Just Like You Imagined

God, did he ever stop looking?

I twisted, trying to focus on the crooked letters the teacher was scribbling down at the whiteboard, but I felt his eyes burning in my side even when I did my best to ignore it. I took my notebook out, opened an empty page and started taking notes, turning into restless doodling. I drew mountains and trees, ghouls and zombies, sharpened my pencil until there was nothing left of it but a rubber and a sharp edge and tried to punctuate the tip of my finger with it until I saw blood. Anything to get rid of the nagging damn paranoia. He was fucking my mind up completely. He’d been going on with this for weeks! Every god-awful class we had together, he’d sit there, waiting for me to arrive. Always in the back of the class. Once or twice I’d arrive a little late just to see the only seat left would be the one next to his in the back corner. And he’d always fucking stare. At the beginning I had actually looked back, leaned over and asked if he wanted something. He just smiled and shook his head, turning to the wall or window instead. But the next time I looked over my shoulder, his eyes would be fixated at me again, with the same wide smile on his pale face.

His face seriously was pale. Like, bone-white. Unhealthy. Inhuman. Narrow and gaunt. His chin was sharp and his jaw line looked like it was stretching the skin out. He had dark circles under his eyes too, like he’d been locked away a room alone for months. I would have bet he had just gotten out of a psychiatric hospital, among smelly perverts and psychotic rapists, but we had been in the same school for three weeks now, and I would assume he would at least have started to get used to society again or somebody would have taken him back in by now. And he had been acting like this ever since the first week. His hair was blonde and slicked back, not like the guys you’d see in Grease with their leatherjackets and Italian mafia attitude, but like the kind of guys who never cared enough for themselves to shower. And I hoped - I swear I hoped to God - that it wasn’t because he only had eyes for me. I refused to believe it. But I had heard people talking behind my back and they all had the same opinion; Sascha was obsessed with me. Not like a cute fan boy crush on their favourite celebrity, but a seriously unhealthy one. People in school all knew about this, so they used to joke a lot about how he probably had pictures of me all over his walls and used to light candles around himself as he sat on the floor, reciting a hymn from some Satanic bible before sacrificing his own blood and hair, all to make his dark lord and righteous saviour bring me to him. They were disturbing people to even think he would do that, but it made me even more paranoid. I knew Sascha was not a man to trust. He didn’t have any friends - much like me - because he couldn’t maintain friendships and people had started to shun him for acting like a creeper. That said, I had no idea what he saw in me. I had done nothing to catch his attention. I was simply there in front of him in his first class, and that was it. Wrong place, wrong time. And god did I regret picking that spot.

Just when I’d started to carve up my middle finger - unable to feel any pain but the anxiety ripping at my chest - the bell rang and everybody shuffled their books and papers up in their arms and ran out of the classroom. I hesitated a bit, saw the last group of people leave the room, put my pencil down and turned around. This had become an ordinary routine. Of course, he was still there, like some fucking horror movie character, with his wide grin and starry pale blue eyes. I couldn’t take it anymore. I snapped. I stood up, knocking my notebook over on the way and it fell to the floor with a heavy sound. His smile immediately faded and he looked down at the book and then back up at me, yet still without emotion in his eyes. I clenched my fists, paced forward - then the teacher grabbed my shoulder. He yanked me back, making me stumble over my chair but I managed to stay on top of it, staring up at him with fright. He had a bad temper and I didn’t mean to get in the way of it.

“Connor, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!” he yelled in my face, getting me drenched in his disgusting breath and large outlet of saliva. “Sit back down or leave!”

He grabbed my collar harshly and I whined, shrinking in my chair, afraid to get hit or sent to the principal. I had gotten in trouble for something similar to this before, once when I actually had hit Sascha over the cheek. Something which had only made him more attached to me.

“Look at you, Connor! You don’t even know yourself what you’re doing!” He pulled me up by my collar, making me unable to breathe for a short moment before he threw me away, tossing my notebook after me. “Get out of here! Don’t come back before you know how to act like a person!”

