The same night you went to bed feeling a slight bit of happiness inside you. It was because of Michael. How he responded to you and only you, how he looked at you. The thoughts you had made you realise that the small childhood crush you thought you were over, was slowly coming back. Whenever you were with Michael you suddenly got a burst of happiness inside you and whenever he looked at you or showed any sign of interest in you you got that feeling again, the weird feeling you always used to have around him when he was younger.
It gave you that oddly comforting feeling whenever you were with him, especially now you knew he accepted you as his friend again.
But that was all you were to him, you were sure of it. There was no way that Michael, especially now and with how much he has changed, would ever actually fall in love with someone.
You sometimes wondered what it would be like if Michael was truly yours, how it would be to know that a person such as Michael loved and cared for you. But all you could do was wonder and dream of the thoughts in your mind... How stupid of you to, you knew exactly that all the little thoughts you had would never, ever become a reality.
And besides that, you didn't plan on telling Michael about your love for him either. Maybe once, somewhere far in the future when your romantic love for the man is gone, but not now. You wouldn't want to ruin your friendship, you were happy that he was your friend, even if you were actually secretly in love with him and even if you knew that the both of you would probably never be more than friends... But again, you were glad he was your friend, and that you finally had the friendship you had always wanted with him, even if he had changed and doesn't even say a word anymore.
You knew you changed too. You weren't that small sweet girl with a shy yet bubbly personality anymore. You were a murderer now, someone who just went nuts one day, that's what they call us right?
But the thing was, Michael was too, he was also a murderer, someone who went nuts one day. The both of you once had someone else's blood on your hands, hurt someone, just because you wanted to, just because you wanted revenge. Maybe that was the one thing you always had in common, maybe that's what reconnected the both of you again. The bloodlust, the urge to hurt someone, the urge to pierce a knife into someone's flesh, the urge to take revenge on the ones who hurt you..
Who knows?
.
.
.
[2 weeks later.]
You were sitting on your desk, making another one of your paper roses. You were minding your business, quietly humming a tune as you did. Suddenly the door opened and footsteps filled the room. You slightly moved your head to look at the door.
"Hey [Y/N], sorry to bother you." Ismael said. Your head turned around, eyes on the man standing in the doorway before you turned your head to your desk again, "It's alright" You said, putting the paper flower you'd just made on the desk before turning around to look at Ismael again. "So what happened, why are you here?" You asked the guard who stood in the doorway. "Doctor Loomis would like to talk to you, I've been told that there are people for you." He replied as you raised a brow. People? For me?
"Oh? Alright then." You said, standing up from your desk and walking over to Ismael who was still standing in the doorway. You raised your wrists as he cuffed them and led you out of the room, towards Loomis's office.
. . .
"Hello [Y/N]" Loomis spoke as you sat down in front of him and gave him a small greeting nod. "So as Ismael has probably told you, you have visitors. They travelled a long way to see you and will be very glad to meet you. They're waiting in the cafeteria, please, for the sake of us all, be on your best behaviour." Loomis said, causing your curiosity to rise. You gave him a nod as the both of you stood up and walked out of the office, to the cafeteria with 2 guards beside you.
As you walked inside the cafeteria you looked around in curiosity, secretly hoping it was someone you knew, yet you had your doubts. Two people were sitting at one of the tables and as they turned around to look at you, the slight smile you had on your face faded. "These people are journalists, they'd like to talk to you if you'd allow that." Loomis said as he led you towards them.
There weren't any visitors for you. Just some stupid journalists hoping to get more shit to tell the people about you, to make an even bigger fool out of you. You sighed as you sat down in front of the people.
The woman gave a smile as you made eye contact while the man next to her looked at Loomis for a second, who gave him a nod. The man grabbed a recorder before the woman began talking. "Hi [Y/N], my name is Dana, and that's Aaron." She said, looking at the man for a second who smiled at you before turning her head at you again. "We're investigative journalists," Aaron said with a small smile on his face. "We've just begun making podcasts. We like to re-examine incidents with an unbiased lens." He added as the woman gave a nod. "Now... We've been following your case for a while now and we have found some information, but yet we would rather talk to you in person so we can get a glimpse of how you had experienced that night." The woman, Dana said and took a long pause.
