"Uhm.. Sir? Can I help you?" I mumble while staring at him.
He breaks out into a huge grin, the kind of grin you see on little kids when they get their favorite toy.
He reaches out to me, and I start to fall backwards trying to move away. He latch...
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Ryder and I have been on the run now for a week.
I don't know if I should even call it that, as we still have no clue if the police ever came back.
Ever since that first night, he's gotten worse.
He came back late, covered in blood the first night.
I was truly stunned. If we're on the run for him doing that exact thing, why keep doing it?
But I didn't say anything.
I cleaned his mess and went to bed.
And that's now what I've been doing every night this week.
I've come to the realization this isn't just a sick hobby to him. It isn't some random thing. It's an obsession. It's tied to who he is as a person. It's the way he handles everything.
Happy? Celebrate by killing.
Sad? Fix it by killing.
Angry? Same thing.
I've gotten used to it at this point. Sometimes I think back on who I was before being taken, and I can't even remember that girl. It's like it wasn't even me. I've gotten completely wrapped up in his world. And I guess I am as wrong as him since I help and accept him.
I tried to not think about the lives being taken at first but now? It's all just numb. It's all part of the daily routine I've come accustomed to.
On Top of that, I've grown accustomed to him putting his hands on me, again. I shouldn't blame him and I try not to. I know he's stressed and he left to keep us together. He's doing this for me. I just can't say it doesn't hurt when I do everything to make him happy, only to end with a slap to the face.
He seems to be sinking deeper into his head and I don't know how to pull him out. It scares me the nights I watch him pace back and forth, talking to whatever voices he is hearing. But there's nothing I can do. There's never anything I can do.
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"FUCK! Shut UP!"
He's screaming again.
And I sit silently, watching him bash his own head attempting to shut the voices up. He's knocked himself unconscious three times, and all I could do was cradle his head and wait for him to wake.
