Tearjerker Masochist

[Phury]

As she stormed out of the door, I tried to make myself care more. I truly did. But the most emotion I could conjure up was the sympathy a stranger that had seen the scene would feel.

With that detached emotion, I went back to cleaning. The first thing that I saw needed to be done was where I started: the dishes.

Switching on the radio, I looked around to make sure that no one was around and turned the dial off the heavy metal station that Zee kept it on, turning it to a top 40s station.

Okay, so I liked punk, pop punk, alternative, and rock more than I liked heavy metal. That didn't mean anything.

So I didn't fit the stereotypical serial killer profile. That didn't mean anything... right?

I giggled, unable to worry for too long, dancing around to the music while I ran warm water in the sink. "I! Don't! Care what you think!" I yelled along with the band, scrubbing the plate with the residue left over from the mozzarella sticks.

Because I was dancing around, and my hands were shaking pretty badly, I kept dropping the plate back into the sink, splashing myself with water until my shirt was soaked. Wiping some suds off of my face, I tried to calm down so I could actually get something done.

That was pretty much an epic fail.

A familiar drum beat and guitar riff started playing, and I cocked my head, holding a knife in one hand, pausing with the rag on the blade. "Gross!" I yelled, miming gagging. I hissed in pain when I accidentally sliced my fingers with the blade, the quick motion causing the sink water to turn pink slightly.

The pain seemed to wake me up slightly, and though it was still hard to focus, and my hands were shaking badly, I could think for myself.

After disinfecting and putting a Band-aid over each of my cut fingers, I blinked heavily, to try and clear the fog over my head.

I jumped when I heard what sounded like an explosion. Looking out the window, I saw plumes of fire and smoke rising up. "Oh shit. What the hell is going on?"

Turning on the TV, I turned to a local station, where they were broadcasting a high-speed chase with what looked like a black mustang.

"That looks familiar..." I said to myself, getting closer to the TV and studying the car. I sighed. "You just had to kill cops, didn't you? Killing and torturing a normal person isn't good enough, no."

I continued to rant to myself as the chase continued to be broadcast. That was... until they said Dad's name. "I looked through the records already. Officer Kenneth Perry please, please step out of the vehicle."

That, coupled with the sight of Dad's old friend Jon Baritus, made the fog brought on by the overdose disappear completely.

My hands still shook, and my body was still sluggish, but my mind was clear. And that's all that I needed.