I quickly snatched my notebook from the floor, half of the pages shredded or wrinkled or simply dirt stained from muddy shoes worn inside, and clutched it to my chest as I rushed out, not out of fear but of anger. Before I slammed the door shut behind me I heard the teacher’s cooing, probably for trying to soothe either himself or the dumb psycho. He was probably still looking at me.

I ran off down the corridor, unlocking my locker and shoving my book inside, cursing as I realized I had forgot my pencil, then grabbed my jacket and ran all the way home. Running was the only way I knew of to get out some inner wrath without having to hurt myself or somebody else, as tempting as it seemed at the moment. Just some damn destruction. Sascha pissed me off as much as he creeped me out, but at least one of us had to be the sane one. He had lost that title long ago so I figured I could at least give it a try.

* * *

I lived in a wealthy community, the kind of village which wouldn’t have to even take the trash out to the roadside because the men would get off their trucks and go get it at the door if we wanted them to. My house was big and white, and out of all my past friends and relatives, I’d always had the biggest bedroom. It was at the bottom floor, some feet away from the kitchen door, with an own bathroom with a shower. I was the only son together with a German Shepherd with the name Zero. Everyday after school I took Zero for a walk around the block, then attached his chain to his doghouse in the backyard. After that, I usually sat down to talk to him for a bit. Call me lame, but I didn’t have much closer relatives other than in my family, so Zero was basically my only friend around here. At least he listened to what I had to say willingly before being all up in my face with “how was school today?”.

I scratched his ear, making him lean his head to the side slightly, begging for more of the touch. He started stomping his back paw at the ground and I laughed, patting his back. He looked up at me with big brown eyes and I smiled.

“You’re a good boy, you”, I said in a child voice, and he lied his head down in my lap as I continued to pet him. “The teacher threw me out of History today. Just because I was going to go ask Sascha what he wanted. So the teacher started yelling at me and threw me out. He wrecked my notebook!” Zero tilted his head to the side, questioning, and I sighed. “Sorry, I’m just upset today. I think I’ll go watch TV. Thanks for listening, though.”

I stood up, waving him goodbye as I walked inside, lying down in a creaking leather couch, browsing some channels before I gave up, getting into my room to study for the upcoming English exam. But I still couldn’t get Sascha out of my mind. Not for one second. Goddamn, he couldn’t even leave me alone in my free time. I bet it was true what they said about him. All the jokes turning into trustworthy rumours. Not that he sacrificed in the name of Satan, but that he got off to me. That he watched me every day to memorize every inch of my body and then place it in his mind with his hand down his pants. I shuddered at the thought; not out of lust or anything, thank you very much. I was going through the most disturbing time of my life and I had no one to ask help from because everybody was either on Tim’s or nobody’s side, or they just didn’t care enough to bother with us, the “stalker couple”. I wished I’d get Stockholm syndrome to at least be able to enjoy his so-called company. At least that’d kill my paranoia.

I heard the front door around five, which meant my mom had come home from work. She always got home at five because even if her work ended around four she picked up groceries every day and the ride home was rather long. I walked into the kitchen, relieved to have someone I trust around me, and as soon as I entered the room she embraced me in a brief hug. Being the typical favourite son (which wasn’t too hard since I was the only son) I helped her with dinner, and by the time dad came home we had sat down by the table to await his arriving. We both smiled at him as he entered the room, hoping for a smile back, but dad just seemed distressed. Despite if people could smell fear or any other emotion, you could clearly see the pain on his face.

He stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he sighed.

“Zero has ran away.”

“What?!”

I stood up, my knees hitting the table, making the glasses clink. Mom reached her hand over the table to try to gently grab my arm.

“Honey, please sit-”

“No!” I yelled at her, then looked up at dad again. “How is that possible? I… I did what I always do, I swear! I took him for a walk, I attached his chain to the ring on the doghouse… I even looked back at him before I went in!”

Dad shrugged, shaking his head sadly. “I’m sorry, son.”

“He’ll be back”, mom assured me. “We’ll put up flyers over town. Somebody will find him, don’t worry, sweetheart. Please don’t worry.”

