silver bells came from her parted lips. Her smile and laugh were certainly beautiful. I throw a smile in her direction, she didn't see it, or if she did she's good at hiding it. God the more I find out about her the more I want to know her. The more I fall in love with her. That's something I haven't felt in quite a while. Artie, Matt, and Francis know about my suspicions, so they don't say a thing when I sit next to her instead of them. She ignores me. How is it that she can be so immune to my charm? Normally all I had to do was throw a smile and a wink and I'd have them falling all over themselves. Yet, she doesn't seem to be effected by me at all. That's just a depressing thought. I sigh and begin working on my letter to her. I work on it all day, and the teachers don't mind. They all think I'm working on school work. Idiots.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Reader's P.O.V. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Al sits next to me. I ignore him, maybe he'll go away. Why won't he leave me to my ignominy? H won't, I know. I don't like it, it's almost as though he knows my secret. It looks like he's doing his work, but he's not. Al keeps on glancing up at me before continuing to write. I have to wonder why. My mind wonders to this morning, when I put my letter in the mail box. My previous letter was gone. Who took it? Has someone been reading them? I hope not. At least I didn't put too much information as to who I was in them. Otherwise I'd be screwed. I knew I was crazy, I write to a dead person, and somehow my letters vanish from the mail box. I'm usually quiet, and invisible. But lately, not so much. More and more people have been noticing me. Frankly it scares me. I hadn't done anything to deserve the attention, so why am I being put in the center of it? Ivan's gotten more protective of me, the BTT insist we hang out and they even follow me. Kat's been harassing me, and Al won't take his eyes off of me. Like he's afraid that if he does I'll vanish. He's right, I would. Even his posse seem to be keeping an eye on me. I'm pretty sure Natalia's been stalking me too, and keeping some of the prying eyes away. Why won't every one leave me alone? I'm nothing special, so why the sudden change in attitude toward me? It scares me more than anything, because the beast I keep locked inside me grows more blood thirsty every day. I can't do anything to satisfy it with all the eyes on me. If I don't crusade soon, I might not be able to control it and hurt someone innocent. My temper flares, and is getting shorter. I glare if someone talks to me, I growled at Ivan, I scared him. What is wrong with me? It's not me though, at least I don't think it is. It's the monster, the beast I keep caged. That cage is weakening. I can't concentrate. I scribble out a sort letter to Lemon-Lima. I place it in my pocket for tonight. It read, 'Dear Lemon-Lima, I can't take it anymore. I have to go out tonight. Hopefully who ever I come across is rich enough to pay my bills. Hopefully no one will hear them when they scream.
-Psycho Maniac'.
The day went quickly. I felt skittish and jumpy. Paranoia filled my brain, like it always does. I felt like every shadow moved, every echo was someone breathing, walking, following me. Every flash of light was someone's eyes, watching, waiting for my guard to drop. When I made it to the mail box, and I went to put my letter in, there was one waiting for me. I remove it, replacing it with my own. On the envelope read 'K.I.', I whip my head around, the coast is clear. I hurried back to my home. It was quite large, three stories, had at least eight bedrooms, and six bathrooms. It also had a basement. Everything else was like a normal house. The basement doubled as a garage. It was situated in a hill, leaving the back of the basement exposed. It had a garage door. Inside I stored my steampunk motorcycle, I built it from spare parts, polished and shined it. I grab my bloodied skull helmet, it went completely over my head. I changed my biker jacket for a spiked black leather biker jacket. The spikes were on my arms, shoulders and around my collar. Once everything was one I grab my .50 caliber magnum, placing it in my jacket pocket. I strap my twin black katanas on my back under my jacket. Then I strap my cricket bat to my back. It was a beauty, it looked so smooth, but it had tiny sharp glass shards and sharp metal bits. You couldn't see the shards and bits until you touched it and searing pain made its way to your brain, flooding your vision. I poisoned the shards along with my katanas. I laced my bullets with curare. I was ready for a night of killing.