Killer Romance [Book 1] [Jeff the Killer x Reader] [JTK]

Chapter 20: Archaic (Day 7) Edited

It was almost despairful how the wind blew on the overlapping wings of planes and paper cranes flying around in your mind. You dreamt of them peacefully soaring with the skyline, circling clouds of hope and shooting spirals at the people watching down below. Black butterflies were seen deep in a morose. They watched. They watched and waited. Maybe they waited for an action. Or a scene. Some scene that would only play in an ill-stricken mind. They needed every piece of evidence that could persuade the losing side into believing that the key to life was winning. They manipulated to get what they wanted, trying to make their cause seem like a goldmine. But everyone thought true happiness was utterly unobtainable.

The butterflies were a peculiar shade. You could've sworn the ones outside your window were white, but your brain never registered color properly, most likely. You lived in an inverted world, stuck between right and wrong that sometimes were found disguised as the other. You knew that different directions held different truths, but turning your head was too difficult. Augmented reality was what you were after, and you were happy to just slip away.

"It's been an exhausting couple of days," you muttered. "We've been to Paris, and now we're on an entirely different continent."

Jeff sat on the floor next to you, legs sprawled in a sale direction, and placed his arm around your shoulders. "I agree," he said. "I actually don't believe anything that's happened, if you know what I mean. I never really realize anything that happens to me until a long time after it does. Kind of a shame, actually. I don't laugh until the joke's been buried. And I don't cry until the situation's in the grave."

Buried, but not dead. That's what he meant. Maybe he felt buried, but alive. He could breathe through mulch and concrete, and no one was brave enough to put the bullet in his head and throw a metal slab over the dirt.

You whispered, "Strange."

It didn't stop you from gazing at the interior of the room like it was in some art gallery for the twentieth century post-war Japan. It was a small museum, but every picture spoke a thousand words. Just like the innocent eyes pressed to the back of your skull. They wanted nothing to do with your spasmodic judgement.

"I don't really know what to say to you anymore," you replied to Jeff after a while.

And it was true. There wasn't a good connection between the two of you. Nothing to talk about... Nothing to do. There wasn't an answer as to why either. You just bonded in stupid, non-similar ways. You both felt victimized, and so you both felt similar, though the latter was not entirely true. You wondered what could've been if you had found a way to be friends with Jeff. Or more than friends. Didn't you want to be more than friends? Weren't you supposed to be? God, your memories were so messed up that you had no idea what a clear vision of yesterday looked like. Your days felt short and tiring, lonesome and lustful. Full of hatred. Full of the face of a man which you could just never memorize.

The both of you decided to get out of the hotel for the night and walk the streets or something like that. Jeff hated the stale air in the room and you could feel the tension getting to your head. Throbbing.

At least the moon was out to make your day a little bit brighter. You always had a special connection with it anyways. It smiled at you as if it was saying, "You're on the right track," or, "Keep going on with your perfect lifestyle." The only thing was that it was less than perfect. If the moon knew you any better, it would've crawled up the side of the earth to warn you that your lifestyle would cause trouble for everyone around you one day.