Dad started walking over to me, ready to give me a hug or whatever the hell he thought was suitable for a moment like this. But I burst off, pushing him out of the way and running outside through the back door. I couldn’t believe it was true. I didn’t want to! But as I stopped in the middle of the lawn, I realized, he wasn’t kidding me. The backyard was empty. The doghouse was abandoned. And Zero was gone.

I walked up closer, falling onto my knees in front of it. I had just lost my best friend and I had no idea how to react. Nothing I did could get him back anyway. With hopes of him returning, coming running out from the bushes or something, I bent forward to look at the chain. It went from a metal ring at the side of the doghouse, to Zero’s dog collar, which was gone. I found it was strange how the chain was still there. Zero usually barked at birds or squirrels in trees, trying to drag himself away from the chain, but it never worked because it was connected to his collar. It was like someone had took the chain off him and brought him with them. I didn’t know how that could be possible, but it was the best explanation I had. Logical thinking. Looking at the bright side; it wasn’t my fault, right? Then I burst into tears.

* * *

The following two days felt very empty. I usually spent my days in the backyard, but now I just stayed in my room. Sascha was still staring at me, creeping after me in the hallways, and I was too scared of getting beaten up again to ask anybody to help me. Now I didn’t even have Zero, my personal therapist, to whine about it to. So I kept it inside of me, burning in shape of a shameful fear, tearing me apart. Waking up every day was facing a new day of terror. Even going outside to shop groceries had become a pain because I was terrified of people even throwing me a glance. I was afraid they’d hurt me, and I was afraid someone would take mom away from me. We had put up flyers all over town, over each and every lamppost, about who Zero was and on what phone number they could reach us if they knew anything. I barely even cared if he came home, I just wanted to know if he was alright.

When I came home on the Tuesday afternoon I threw my bag at the side of the door and kicked my shoes off, walking into my room, trying to form a new routine; going to rot on top of my bed. I wasn’t in the mood of music and instead just lied there for some moments, face down in my pillow. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I heard was a weak slam of the front door. It didn’t frighten me or wake me with a start, just made me conscious enough to lean up on my elbows. I forced my eyes to open; everything was blurry but I clearly saw the digital clock’s gleaming blue numbers showing 5PM. I got up from my bed, stumbling around before I could reach the handle of my door, yawning before pushing it open. I scratched the back of my head, knowing how mom hated when I came for dinner or just to greet her without any sense of class, calling out; “Mom?”

I stopped before I entered the kitchen, suddenly concerned. No reply.

I immediately shrugged it off. Maybe I had been asleep when she got inside, so the door shutting was actually her leaving, to get a second bag of groceries out of the car or something. I quickly came to the conclusion I should help her out, but I had to check first. I rounded the corner to the kitchen, and as I expected, it was empty. But that also meant, there was no first bag of groceries on the kitchen counter. No keys to the car or the front door, no handbag on her chair by the table. I frowned, looking around, assuming maybe I was just tired and didn’t notice these things just yet. Or maybe she’d gone to the bathroom? I peaked out of the kitchen. No. No shoes there, no coat. She wasn’t home? I went back inside, leaning over a counter, sticking out from the wall like a kitchen island. I knew I had heard the front door. Or else I wouldn’t have woken up. Was I going insane? Or was someone pulling a sick prank on me?

I flinched as the phone rang, keeping myself from shrieking as I closed my eyes tightly and exhaled a breath, trying to calm down. I reached over to it, grabbing it and lifting it to my ear.

“Moore residence.”

“Hi sweetie”, the voice sounded from the other end, so mild and gentle, but it drained the colour from my face. “I’ll be a little late, some girl got the wrong copies of these papers and I’ll have to do it for her now. I’ll be home around the same time as your father.”

I kept myself from cursing, and turned, looking around all over the room, my heart thumping fast and hard in my chest. The blood was pumping so fast in my arteries, I felt as if they were going to burst, but I couldn’t even care about that. I was panicking. I was stunned. I was even shaking as I sat down on a chair, leaning my hand against my forehead, breathing sharply and heavily.