You felt slightly irritated by having to tell the story again. You didn't want to, you didn't want everyone to know what you'd done. To let people listen to your murders for their own entertainment.
"Do you remember anything about that night [Y/N]?" The man asked as you stayed silent. "About the people you've killed?" He added. You took a deep breath before replying, "I haven't killed anyone." You said, keeping your answer short. "Yes... That is indeed right. But-- Your father is still in a coma." Aaron said. "But is he dead?" You asked him, slightly tilting your head to the side while looking at the man. He opened his mouth to speak again but stopped himself. Dana noticed, after a minute of silence she spoke, "Do you ever think about your father [Y/N]? And why you did it?" She asked as your eyes moved to her. "No." You answered. "Do you not feel... Regret?" She asked another question. "I don't." You answered again.
"I've heard that... On the night it happened, there was a broken phone on the ground which had been overfilled by messages from, I assume, classmates or friends. They were talking about you and your father, sending videos of him... In a fight with another man, in one of the videos we saw that you had been hit by your father, was that the reason for your broken nose?" She asked and you gave a slow nod. "What happened after? Who and how did someone stab you with a stick? How did the both of you manage to go home?" She questioned. You let out a slightly annoyed sigh as you debated whether to or to not tell the truth.
"I don't know anymore."
"Oh... Well, are you very, very sure that you don't? Not even one small detail or memory about it?" Dana asked. "No, I don't." You said as she gave a slow understanding nod.
"Do you think that this would've never happened if you asked for help, for someone to have helped you repair the relationship between you and your father?" Aaron asked, silencing you. You've heard people say this many times to you, and each time anyone did, it started to anger you more and more...
. .
You knew it wouldn't, it never worked. You remember when your mother would go to couples therapy with your father when you were younger. You stayed with your grandmother while they went and whenever they came back, her eyes were all red and puffed up as if she had been crying for hours. Whenever you asked her what was wrong she always gave you the same answer, "I had an allergic reaction honey, no need to worry about me." But you weren't stupid, you knew something happened and it was not because of an allergic reaction. But you could never blame your mother, the only thing she wanted was to protect you, to at least make it look like everything was okay so you didn't have to deal with their problems. Your mother was the one who protected you from him, she took the hits that were meant for you, always tried to keep you away from him and always made sure you were okay. After she died, there was no one to protect you, to ask you if you were okay or to care for you.
It was just you. You wished people knew that. You wished people knew how bad your childhood was and why you turned out like this. But you couldn't trust anyone because they'd always find a way to make you feel like the bad guy again.
. .
After a minute of looking down at the table, your eyes moved to Aaron, "No, it would've made it worse." You replied. "Why is that?" He asked and you stayed silent, not wanting to continue talking to them about the subject.
"Was it because of your childhood?" He asked. You gave him no reply, you felt your breathing become slightly heavier. "Because of the death of your mother and sibling?" He asked again, causing you to clench your teeth and squeeze your fists. "It was revenge, wasn't it [Y/N]?" He spoke as you stared at the man with a deadly gaze. Nobody had ever said that. Many people have said things about your mother and your dead sibling, but no one ever came to the conclusion of you doing all of this, simply for revenge. As he kept on blabbering shit to you, pretending as if he knew better than you, you felt yourself getting irritated. You wanted to strangle the man, to stab him, to hurt him. You wanted him to shut. the. fuck. up.
As Dana noticed your behaviour she looked at Aaron and then at Loomis with a slightly worried Look. Loomis looked at you for a second, by the looks of your body language, he knew something would happen if he didn't stop the man from angering you. Not like it was the journalists' intention, but journalists take it too far sometimes, even he knew that. "I think [Y/N] has spoken enough. For now, it is best for her to return to her room." Loomis told the journalists as they gave him an understanding nod. "Ismael please bring her to her room." Loomis told the guard.
He walked over to you as you stood up.
