The cheers of the people around me were white noise. Our team was going to London for the finals. Whoop-de-fucking-do. People patted my back, complimenting me on my winning lap time. Pinching the skin on my fingers was all I could do to not flinch under so much physical contact.
Carl. There was no more room for remorse, my tears had run dry. He had attempted to...he tried...he almost... I pinched my skin harder to try and tame my emotions. I felt something wet come from my fingers. I glanced down, oh, blood.
He was going to get what was coming to him the fecking bastard.
The ride home was full of my fake foster parents telling me how proud they were and how they were glad I had found something extracurricular that I excelled in - or something of the sort. It was all just relentless buzzing in the back of my head. They would not shut up. I placed my hands on my lap softly and stared out the window, not really caring about the scenery. Again I tried to think of happy things. I stole my therapists candy again; I found that old gun for a second time. I didn't cry. I couldn't cry. I couldn't feel anything. No, that's a bad description. I was overwhelmed by emotion. Fear, malice, anger, happiness, caring, hate, I even felt fucking forgiveness. The one thing I didn't feel was love. I couldn't feel love. Wouldn't feel it.
When we finally arrived at the mansion of a house I was living in, I headed to my room and slowly shut and locked the door behind me. I paced around my room, restless and scared. I was clenching and unclenching my fists to control my temper. I saw in the corner of my room a bag, Carl's bag. I broke.
I sat down on my king sized bed and put my head in my hands. What did I do? I had been stupid. It was my fault. I had egged him on. No I hadn't. It was him. It was all fucking him and his little fucking fantasies. The fucking perverted bastard. I stretched my face in my hands. I was trembling all over. My fists clenched and opened, squeezing harder every time.
I was going to fucking kill him.
I went to my side table to pull out a book. I tried to open the dresser drawer, cursing as I failed. My hands were still vibrating from the treacherous tremors tantalizing my nervous system. I banged my fist against the desk, almost cracking the wood. I looked down at my fist, the skin was broken and blood was quickly forming on my abused knuckles. I felt my eyes widen, my pupils dilate, the hairs on the back of my arms go placid: I hit the desk again. The desk split with a crack about a centimetre or two thick. Good-bye perfectly manicured fingers. My adrenalin crazed eyes turned upwards into a faux smirk. I hit the wall. The grey paint splattered with the blood from my now oozing hand. I yelled as I slammed my other hand into my bed post. Again, again, again, AGAIN. I grabbed the scissors from my side table and gashed open my "sleep medicated" pillow. Cut, slash, FUCK.
I opened the scissors and stared at them languidly. Eyes still wide with insanity and hands still oozing from abuse I sat down on my bed slowly, calmly. I opened the scissors and ran my finger over their sharp point. Delicately I poked the skin on my wrist, bubbles of blood slowly seeped out of the self inflicted wound. Softly, carefully I closed my eyes as I pulled the scissors toward my elbow, taking in each and every one of my five senses. The light behind my eyelids was a dark rusty red, the smell of chlorine still in my hair, the feeling of sharp scissors penetrating my skin forcing out unwanted thoughts, the sound of silence echoing through my ears. And the taste - I stopped, looked down at my handiwork and sucked the blood out of my self-inflicted wound. I was trembling. I took a deep breath as I felt my face go stolid.
A knock on my door made me jump. "Jimmy, you alright?" I glared at the sound of my foster mother's plastic voice.
"Yes." I replied. "I'm fine."
I heard the click clack of the woman walking away. "Well I'll be downstairs for my latest injection for my neck spasms if you need me. Be sure to collect what you need for that experiment of yours later." The sound of her overly expensive baby-seal-killers faded away slowly.
I smiled to myself. Botulinum. That was my current experiment. With the proper maths and the available sources I had I could easily extract the deadly, and virtually impossible to trace, neurotoxin. I had what I needed. I could be a proper vigilante now. I had everything I needed.