“Alright”, I said to mom, swallowing a hard knot in my throat. “I’ll, uhm… I’ll cook for you.”

“That’s lovely, honey. Please remember to lock the door now. I’ll see you tonight, bye!”

I hung up and put the phone down, whimpering. I had forgotten to lock the door. I had forgotten to lock the fucking door! Someone had gone through it. Someone had gone through the unlocked door as I was asleep in my room. Someone was inside of my house.

I went to a drawer and picked out a kitchen knife. Not even the lethal weapon made me feel safer in this sort of situation. I was a victim. And I was scrawny enough for them to be able to tackle me and take the knife from my grip. But I had to try and protect myself and our home. So I tried to become the hunter instead. I checked the hallway, the living room, under every couch and under every bed, behind every shower curtain and in every closet. I didn’t find a damn. Nobody was in the house.

I sat down on the toilet lid of my bathroom, trying to calm down. Sweat had formed on my forehead out of stress and cold chills went up my spine still. I had probably dreamed it all. Nobody had come through the front door. Nobody had left. Nobody had been here at all. That was silly! I was so dumb. It was all just in my head and I was freaking out way too damn much about one simple misunderstanding, and, then…

Then I heard footsteps.

Fast footsteps in the next room. The kitchen. Running. Running fast over the floor in a inhuman way like someone dancing in a rhythm of a drum and a brief silence, and I listened while my whole body quivered. Then a loud thump. I jumped, clutching onto the knife as my breath became shaky again, and I listened closely. I soon figured, it had leaped out the window.

It probably took me at least twenty minutes before I dared to leave the room. I cautiously walked into the kitchen, the knife up in front of me. I stopped in the doorway, looking at the open window above the sink, immediately realized and fell against the doorframe, sliding down to the floor while sobbing uncontrollably.

I never checked behind the kitchen counter.

* * *

“Connor?”

I opened my eyes, saw darkness, and realized I was sitting hunched over my desk with my face against my arms, crossed in front of me over the wooden surface. I sat up, blinking a few time before my eyes could get adjusted by the light around me. It happened all too often lately I fell asleep in class. I couldn’t help it. The experience in the kitchen the other day made me terrified of going to sleep. I was afraid of the person whatever-it-was coming back to do whatever-the-hell-it-came-for. I kept a knife under my bed mattress now. For self protection. Sometimes for self destruction when the pressure became too big. To focus on something else. I was afraid of going outside. I was afraid of people looking at me because I knew something was going to try to hurt me. I had no self esteem left and I probably looked like a pile of shit because I didn’t even care about looking in mirror anymore. I even shunned from my reflection in the car side mirror or in the surface of the toaster. My pitch-perfect life was shattered into pieces.

“Connor?” the voice called again, smooth somehow; soothing.

But the man next to me nudged my shoulder and I woke up completely. I immediately flinched, moving away from the touch, looking up.

Holy crap…

Sascha was looking down at me. It almost made me feel as if he was my reflection. We both were pale now, probably with dark circles under our eyes and with terrible hair, except mine was matted and tangled rather than greasy. His eyes still showed no emotion. But he spoke. The thing could speak!

“How are you?”

I was concerned. Sascha had never spoke before. I hadn’t heard his voice in all these weeks we’d been together, and now he asked how I was feeling? It freaked me out probably more than it should.

“A bit tired, maybe. Did I just miss the whole class?”

“Yeah. The teacher didn’t seem to mind but people were staring.”

As did you… Connor thought, and almost laughed in desparation. And always fucking will.

“It’s acceptable, though. I know you lost your dog.”

“Yeah”, I sighed. “I miss him.”

I wasn't going to show him any interest. No affection, no nothing. I wouldn't give myself up just like that. He had wrecked me. But I'd been raised by a loving family, and I knew I could at leaast talk to the guy. The disgusting, repulsive, disturbing guy.

Sascha went silent for a bit, and I remained with my gaze on the desk. Then he suddenly moved a bit closer, his voice trying to sound enticing, interesting, but he just sounded strange as always.

“Connor, I want to ask you something.”

