The Goth and His Psycho.

The Goth and His Psycho: [Chapter Five]

  “I see your intelligence levels haven’t risen in the last few years” the girl peered at him, a shadow on her face. Alex was scared to move, he didn’t want to bring out the violent side to her that seemed to linger just beneath the surface, and he noticed the way her eyes moved too quickly in their sockets, taking in everything. Her hands were shaking in her lap, and she kept flexing them, twitching every time he moved a fraction of an inch.

  “No doubt” he mumbled in reply, and she quirked an eyebrow.

  They stared at each other. He had a wild delusional urge to hug her. She looked small and lost and broken, and he just wanted to help. But if he tried anything, he could trigger the side of her that turned her into… well, not herself. So he sat and waited for her to say something.

  “Why,” she started, stopped, gave a heavy cough and continued “Why would you want to help me?” she wrung out her hands as she asked him, watching him carefully, bloodshot eyes intent on his face. He tried to come up with a decent answer, and settled for a quote he’d probably acquired from the internet.

  “Because everybody needs help sometimes” he shrugged.

  “Did you not hear about my victims?” she whispered, she shifted forward, stalking towards him like something from a horror film.

  He sat rigidly, watching as she came to rest in front of him, lent on her haunches, her wounded hands found his face and yanked it towards her, holding it steady a few inches away, their noses almost touching. Alex tried to even his breathing, tried to keep a hold on the desperate beating of his heat. But her eyes scared him, wild and unpredictable.

  “Answer me Pansy” she growled, and gave his face a shake, her jagged nails digging into his cheeks.

  “Yes” he stuttered out, clutching a fistful of his jeans, to stop himself from touching her.

  “You don’t care?” she hissed, there was fire in her eyes, but she wasn’t angry, it was just… Alex really couldn’t explain it. There was violence there, shining and bright and burning to be unleashed. But it was contained, and he could see her struggling, he could feel her hands shaking against his skin, and the way her jaw was clenched tightly, he knew she didn’t want to hurt him, he could see it, but he also knew there was something urging her to do it.

  “No, I don’t” he wheezed, breathing harsh. She stared at him, eyes wide and surprised.

  Then she stepped away. She dropped her hands and stood so quickly Alex had to blink once before realising she was actually standing, then he looked up at her, waiting for something to happen, but she just stared at him. So after a few moments, he moved too, slowly. She jerked, but when he paused and held up his hands, she settled, so he stood, very slowly.

  “I can get you back to your house” she murmured, not blinking as she stared at his face, he found it hard meeting her eyes.

  “What?” he asked dumbly. She looked at him for a moment, and then she turned and strolled away. Deeper into the forest.

  “Bree!” he called and took a staggering step after her. She stopped, turned and stared at him. He pictured her stood there, eyes amused with a hand on her hip, like she probably would have been when she was younger, but then his vision cleared, and she stood rigidly, never blinking.

  She waited. So he made his way towards her, carefully placing each foot before moving forward. She waited until he was in front of her, and then she turned again and started walking, slowly, a slight limp to her step.

  It was only then, stupidly, that Alex realised what she was wearing, and he felt a moment of panic run through him. She was barefoot, and only then did he remember the bloody footprint from the house, he came to the conclusion that that must have been the reason for the limp. She was wearing what looked like pyjammas, long trousers and a long sleeved button up shirt, bloodied and ripped in some places. Even though they covered a lot of skin, the clothing items looked paper thin and flimsy.