Part 2: Villain

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Hey hey hey, so this is the second part of this two-shot, which means that, obviously, this is the end of the story. there will be blood. and kissing. and murder. enjoy.

Part 2 - Villain


A lot can change in three years.

Three years from now, you could’ve met the love of your life. You could’ve gotten addicted to drugs. You could’ve gone to prison. You could’ve won the lottery. You could’ve died.

And, in my case, you could’ve lost your mind.

I’ve made peace with it, really. It’s okay. It happens. We go crazy. I mean, everyone else was already crazy, so it was only a matter of time before I joined the party. Let me tell you, it’s a lot more fun once you just accept that you’re fucked up.

Okay, I wouldn’t exactly call it fun, but at least I can sleep better at night not having to worry about what the hell has happened to my mind. I know what happened to it: It decided that it just couldn’t take being sane any longer. It gave up on fighting and let me descend. But it happens to everyone, right?

Besides, I’m not that crazy.

It’s the scream that catches my attention.

Three years ago, it would’ve scared the hell out of me, but now it just makes a smile appear on my lips. I head off down the city alley in the direction that the sounds are coming from—not only is there the scream; there are also pleas for mercy, sounds of struggling and sounds of pain. It’s music to my ears.

When I turn the corner, I find myself behind a shitty-looking building, in a corner that seems like it hasn’t been visited in years—until now, that is. On the ground, there’s a man who looks to be in his thirties, clutching at a gaping wound in his stomach. Standing over him with a knife in his hand is a guy who looks oddly familiar, but I can’t see that well in the dark.

Three years ago, I would’ve panicked at the possibility of running into someone I’ve met before, because I haven’t met many nice people. Now, though, I get excited—if this is someone who has wronged me, well, I’m not the helpless little kid I used to be.

The man on the ground sees me and lifts his head up. “Help me!” he gasps out. “Call the police, an ambulance, something!”

What he doesn’t realize is that that’s the last thing I’m going to do.

The guy who’s standing spins around. Even though it’s dark out, I can see his face clearly, and by the widening of his eyes, I know that he can see my face, too. The world seems to stop. We recognize each other immediately.

He’s hardened—I can tell. Everything about him has changed immeasurably yet stayed exactly the same. It’s all there in his face, in the way he carries himself, in the bloody knife he’s holding. Vic.

I thought I’d never see him again.

Not even the man screaming as he bleeds to death on the ground can take my attention away. I’m lost in a cacophony of thoughts and feelings and memories, memories of two fucked up kids who couldn’t fix each other—because that’s not possible, really—but found comfort and solace in each other nonetheless. I can remember the way he made my pathetic sixteen-year-old self feel, and what surprises me is how similar it was to what I’m feeling right now. It feels like a giant weight has suddenly been lifted off of my chest, as if I’ve been holding my breath for all this time, hoping somewhere in the back of my mind that he’d be okay after I witnessed his abduction.

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