I yawned, and nodded at him. The school day had ended and I’d preferably go home. The past days I had been taking naps in Zero’s old doghouse in my fear of being alone in the house while my parents were out, as the smell of Zero still lingered and kept me calm. But yesterday I figured I should call my grandmother today to ask to stay there over the weekend. I always slept in my grandparent’s room when I was there, without questioning, because they had a very small house at the outskirts of town with no leftover room for guests. So if someone tried to get to me, at least they’d be there to hear it and, hopefully, prevent it. At least, that was my planning.

Sascha kneeled down in front of me, and I looked down at him, questioning. The teacher had left the room and we were all alone with a closed door separating us from the other students walking down the halls. Sascha grabbed my shoulders with both his hands, looking into my eyes.

“We’re both the same now”, he spoke, his voice husky and rough, suddenly fitting his character more than the smooth and mesmerizing voice he had been speaking in just moments earlier. “Look at us. We’re broken. We’re wrecked. But together, we’ve got power.” He leaned up closer, and my heart was already beating fast, but I was paralyzed and couldn’t think of what to do. “But don’t fear; love will make us strong.”

“What are you saying?”

“I love you, Connor Moore. I always have, since the moment I first saw you. We’re meant to be. I can feel it. I can feel it inside of me. In my bones, in my heart, tingling delightfully every time my eyes catch on you. I’m attached to you. We can never be apart.” He paused, maybe waiting for a reaction, or maybe he didn’t even care for what I thought and just needed a dramatic break. “Will you marry me?”

I laughed, but he was expressionless, and I immediately covered my mouth with my hand. And instead I got filled with dread. I stood up, backing up on my chair, standing high above him as he looked up at me with dead eyes. I thought if I stood above him it would indicate I was more powerful than him. He was inferior. He was not among my wavelength. But I was still shaking. I was so scared I couldn’t even think straight.

“What?” I said, coming out in a yell because of my nervousness taking over my actions, making my body unruly. “We’ve never spoke before! I’m seventeen, I… I don’t know you!”

“You don’t have to know me”, Sascha spoke quietly. “I know every part of you.”

“What?” I yelled again, laughing fretfully, stumbling backwards and landing on the floor, still staring at Tim. “You… You’re proposing, because you know me. But you’ve never spoke to me.”

Sascha stood up, and I was damn thankful for the chair between us, but I still started backing off away from him.

“Please, Connor, understand this. I love you more than anything. You’re the beauty in my world. I want you. And I need you.” The corner of his lip twitched, trying to create a smile, something meant to show love and affection, but it just made me pick up the chair and throw it at him with full force. I didn’t realize what I had done before he fell backwards, hitting the floor hard and I looked away and ran out through the door. As I exited the room, I stopped. I stood there for a few moments, staring and trying to catch my break; not exhausted from doing anything psychical, but exhausted from all the mental tormenting.

I turned back, leaning against the doorframe, ready to run but still concerned. Couldn't give the guy a concussion and run off. I watched Sascha get off the floor, gently putting the chair back in its place, walking over to the sink by the wall and spitting out a mouth full of blood. He coughed, letting the water pour out in the sink as he tried to drink and spit in between. He stood up, turned the tap off, silently limping over to me. He stopped a few feet away. He looked at me, blank. His lip was split in a big gash and his eyes looked wet and weary. I felt a sting of remorse, and sighed heavily.

“I’m sorry, Tim”, I said sadly, wishing I could hug him to let him know I didn't mean to hurt him that badly, because he was human too for Christ's sake, but I refused to walk up that close ever again.

“It’s alright”, he said, but the blood was still dripping from his lip. “You’ll re-pay me in the future. Just like I imagined.”

I was about to ask him what he meant, but he started limping out of the classroom. He passed me, and I internally thanked God, but suddenly I felt hot breath against my ear. I froze, the scent of iron filling me as Tim’s voice sounded in my ear;

“I’ll make you mine.”

And then he was gone.

* * *

Saturday morning, my parents left me a note on the kitchen table. That they’d be gone for the day but come home for dinner. It made me paranoid enough to figure it was probably the best to go for a walk. An impulse was to take the back door out to get Zero first, but then I realized my mistake and shuffled out the front door alone instead.

