Pink

9. Misses Potato Head

To say I was anxious would be an understatement. I was shitting myself at my conundrum. In retrospect, I only had two options as the numbers on my digital clock slowly changed getting closer and closer to midnight. I could, A)Go to the library where I possibly could die by the hands of Pink and figure out who the hell was "The Divine", or B)Jump ship and get as far as I could away from this doomed university and that monstrously vile human being named Pink Langdon. Either way I went, there were horrendous consequences. One way, I could potentially risk the delicate skin on my neck while letting me live up that saying of "Curiosity killed the cat!". On the other hand, I'd save my life while not mirroring Pink and perhaps even prevent further killings. Oh and lose a shit ton of money because I wasn't going to classes and would probably miss my finals.  

Talk about a goddamn problem. See you thought that it was a difficult choice choosing between towel colors to go in your bathroom or even which way to style your hair when you went to school. Here I was sweating bullets wondering if saving my life was worth more than saving the lives others. This should've been on Brain Games or some other TV show that fucks with your head. 

I'm sure you, my readers, are reading this like "DUH! You should stay there to help other people." or "Yo, Pink is obviously into you. You need to bang." But, I don't think you guys understand how truly selfish I am. I am an only child. I don't share, and I'm a freaking human bean! I have fight or flight instincts inside me. They control my every move in order to increase my fitness also known as my chances of survival. Any rational and darwinistic human would've been saying "Peace out, girl scout. I need to pass on my genes someday by pooping out a baby" the day I met Pinkerton after her slit my roommate's throat. That's what any normal person would've done. They would've reported him to the police and put him on trial for the murders of all those youthful and practically innocent college men and women--okay, college kids aren't sinless souls, but you get my point. And now, I honestly do not know what to do.

I'm not a normal human being, and I don't think I have been for my entire life to be honest. I've always done and liked things because I liked them and not because I was a conformist. I was bullied most of my life because of it. I was always that weird kid who was constantly out of place like a giraffe in a herd of white sheep. I've always listened to my instincts and done what my body found fit. I smoked pot because I wanted to be high and not because I was pressured into it by my peers. I chose to watch sci-fi shows and read strange alien novels and comics because I liked being a strange freaky nerd. Now when I'm an adult trying to figure out if I want to stay or go, I cannot make up my mind because I lose either way. God, I should do the right thing, but what was the right choice in my case? Jesus, the big man upstairs is probably having a hearty laugh just letting shit pile on in my life. I was sick of this. Couldn't I just go to hell instead of exist in this shitty existence, or was I here because I needed to learn some backwards lesson?

I rolled over in my bed after trying to get a few extra hours of shut eye because I knew that I'd be up practically all night. Also if I was going to die tonight, I didn't want to die sleepy. I needed to be sharp and on my game. Yet alas! I couldn't sleep because my blood pressure was higher than the Empire State Building. My heart beat was fluttering faster than the the flapping speed of hummingbird wings. It wasn't fair! 

Why was it so difficult for me to sleep without the use of any suppressants? Why was it that every time I closed my eyes and tried to sleep I saw Cheryl and her killer? Or was it that every time I tried to dream could smell the disinfectants used when the coroner hauled her body away? Perhaps it was the psychosomatic feeling of Cheryl's fingers at the apex of my thighs that made me what up crying. Whatever the reason, it made me lay sleepless on crumpled sheets on a bed that hadn't been made since she died six feet away from me.