Chapter Eighteen - Capitulation

32 3 4

Chapter Eighteen -- Capitulation

I flashed her my usual, trademarked smile that everyone seemed to fall for. It was one that I used often that reminded me that I had a persuasive look. It was the only way I could hide my true emotions and fool those around me into thinking I was everything that I wasn't.

The illusion didn't break away from the fact that I was insane and people knew it. A smile though; Mastered so well that it could give temporary deception toward anyone I chose for my victim.

All but one, it seemed.

Although she was in the same room as me, she felt so far away. Her eyebrows pulled together, showing off a small frown while she remained the the door frame of my room - Uncertain.

I didn't move from my position. I leaned against the busted wall that I destroyed only moments ago. The smell of alcohol reeked up the place so badly that it seemed possible to get drunk off the fumes.

I kept my smile but I felt it switching off my face as I admired her features. It turned psychotic, maybe because I felt psychotic. Could she be the reason? She tended to force me into showing my true colors.

Interesting, I thought.

If she came any later, I would be driving somewhere far away by now with a knife in my pocket.

Our staring contest remained in silence before I broke it by chuckling and running my hands through my hair to push it out of my face. My knuckles stung at the touch of strands of hair tickling along them.

After what felt like forever observation, she silently closed the door behind her. Her actions made me nervous and when she turned back, her expression was completely unreadable. I knew she was attempting to mask her true emotions with anger. If only I could get inside her head.

Even in the dim lighting of my room, the only light source being from my bedside lamp, her eyes were bright. I always liked that about her. You could almost be mistaken of where the actual lighting of the room was.

Boring into them, I felt an odd sense of sorrow wash over me. Those big doe eyes were making me vulnerable - something I almost never felt.

I frowned and broke my eye contact, looking down at my bloodied hands.

For a moment, her presence made me forget why I was so angry. The feeling of emotional relief didn't last long though.

The news of my once best friend dying was still as fresh as an open wound. Piercing through my heart, languish overcame me. I was responsible for his death, his pain, his hurt. If I wasn't so arrogant, if I didn't leave him, he'd still be here - succeeding in life as he should have been.

Finally, I looked up at her with glossed eyes. She was in the same position she'd been in since she got here, her hand clutched on the wall as if she was using it for safety. I sniffed, my nose stuffed up, causing a stinging in the nasal passage.

Her hair was dry which meant it wasn't raining out. You'd think of all days, it'd be pouring. Maybe that's just my opinion on the subject.

She was wearing her usual signature style of ripped blue jeans. The realization that she was wearing the sweater I gave her stopped a single a tear from falling down my face.

"I don't know why I called you," I stayed quiet.

Silently, she dropped her bag on the floor of my room. Her kind eyes detected the room, the holes in the walls, the smashed bottle of booze. I looked down at my bloody knuckles, tightening and untightening them, letting the blood flow back into them a little easier - Slightly amused every time they turned white. Trying to do anything that kept my mind off of the devastating news. Anything to keep my eyes off of her.

EliasWhere stories live. Discover now