"Thank you for talking to us [Y/N]" Dana said as you stood. You gave her a quick stare before heading out of the cafeteria with Ismael. Soon you were in front of the door of your room again, you let out a sigh. You turned around as you heard Ismael talk, "Hey, don't let those bad memories get to your head." Ismael said, giving a small smile before closing the door and walking away. You turned around again and walked to your bed. You threw yourself on it and gave a low sigh. You buried your head in your pillow. You decided you'd stay in bed, for now, dinner would be soon. You turned your head and looked at the door, thinking about what just happened.
You hated yourself for getting mad at the dumb things they said. Yet, thinking about it made you sit in silence, the man, Aaron, was right. You did it for revenge.
You kept staring at the door with an unfocused gaze.
You didn't want to hurt anyone, you never wanted to. If it was up to you, you'd fix your family, make it the way it was when you were happy, when all of you were. When your father didn't drink and when your mother was actually happy and when she didn't have to fake everything, when you were all just a happy family. You didn't want to hurt your father, you loved him, deep down in your heart you knew you did. But what he did, to you, to your mother, was unforgivable.
Whenever you felt like your father didn't deserve what happened to him or when you felt bad for him, you imagined a younger version of yourself. Seeing how much pain she was in, you were. Hiding the bruises under the long-sleeved dresses you always wore... It angered you, seeing how such a young child had to go through that.
And you promised yourself, your younger self, your mother, that you will never let him hurt you again. And that you will make him regret everything he has done to all of you.
You let out a sigh as you felt the tears in your eyes, you had to stop thinking about this, it wasn't making anything better. You wiped the tears as you tried thinking of something else... Michael was the first person that popped up in your mind. You couldn't wait to see Michael again. The thought of him had washed every other thought in your mind away. It was just him.
. . .
[7 PM. Dinner time]
You sat at the table in the cafeteria where you always sat, where Michael always sat. In the corner, the table was barely visible to the guards, you and Michael mostly sat there so you could communicate and speak to him without any guard coming all up in your business, the guards didn't pay much attention to him sitting there, as long as they knew he was stuck in the chains and unable to get out, they were fine with it. Yet they did get a little suspicious whenever you were sitting with him. You tapped your fingertips against the table as you waited. You were looking down at your half-empty plate, you just couldn't eat anymore, the food was tasteless.
You let out a small sigh, you were still waiting on Michael. He should've been here by now. You wondered what he was doing. After some minutes your stomach growled and you let out an annoyed sigh, you were hungry. You knew you wouldn't get much to eat after this so decided to eat the last of your food, despite it tasting that bad.
After another few minutes, you were done and set the fork down on the plate but as you did, you heard footsteps come towards your table. You tilted your head up to see Michael standing by your table and a smile quickly appeared on your face. The 2 guards standing next to him sat him down in front of you and another man put his plate in front of him.
You looked at the guards walking away from the table "That's strange, since when does anyone other than Ismael allow you to sit with me without any problems?" You asked, mostly talking to yourself in surprise. Your head moved towards Michael who lightly shrugged. You gave him a small smile, "Maybe Loomis told them to? Either way, I'm glad they did." You said, earning a nod from him.
"I was waiting on you, I almost got worried, I thought you wouldn't come." You said as he slowly shook his head. "Did you also have some sort of interview today?" You asked him, looking at Michael with slight curiosity. He shook his head as you gave an understanding nod. "2 people randomly interviewed me today." You said, looking away. He tilted his head. You looked at him with little confusion until you suddenly realised what he was trying to say. "Oh, they-- they just asked me about my murders, as usual." You replied.
Michael stayed still while looking at you for a minute. Then he shook his head as you tried to figure out what he meant. He knew something was off-- He always does. You stared at him, considering if you should ask him what he meant or just tell him what happened. You knew you'd make it hard for him to answer you when you'd ask him and you also knew he didn't really like that the people in the cafeteria saw him actually interact with people, in this case, you. So you decided to keep it simple for the both of you and just tell him.
You let out a small sigh and quickly looked around before talking, "They suddenly started to talk about my past and all, mostly my childhood." You said, pausing for a second while your eyes were focused on the table. "I don't know how they'd gotten all that information. It angered me how they used it against me." You mumbled, trying to be as quiet as possible. Michael was still quiet, not like he ever spoke, but you knew he was listening to you. You could read his eyes whenever you looked at him, you always did, you were good at reading certain people. Michael was one of them.
