The Final Girl
Sometimes dead is better
“Please, don’t hurt him!” I cry out, straining against my restraints as snot and tears run down my face. “He didn’t do anything. He doesn’t deserve this!”
He chuckles as he runs the dull end of the knife down my boyfriend’s face. He looks up at me, his true identity hidden behind a grotesque mask. “Sweet Ophelia, you know it doesn’t work like that. It never works like that. The sweet begging from the female character in a horror movie never ends well. You’re the reason he has to die. The boyfriend never survives the original movie, let alone the sequel.” His tone is condescending and syrupy sweet. “You escaped me once, my precious flower; and I’ll be damned I’ll allow that to happen again.”
“Fuck you!” I scream.
“With pleasure.” I can just envision the twisted smirk that must be dancing across his lips. “But first we must rid ourselves of that extra baggage here!” He moves the knife to my boyfriend’s throat and leans down low enough to be at ears level. “I hope Ophelia was worth it. Because now it’s time to pay for taking what’s mine.” He flips the knife over and presses it against Spencer’s throat. I can see the blood trickling down his neck, staining the white button up Spencer wore for tonight’s show. “Say hello to the devil for me, yes?” In a blink of an eye, he drags the knife across Spencer’s throat, spilling blood in its wake.
“NO!” I scream, watching as the love of my life falls lifeless against the concrete slab of the warehouse. “Spencer!”
I jolt awake. Cold sweat is pouring from my pores and sliding down my back. I turn my head and see my boyfriend of a year sound asleep, which I’m grateful for. Spencer can truly sleep through everything; even my nightmares. I look at my hands and they’re still shaking in fear. This is the 9th time this month I’ve had the same nightmare. Subconsciously I know exactly why I’m having the dream. Typically I always have it at least once during this time of the year. The anniversary is coming up. The anniversary of the day that changed my life completely. A day I’ve refused to talk about for the last 15 years. The only person that knows anything about that day is my therapist. I never talk about it to boyfriends, friends or coworkers. I never talk about my old life. I never talk about the girl I once was before the day I walked into my home to see my family hanging up on meat hooks and my high school boyfriend bound and gagged; soon to have his throat slit.
I take a final look at Spencer before throwing back the blankets and get out of bed. I walk into the living room and grab the Beetlejuice throw blanket before heading out to the balcony; wrapping the blanket around me as I do. Once out there, I lean up against the railing, watching the empty streets of L.A below me. It’s been 10 years since I moved here and the city never fails to impress me. It never gets old and I pray that time will never come. This city is so big; so big and I can get lost in it. I’m nobody and I love that.
I feel a pair of arms wrapping around me and a chin being placed on my shoulder before a kiss is placed on my neck. “You okay? You weren’t in bed. This is the 2nd time this week I found you out here. Another nightmare, baby?”
“I’m 30 years old,” a humorless chuckle escapes my lips. “You’d think I wouldn’t get nightmares anymore. Especially since my apartment is filled with fucking dreamcatchers.”
“You know if you ever want to talk about it, you can always come to me.” He says, squeezing me tighter. “I’ve been told I’m a great listener.” A genuine laugh escapes my lips as he forces me to turn in his arms. “I love you but I swear, Ophelia, you’re a closed book. You’re still a mystery to me, even after a year of dating.
A frown forms on my lips. “I’m sorry.” I apologize to him. “I’m trying here. I’ve never tried to open up to anyone in more than 15 years. I’ve been hurt by the wrong people more times than I can count so it’s hard for me to trust people. But you? I foolishly trust with my whole heart.”
“Then why don’t you let me in?” He asks. “Let me help you break down some walls.”
“These walls are up for a reason.” I tell him. “And they aren’t up to protect me from you?”
“Then why are they up?”
I sigh before looking him right in his hazel eyes. “They’re up to protect you from me…”
He chuckles as he runs the dull end of the knife down my boyfriend’s face. He looks up at me, his true identity hidden behind a grotesque mask. “Sweet Ophelia, you know it doesn’t work like that. It never works like that. The sweet begging from the female character in a horror movie never ends well. You’re the reason he has to die. The boyfriend never survives the original movie, let alone the sequel.” His tone is condescending and syrupy sweet. “You escaped me once, my precious flower; and I’ll be damned I’ll allow that to happen again.”
“Fuck you!” I scream.
“With pleasure.” I can just envision the twisted smirk that must be dancing across his lips. “But first we must rid ourselves of that extra baggage here!” He moves the knife to my boyfriend’s throat and leans down low enough to be at ears level. “I hope Ophelia was worth it. Because now it’s time to pay for taking what’s mine.” He flips the knife over and presses it against Spencer’s throat. I can see the blood trickling down his neck, staining the white button up Spencer wore for tonight’s show. “Say hello to the devil for me, yes?” In a blink of an eye, he drags the knife across Spencer’s throat, spilling blood in its wake.
“NO!” I scream, watching as the love of my life falls lifeless against the concrete slab of the warehouse. “Spencer!”
I jolt awake. Cold sweat is pouring from my pores and sliding down my back. I turn my head and see my boyfriend of a year sound asleep, which I’m grateful for. Spencer can truly sleep through everything; even my nightmares. I look at my hands and they’re still shaking in fear. This is the 9th time this month I’ve had the same nightmare. Subconsciously I know exactly why I’m having the dream. Typically I always have it at least once during this time of the year. The anniversary is coming up. The anniversary of the day that changed my life completely. A day I’ve refused to talk about for the last 15 years. The only person that knows anything about that day is my therapist. I never talk about it to boyfriends, friends or coworkers. I never talk about my old life. I never talk about the girl I once was before the day I walked into my home to see my family hanging up on meat hooks and my high school boyfriend bound and gagged; soon to have his throat slit.
I take a final look at Spencer before throwing back the blankets and get out of bed. I walk into the living room and grab the Beetlejuice throw blanket before heading out to the balcony; wrapping the blanket around me as I do. Once out there, I lean up against the railing, watching the empty streets of L.A below me. It’s been 10 years since I moved here and the city never fails to impress me. It never gets old and I pray that time will never come. This city is so big; so big and I can get lost in it. I’m nobody and I love that.
I feel a pair of arms wrapping around me and a chin being placed on my shoulder before a kiss is placed on my neck. “You okay? You weren’t in bed. This is the 2nd time this week I found you out here. Another nightmare, baby?”
“I’m 30 years old,” a humorless chuckle escapes my lips. “You’d think I wouldn’t get nightmares anymore. Especially since my apartment is filled with fucking dreamcatchers.”
“You know if you ever want to talk about it, you can always come to me.” He says, squeezing me tighter. “I’ve been told I’m a great listener.” A genuine laugh escapes my lips as he forces me to turn in his arms. “I love you but I swear, Ophelia, you’re a closed book. You’re still a mystery to me, even after a year of dating.
A frown forms on my lips. “I’m sorry.” I apologize to him. “I’m trying here. I’ve never tried to open up to anyone in more than 15 years. I’ve been hurt by the wrong people more times than I can count so it’s hard for me to trust people. But you? I foolishly trust with my whole heart.”
“Then why don’t you let me in?” He asks. “Let me help you break down some walls.”
“These walls are up for a reason.” I tell him. “And they aren’t up to protect me from you?”
“Then why are they up?”
I sigh before looking him right in his hazel eyes. “They’re up to protect you from me…”
♠ ♠ ♠
chapter title credit: Funeral Derangements by Ice Nine Killscomment&subscribe?
Got this idea after reading The Final Girl Support Group by Grady Hendrix.