Innocence || Gotham

THIRTEEN

"I feel like I'm getting deja vu, is that just me?"

Once again, Evelyn's trapped in the staircase with Jerome, whose thumb is currently digging into her cheekbone. Only this time, a small pocket knife was held in the other hand.

"Let go of me, Jerome," Evelyn commands, hardly sounding confident with her words.

Jerome gives an exaggerated shiver. "Look at ya, making me shiver when you say my name." He leans closer, their noses almost touching before saying, "Say it again."

"What do you want?"

"I hear ya brother's dead," he states, gently placing the tip of the knife on her forehead. "I'm just trynna celebrate."

Evelyn gulps at the feeling of the cold metal on her forehead but tries to show no fear. This is what he wants, she thinks, he just wants to see you scared. "Celebrate?" She repeats with a small frown.

The pocket knife slowly traces from her forehead down her jawline, not pressed deep enough to nick but enough to make sure she doesn't make any sudden movements.

"You've got nothing..." he trails off, leaning closer before moving his lips beside her ear, "holding ya back." The words make her visible shiver.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She frowns, pulling away from him. Jerome raises an eyebrow. Evelyn puts on a brave face, not showing the fear building up inside her.

What if it isn't fear? Her mind questions, surprising Evelyn. What if it's excitement?

Flashes of the night before appear. Their lips against each other, moving in synchronization. How perfect it was; the way they moved in such a unique way.

Nothing to lose, nothing holding her back. Free yourself, his voice plays from the other night. Her attention is brought back to the psycho before her, twirling his pocket knife with his fingers.

"You need help, Dollface," Jerome notes, placing the side of his knife against his chin in a thinking manner. A grin forms, making Evelyn's stomach flutter. "My help."

Evelyn takes a step closer towards him, surprising him that she would willingly do that. A small smirk forms.

Nothing holding me back.

"Fine."

Jerome raises his eyebrow in surprise. "Fine?" He twirls the pocket knife, closing the small enough gap between them.

"You wanna help? Alright, help. You're right, this isn't me. I'm not some girl who 'accidentally' kills people because of the need for a family. I'm the girl that kills because I like it and because it's a part of me. You say you can help me become myself, then do it."

"What are you, Dollface?"

Evelyn frowns. "What's that gotta do—"

"You're not normal," Jerome explains, sounding a little frustrated with her confusion, "so if ya ain't normal, what are you?"

Oh, her mind realizes. The label she's fought for so long identifies her perfectly. Saying that aloud would be a shot to her pride, but it'd free her. And what's more important than freedom?

"Come on," Jerome coos, tracing the knife over the makeup covered scar. "Say the magic word."

Evelyn sighs. "I'm a psychopath."

"A what?"

"A psychopath," Evelyn repeats, a little louder than before.

"Still can't hear ya," Jerome singsongs.