He was curious, curious about your childhood you assumed. His eyes told you he wanted to know more about it yet he most likely didn't ask out of respect.
You thought in silence for a minute, could you tell Michael? He would understand right? Besides, he had gone through something familiar too.
.
.
But Michael on the other side... He already knew you came from a rocky home. It was no question that Michael would have any doubt of noticing the symptoms of someone who was emotionally and physically hurt as a child. Because he was too, and he knew what it felt like. And even when the both of you were younger, he could notice it in your behaviour. You may not have ever told the truth about your home and what was happening inside it, but yet, Michael could see every bit of sadness hidden deep in your eyes.
And even now, after it had already been 3 years since your incident, he knew you were still in no good mental state. He could tell you were tired and unhappy. Yet you still managed to smile every time you were with him.
Michael barely showed empathy for people. He didn't care about them or their well-being. But yet, he did have empathy for you. You were different. He sometimes even saw himself in you and related to you. But it made him feel slightly bad whenever he did. He didn't want to relate to you, he didn't want to see himself in you. Because he knew you had never deserved the things you had gone through. But he knew, the both of you weren't that different from each other.
.
.
"You don't really know much about my childhood am I right?" You asked him. He lightly and almost unnoticeably shook his head in response. Your eyes scanned the cafeteria before speaking, eyes moving down to the ground, "My father was always an alcoholic, an abuser. My father had always hurt my mother and me, they got into big fights." You explained, lowering your voice, almost whispering. "It was also the reason I couldn't go trick or treating with you the day you murdered your family." You added, pausing soon after and started to fiddle with your fingers, thinking of what to tell him.
"When my mom was pregnant, my parents got into an argument while my father was driving. When the argument got worse he suddenly crashed due to him not focusing on the road. My father got out of the car crash with a broken arm and some wounds. I didn't get too badly injured, a huge piece of glass went through my chest, luckily not all the way to damage any organs, but it did leave a nasty scar though. But for my pregnant mom... She fell into a coma. Weeks after, when she finally woke up she immediately went into labor, but her body was still too weak and she didn't survive. Neither did my brother. He died soon after he was born." You said and got quiet, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. hoping the tears you felt would go away. You didn't want to seem weak, especially not now. You were just not used to telling the story to people cus it always made you emotional, having to think of all the horrible memories.
"Soon after, my father started to take his anger all out on me. Every day it got worse, from mentally to physically hurting me in every way he could. And I still tried so hard to be loved by him, to follow his rules, to get his appreciation, but nothing ever worked." You said, your voice slightly cracking as the burning rage inside you rose. "He never seemed to care about me, I was just too stupid to realise, to realise that whatever I did, he always tried to make me feel like what I did wasn't good enough. But on Halloween, the night I went out to go to a party for once and he suddenly showed up all drunk, almost beating a kid to death and then proceeding to push me off of a bridge when I tried to get him home safely... I had enough." You mumbled, looking down with an emotionless face as you felt Michael's eyes still piercing into you.
"I almost murdered him. I almost had him, yet he survived and despite being in a coma now, I still hope, every day, with every inch of flesh and bone in my body, and every ounce of anger instilled in me, that he'll die, or wake up and die in the most painful way there will ever be." You said coldly, pure hate displaying in your voice.
"I will make sure of that." You said as your eyes returned to Michael, who was looking at you-- As if he was admiring you. You looked at him, slightly shocked and surprised. Seeing the look in his eyes made yours soften and the anger inside you lower in an instant. He stared at you as you stared at him, looking into the eyeholes of his mask and seeing little of his beautiful blue eyes. You never knew he had blue eyes, his eyes had always seemed so dark. Either way, you loved his eyes.
Suddenly you realised what you were doing and let out a small chuckle, "I'm sorry-- I kinda got carried away with that." You said while you ran a hand through your hair, referring to how you basically told him your whole life story, the actual reason you became a murderer. Something you promised yourself to never tell anyone. Yet you did.
But Michael wasn't just anyone.
You loved him, you always did. And you knew you could trust him.
-------[Autors note]-------
I get the ick from everything and I kinda did from some parts in this story too so hopefully it isn't too cringe yall. Anywaysss stay tuned for the next chapter.