Stay With Me [Larry Stylinson]

Prologue

Big blue eyes were laced with hurt and pain, but mostly confusion. Their owner, a small boy at the age of fourteen, maybe fifteen, hastily released the knife he was holding, letting it clank to the floor with a loud noise that forcefully brought him back to earth. His eyes widened at the sight in front of him. He frantically made a few steps back, his small hand coming up to cover his mouth, horror present in his features.

His eyes locked with cold, unmoving, empty eyes of his father and he gasped, quickly looking away. It seemed like they were looking down at him with judgement, hatred and contempt, even now that the man was dead. Hot tears ran down the boy's cheeks, making his face red and eyes bloodshot and puffy.

The room was dimmed, the only light coming from a small lamp standing next to the TV on the cupboard. The family was definitely rich, the evidence was in the expensive furniture, the laptop on the coffee table, right beside a golden watch and an iPad. However, all of the fancy electronics were turned off, cloaking the room in complete silence, except the boy's harsh breathing and his sniffling. He was frightened. After all, he was just a child, pushed into an act that he could never be held responsible for.

The doorbell rang. His head snapped up and he turned around, slowly walking into the hall, where he stood at the safe distance from the grey front door. It rang again and the boy jumped, his face scrunching up in fear. He nervously swallowed, feeling panic grab him, heating up his blood, speeding up the rate of his heart. He swallowed again and bit into his bottom lip, willing it to stop trembling. He walked back to the living room, his bare feet quiet on the polished brown wood.

Another ring of the doorbell cut through the silence and he looked down again. The unmoving body lay there like it was mocking him. He forced himself to focus, but froze immediately after as he heard the sound of keys jiggling in the lock.

Run.

His tiny feet quickly carried him to the sliding glass door in the living room and his fingers shakily fumbled with the doorknob. Hysteria grabbed him, when he didn't get it opened quickly enough and he let out an angry shout, slapping his palm against the solid glass. Something in his wrist snapped, but the boy felt no pain, pulling, shaking and turning the doorknob. His breathing was erratic, his head was spinning and he felt like he was just seconds away from passing out. Right as he was about to give up on getting away, the door silently opened to the side and the boy let out a huge sigh of relief.

He stopped there just for a second and turned back around to look at the body lying on the floor. His father's button up was drenched in blood and it was only then that he noticed that the red liquid was also on his hands, on the doorknob and on the glass and that he felt its metal taste in his mouth. Bloodied footprints were everywhere, proof to what he had just done. And there, around the body, a puddle of blood was slowly spreading, until the boy had a feeling that they could fill the pool in the backyard with it.

Horror seized him, panic holding him tight in its freezing arms, making him whimper in fear. His whole body shook. He fell down to the floor with a wave of nausea. His empty stomach clenched helplessly, his whole body spasming and he put his head down to the floor, pressed his forehead to the cold parquet in hope of cooling down and calming his body.

His body slowly relaxed and while there was nothing he wanted more than to just stay like that, in the same exact position, the rational part of his brain took the lead and he crawled towards the body. He was careful not to touch any more blood and grabbed the knife tightly into his bloodied hand, before he stood up and ran out of the house, not looking back again.

The backyard of their house was big, with a pool and a playground for his spoiled younger sister. The grass was a bright green colour, because they always made sure it was well watered, although the colours didn't really matter in the middle of the night, when the only source of the light was the moon and lots of small stars.

An owl hooted somewhere above the boy's head and his heart jumped in his chest, but he forced himself to focus and get away. He ran down the tiles in the middle of the backyard, until he came to the low door of the fence and effortlessly jumped right over it. He landed and felt a stinging pain shot up his ankle, but swiftly ignored it and continued. Countless little stones dug into his sensitive feet, but it didn't even hurt.

Run.

He ran as fast as his strong footy thighs allowed him, tripping a few times, but never losing his rhythm, even when he came into the woods and the darkness seemed to swallow him whole. The moon's light couldn't reach past the thick treetops, but that didn't bother him. He's never been afraid of the dark. He blindly moved forward, until his foot hit a root and he fell over with a small grunt.

He finally allowed himself to stop. He leaned against the tree, letting his head rest against the damp bark. His breathing slowly calmed, the adrenaline wore off and a few seconds later, hot thick tears started running down the boy's cheeks again, never ending. Soft, gentle wind swayed the leaves that started whispering endless stories. A bird flew off the branch, the sound of its wings cutting into the silence. A few dogs were warning each other of the dangers a life can bring with barking. Owls talked to each other, their sharp hoots making the boy wince.

What has he done? He remembered the jiggling of the keys in the lock of the front door. Did anyone see him? It was probably his mother, coming home from work to take him home. Maybe she even had one of his sisters with her. He swallowed nervously and tried standing up, knowing he has to get as far away as possible. Exhaustion knocked him back down and he slipped away, too weak to try fighting it.