As I got down into town, I went past a few lamp posts with Zero’s flyers on. No one seemed to have noticed them and no telephone number notes had been ripped away from them. From a few feet away I noticed something wasn’t right with one of the posters. Something was scribbled down in black. So I rushed over, eager to see who had written on it, hoping it wasn’t just some hooligan who thought it was cool to doodle on everything and all.

As I got over to it, picking it down, I noticed all the note read was “go home.”

I know it was stupid, but something told me to do as told. So I went home.

And I waited.

I read a few pages from a dozen various books, watched some TV, studied, even drew some pictures. But as the minutes passed, and the minutes turned into hours, I became more and more disappointed. I wasn’t even sure of what I had been expecting. That someone would show up with Zero at my door as soon as I arrived home? How could they even know when I would see their message? What the hell had I even been waiting for the whole time? I wanted to pretend I was only waiting for my parents, because at least that would make me feel less stupid. I rolled over in my bed, glancing over at the clock.

I frowned. 8PM?

I got up, walking into the kitchen, looking around. The lights were off, the door was locked. Nobody was home. Nobody had called. All that was left of them was the note on the table; “We’re going out but we’ll be home for dinner”.

I sat down on a chair, dialling their number. Hopeful to hear my mom’s voice, I sat there twiddling with the wire. I had missed her today and I was getting seriously worried. But before I could even think of what to say to her, I heard the familiar tone of;

Beep, beep, beep, beep…

I stared into the wall. Then I put the phone back. No, she was probably just speaking to somebody else. Maybe she was trying to call me right now? So I stayed by the phone and waited. But nobody called. All kinds of thoughts started rushing in my head. What if they were hurt? What if they drove off the road and died? But I didn’t want to call for help. I wouldn’t want to worry anybody if it was no danger, right? My grandmother’s poor heart wouldn’t be able to handle that. But I really wished I would have stayed at their house this weekend. With my parents. Because only now I realized how much they meant to me.

My stomach grumbled, but I ignored it. I couldn’t think of food now. I was worried sick anyway, no matter how late it was. I suddenly heard a knock in the front door and nearly fell off my chair; not out of shock but of fear as I was sitting right next to the window, and I knew if you stood on the steps you could see in through it. It was dark outside already, and I realized I had been sitting there for half an hour. Scared of seeing something I shouldn’t, I ripped my gaze away from the night. I jumped down to the floor and walked over to the door. We had no peeking-hole or any windows by the door, but I quickly flickered on the lights, thought for a few moments, ran into my room and got the knife, slowly walked back and grabbed the handle, the knife behind my back, my breath ragged and heart beat out of control. Mom had told me never to open the door for strangers at night, but mom wasn’t here now so I went against the force.

I pressed the handle down, opening the door. It was as dark and silent outside as it had seemed. Crickets, maybe. Some distant cars rumbling down the streets. But nothing outside our door. Nobody was there. Until I felt a black thing brush against my leg. I screamed, closing the door but the thing was already inside. I backed up against the wall, the knife in front of me, my shaking hands grabbing onto the handle, trying to see what the hell it was.

The creature was crawling around, dragging its back part after itself, whimpering quietly. It left a trail of blood after itself and was so skinny I could see its spine and ribcage. The front of the long nose was missing, like it had been chopped off, only leaving an open wound like piece of jelly cut in half, dried up but hard to see in the obscure. I shrunk down against the walls. My knees gave in. My stomach was in knots already but now it was turning inside out. Tears streamed down my face and I wanted to scream, but all I got out was a faint whimper of; “Zero…”

His ears moved at me calling his name, crawling towards me. His back was crushed, his two back legs hanging slack. Like someone had dropped something heavy on the back part of his body, something like a cement block, maybe hit him several times with a sledgehammer. He tried to smell me, but his nose was gone, and he whinged as the wound touched my arm. He smelled of rotten flesh and wet dog fur. I was panicking. Zero was in pain, so much pain, and I had no idea what to do. I loved him. So much. I didn’t want this. I needed my mom and I needed my dad. They’d know what to do. But they weren’t home and didn’t pick up the phone.

