“It was an accident”, the man in the police uniform said with an apologetic smile. I could almost hear the quotation marks surrounding the word “accident”, but I couldn’t be sure if the people surrounding me did as well. My face contorted into what you would call an empathetic expression.
The woman next to me, probably the sister, broke down in tears. The man who had stood behind her the whole time cried silently. I offered no comfort, not that I would have had any.
______
“Mr Black, what are you still doing here?” A warm, feminine voice broke through my never stopping thoughts. It was Hilda, my assistant. She had assumedly stayed late to finish up the paperwork I had given her a few days ago. I didn’t feel sorry for her. Everyone had their work to do and paperwork while boring was pretty easy to do and important at the same time.
I turned to her slowly and offered her a soft smile. “I’m still trying to get my mind to, pardon my french, shut up, but I haven’t managed that my whole life, so. Thanks for worrying though, I think I need to leave the building for the night and go somewhere else to maybe get some shut-eye. Have a nice evening.” With those words I turned around leaving Hilda by herself.
As I slowly walk through the empty corridors of the building I notice that my hair is constantly brushing my shoulders. I should get it cut soon. With a few swift movements I put it up in a short ponytail.
It’s dark outside, but warm still because it is the middle of summer. I breathe in the fresh air. The lanterns colour the streets in a dulled yellowish tone. I keep on walking while the stars shine above me.
______
I sharpen the knives. I have always had a weird fascination with knives. My friends used to laugh at me for it, my family was worried and my therapist advised me to be on the lookout for other possible hobbies.
It started as an obsession when I was still younger, maybe about 8 years. There weren’t any problems with it as I just collected knives I thought to be beautiful, made of different materials, for different purposes, some with extravagantly decorated handles or with especially long blades.
I laugh softly as I remember my friend Emily telling me that it was stupid having that many knives and not use them. “But I do use them”, I replied. Just not for what she meant when saying that.
______
“Mika.” I close my eyes, indulging in the memory. “Mika, please don’t! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” “Funny story that I would find you lying behind my back about me, about things you have no idea of.” “Mika, put down the knife, please! I swear it wasn’t my idea, I didn’t mean to hurt you!” “Hurt me? That’s funny when I explicitly told you that people like yourself couldn’t ever hurt me with your unhappiness, your unwillingness to accept yourself for who you are. Just, never, ever, ridicule me, Emily.” “I’m sorry! I really didn’t mean-” I precisely remember the gurgling noise she made. The blood immediately flooded her lungs. I couldn’t have allowed for her to fill my head with anymore of her hideous, poisonous lies.
It was an accident, they had said back then too. Because no one would have suspected the 13 year old boy with way too long hair and a body so slim you had to be scared to break him by so much as breathing in the same direction. The others of course knew. They didn’t say anything though. My knife collection was already quite impressive back then.
The second time I was older, maybe 17 or 18 and at a club with my “friends”. A woman had been trying to get my attention the whole night and since I was very bored I decided to humor her for a while.
“So your name is Mika? That’s a nice name, I’m Karen.” Yeah, Karen was a nice girl, I guess, but she introduced me to someone that really got on my nerves. She had a step sister who was called Diane. Diane had short, blond hair, big breasts and was probably about 27 years old. I didn’t know what to make of her. Throughout the conversation I realised that she was quite smart. An impression that she kind of ruined after a few hours by asking me whether I’d like to accompany her to a hotel to spite her sister. I agreed though, bored and a little drunk.
“Mika, would you turn off the lights, it’s bright enough outside.” I turned off the lights. It was weird, being this alone with a person whose intention I didn’t know. I didn’t like the atmosphere that surrounded Diane. It carried something I couldn’t quite place, a certain intimacy that I had never felt before.
“Come sit with me, Mika”, the woman said with a, what I now interpret as suggestive, smile and patted the hotel bed beside her. I sat down. She moved closer slowly taking my face into her hands and turning it towards her. “You’re the most beautiful boy I have ever seen, Mika, you know, I like the pretty ones.” Her eyes didn’t seem to be able to catch enough of my “beauty” so she leaned closer, closing the gap between us by pressing our mouths together.
I was in shock. I had never been kissed before nor had I ever felt the desire to do so. Diane moved closer, putting her hands atop of mine which had remained frozen on the bed. The woman then proceeded to press closer and lifted one hand to touch my chest or just generally my upper body. That was a red flag for me though and I was finally able to wake up from the trance I had been thrown in by her sudden kiss and pushed her off of me.
“What’s wrong, Mika?” “Oh, you have the guts to ask that?”, I said, angrier than I had ever been before which doesn’t mean that I didn’t handle the situation as calmly as I always do. “I don’t know why I put trust in a stranger. Diane, say goodbye.” Red. Everywhere. That was the only time ever that I didn’t cover up what I left behind.
Another accident.
