Massacre.

Howell lives in a penthouse apartment. You can see the city skyline in every room but I mostly see it from the bedroom I’m staying in. I watch the sun rise and descend. I see the fog that rolls into the city during the morning and out into the ocean as the day continues I watch the days blend and pass in a blur.

I feel numb.
I don’t move.

Howell comes in occasionally to set food down on the bedside table and I occasionally eat it.

I don’t look at him.
I refuse to.

Sometimes I can hear him standing in the doorway and I pretend I’m asleep and half the time I really am.

Even though this new room has white walls and floor to wall ceilings that allow all the sunlight to come in, my emotions still refuse to change.

I feel depressed.
I feel sick.
My chest hurts.
My body aches.

I don’t want to do anything. I just want to drown in the grey comforter and stare and the light blue carpet that covers the light brown hardwood floor.

I don’t want to do anything, so I just lay there.

~

I don’t think Howell has left the apartment, not since he’s picked me up. Sometimes I can hear him talking on the phone but never for long. I think once or twice he answered the front door because he’s had groceries delivered.

I can hear him moving around the apartment. I hear him when he passes my room as he walks down the hallway. I can hear him sit on the couch when he tries to watch TV, or set down a cup of coffee when he’s reading.

I hear him all the time, and it’s definitely different that when I lived with Reaper.

I didn’t feel so alone

Right now I can hear him in the kitchen. He’s cutting up something, and dropping something else into the pan. I can hear the oil sizzling.

My stomach churns in hunger. I take some deep breaths and decide not to think. My body is sore as I sit up.

My feet carry me out the room and into the bathroom beside it.

My reflection is hell in the mirror so I ignore it and focus on a shower. Once I’m done and dressed I venture into the living room, my hair still damp.

Howell’s back is to me. I can smell the food he’s cooked. My stomach growls and my feet carry me closer.

It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve walked around. My body feels strange, and my chest itches. He doesn’t notice me yet.

I don’t speak but my eyes watch him as I get closer.

He’s gripping onto the edge of the counter and bends over the sink, I can hear him gag and spit something into the kitchen sink. I notice how pale the skin on his neck is and how skinny he looks. His hair is a mess.

“Howell?”

I barely whisper. My voice is raspy from being unused for a long time.

His head whips back at me, face serious but eyes almost wild. He blinks once, twice, and then rushes past me.

I hear the door to his room slam shut.

I furrow my eyebrows as my feet carry me exactly to where he was.

My eyes focus on what’s in the sink.

Red and black flecks cover the porcelain.

Blood.