I stood up on shaky legs, petting Zero on the head, my hand shaking, careful not to touch the back, took the knife into my room and threw it on my bed, then went into my parent’s room. I opened their closet and took out dad’s .22 out of the sock drawer. I had found it the day the burglar came to our home and I checked the hole house, but I didn’t feel the need to use it then. Dad would be mad if I did but I didn’t think dad would ever come home now. It was loaded with two bullets.

I went back to the hallway and sat down next to Zero. He was exhausted from having to drag himself around and had lied his head down to rest. I scratched his ear, biting my quivering lip. I tried to blink the tears away and stop shaking, but as I held the gun up in front of his head I was screaming at the top of my lungs. I shot him once, making him shudder, shot him twice, the two small-caliber bullets helping each other cut his carotid artery as they zigzagged through his brain. Blood squirted up on the wall, dripping down at the floor like rolling tears. I fell down against the wall, dropping the gun at the floor as I watched Zero die. He made no sounds, just lied there bleeding, shivering, then he was still. He was dead. And then I had killed my best friend.

Shocked, I stumbled into the kitchen. I drank water glass after water glass and then threw it all up in the sink. I got out a black garbage bag from a drawer and rolled it up, opened it, but I couldn’t look at Zero. I went into my room, sat on my bed, picking out the knife as I stabbed myself in my forearm. Not deep, just through the muscle tissue. I couldn’t feel it. But it bled a lot and helped me wake from my daze; made me feel more awake and made me stop shivering so much. I walked back into the hallway and scooped Zero into the bag. I tied it and put it outside the door together with two other bags. The garbage men could come get him. He’d be cold by tomorrow so with luck they wouldn’t notice and they’d take care of him.

I took a bucket of warm water and soap and started scrubbing the blood off the floor with a piece of wet cloth. When I was done I poured the dirty water out in the sink and drank some more. Then I sat down by the table.

It knocked again.

I ran over to the door, furious and distressed, bashing with both my fists upon the wood, leaning my forehead against it as I started sobbing, screaming incomprehensible reductions of swear words and nonsense yells while kicking it.

“Go away!” I screamed, hitting my head against it, everything around me already spinning as if I had a concussion, maybe plagued by some strange sickness. “Leave me alone!”

I started crying again, falling on my knees in front of the door, burying my face in my hands. The door opened in front of me, and I didn’t even get scared of who it might be. It was a man; I could sense it and hear it on the way he walked. He closed the door gently behind himself, sitting down next to me. He put an arm around me, smelling of unwashed clothes and dirty hair. And I immediately knew.

“Connor”, he whispered, his voice smooth as his split lip brushed over my cheek, kissing me tenderly, his other hand stroking some hair out of my tear drenched face. “No need to cry. I’m here now. I’ll protect you.”

He took a soft hold of me, and I only followed. I was having a panic attack; my muscles tense, crying without an end, unable to do anything else. He leaned me against his crossed legs, my head resting in his lap as he kept soothingly caressing my hair, wiping tears from my cheeks with his thumb as he tried to hush me quiet.

“I brought you Zero back. You said you missed him, so you got him back, even though he was mine now.” He stopped me as I made an attempt to sit up, lying me back down without a fight. “I do whatever I want to the things I own, you know. I take good care of them but Zero wanted more.”

This man was sick. He was mentally ill. He needed a good hospital to suck all the wicked damn thoughts out of his mind. Then again, so did I…

“I’m a stranger to some, but an angel to the ones I lay my hands upon. I’m a king. I’m a god. I’m cruel but righteous, and I can guard and defend. You possess assault and fear. I can take all that away. You don’t need a best friend to feel safe. You only need me.”

I heard a ripping sound and realized he was tearing a piece of my white and blood stained shirt away. At first I feared he’d undress me, but he only took that piece and rolled my sleeve up, putting the piece of cloth as a bandage around my forearm, trying to stop the heavy bleeding. I didn’t mind it anyway because I couldn’t feel a thing. I felt like I was drifting off, fading into a void, alone with his voice echoing around me in the empty shell.

