𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐀 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

XI

                                    Henrys pov
Here's a fact; Charlie and Theo Ballinger, twin heirs to Alphabet inc, bleed a lot. I tried to give them the easy way out, an efficient clean throat slit, but they wouldn't stay still. My outfit had to suffer the consequences. And that irritated me.

I light my cigar as I make my way back to my dorm, careful to not let a trace behind as I open the door. I start undressing, one by one. I cringe at the blood on my new Prada tye as I throw everything in the washing machine.

I take a shower quickly, because it's 6:03 am and Jane should be coming in here to tell me about the murder I just committed. I don't usually do it so early in the morning, but after the events of last night—she deserved a good sleep.

And when I change into my dark pants and new button-up, I wait for her to enter. And after a few minutes, I hear the code to my door unlock and hear the sound of heels against the wood. I turn off the boiling pot of water just as she walks into the room. I try to prepare myself for the distress on her face, but it never works.

I ought to be the boy with the heart of stone. You would've thought that after everything I've had done to me and everything I'd done to myself that I would be used to everything by now. But somewhere along the way, I had accidentally let it turn to glass. And every time I see her face—the guilt that should be mine plaguing her, so visibly—I felt the heart of glass break into shards, that crumbled and tore at my lungs, and I wanted to use those very shards to relive hatred of myself for being the cause of her pain.

It's not like I'm doing this willingly. I don't have a choice. But, secretly, deep down, I know I do. There's a voice in my head–the voice of the little kid who wanted to relate to the hero more than the villain for once. What's the point in escapism if it's just a reminder of a happy ending you're never going to get? it's little me telling me I'll do things differently. That I'll defend myself, stand up for myself, but when?

But every time I see her lose sleep, every time she worries about something that should've never involved her in the first place—I hate myself more and more. Back when it was just me, I could hide behind narcissistic qualities, but I can't defend myself through humor and ego now.

"Jane?" I whisper. "What's wrong?" I'm what's wrong.

"Sorry for bargaining in," my fingernails dig into the skin of my palm as small torture at her words, "it was just another vision. I could've waited to tell you-"

"Shut up and come here." Had she been fully awake she would've glared, but the nightmare is still feigning on her. She lays on my bed, which I try not to think about too much, and fail.  And even though I had just relived the event a moment ago, I asked her; "What happened?"
—---

      It's fifth period, debate class, and I'm still not fully awake. You would think after years of mild insomnia that it would be my new normal, but no. Even as I lay awake in the middle of the night, I couldn't stop my mind from drifting to a five-foot-six brunette.  Things I wanted to do to her, yes, but also worry. I couldn't help but spend all my nights researching whatever I could about her therapist. The paralytics took a while to wear off, she had told me. They're just to keep me still. Just what are they doing to her? When I find out, I can't promise not to tear them apart with my bare hands.

A kick to my calves reels me out of my thoughts and back to the present. Under the table, I kick Jane back as she mouths, Are you even listening?
I don't need to, I reply.
She glares at this. Conceited, arrogant, prick, she mouths.
Confident, rich, hot, are just naming my best qualities? I say with a lazy wink.

Before she can reply, the professor faces the class again, and being the good girl she is, Jane ignores me. When my eyes find the words Partners: on the board, I can feel my eyebrows raise. In a classroom where I'm sure I know more than the person who's supposed to teach me, I become disinterested easily. It's only moments like these, where I attend for entertainment, that I actually listen.