“You don’t need your parents anymore either, do you? You’re a big boy. You’re seventeen. You only need me. I know that. I can feel it. Believe me, I feel it every hour of the day. I belong with you, and you belong to me.” He leaned down closer, whispering in my ear; “I killed them for you.”

His voice made me shudder; not because the words he said were horrible, but because his voice was so damn husky and charming, all at the same time. He was mesmerizing, enticing, fascinating. I wasn’t sure why but he got me stuck in a trance.

“I shot your grandparents and you only have me now. I can keep you safe. I can make you feel as good as you’ve never felt before.”

My muscles softened, and I stopped crying. I looked up at him, and he smiled down at me. It wasn’t scary. It was beautiful.

“We’re meant to be”, he spoke, his lips close to mine. “All you have to do is say yes.”

I didn’t care what it meant he’d do to me. I didn’t care about where it meant he’d take me. I didn’t care if I lived or died. I felt safe for the first time in a month. My heart was beating at a normal pace, my body didn’t feel uptight. I pressed my lips against his and time stopped. It was a sensation of warmth and tenderness and bloodlust and death. Despite everything which had happened, lesson learned might just be to love your enemy.

I was going insane, losing touch with everything around me and the reality I once knew of, but at least I wasn’t alone. At least I was fading away with somebody holding me tight. Somebody who loved me.

At least I belonged somewhere.

Then I pulled back. I realized he wasn’t there anymore. I looked around, all around me, but I was sitting alone on the floor, bleeding from the biggest gash I had created in my own skin with tears drying on my face. I slowly crept out of the void I’d been stuck in, everything seeming so bright around me, like I was reborn, the pain suddenly throbbing in my arm, a headache pounding in my skull.

Then it all hit me like a tidal wave.

Sascha wasn’t real. I had just gotten out of a psychiatric hospital. Nearly five weeks ago today. I was getting better and they hadn’t taken me back in, although I was still not a man to trust and didn’t have any friends, because I couldn’t maintain friendships and people had started to shun me for acting like a creeper. Sascha wasn’t real. The teacher was mad at me for getting angry in class for no reason, as he knew I had a past of strange behaviours and he himself possessed anger management problems. Running was the only way I knew of to get out some inner wrath without having to hurt myself or somebody else, as tempting as it always seemed. Just some damn destruction. Control when the world was falling apart. When the paranoia was nagging and I felt as if something was always looking at me, daring me. But sometimes it just wasn’t enough. Sascha wasn’t real. I never took Zero back after that last walk with him. I took him to my grandparent’s house in the outskirts of town. I had all the time in the world because mom came home at five. I shot my grandparents with my father’s .22. Two bullets each. I hit Zero with a sledgehammer and sawed his nose off and poked his eyes with needles. Then I left him locked into a small room. I didn’t have heart to kill him but I needed him away from me; my only source of happiness. Sascha wasn’t real. I killed my parents. Stabbed mom when she came home from work, put her in the garbage bag outside. Then I slit dad’s throat when he was walking around looking for us. Put him in the second garbage bag. I cleaned the blood away simply. Sascha wasn’t real. I guess I didn’t do a good job when I punctuated Zero’s eyes. He found his way back home. I imagined the knocking but I simply knew he’d be there. I didn’t want to lose my best friend but I had to kill him or people would know. I put him in the garbage bag next to my dead and chopped up parents.

Sascha wasn’t real. I eventually put my faith in something I couldn’t trust and made a body of someone I could trust even less do the work. I imagined every conversation with him. I imagined him in the back of the class. I was the one sitting at his spot all alone, never with anybody next to me because everybody kept a distance. I couldn’t put all blame on him anymore. He was an hallucination. An illness blooming in the most sinister way. He was there since the day I got out of hospital, showing me I don’t belong in the outside world. And it had simply gone too far.

Sascha wasn’t real. Sascha was me.

I lied down on the floor, silently looking up in the ceiling. I was going insane, losing touch with everything around me and the reality I once knew of. And now I really was all alone.