Bruised (Patrick Hockstetter)

Death Tonight

(⚠️ Gore and Suicide/Homicide attempts)

I thought she might've been real.

My eyes roll to the back of my head as I flutter my eyes open. A glossy film covers my eyes and I feel as if I'm submerged in water. Looking down I can see that my feelings are not phantom.

My arms are at my side and my head rests just above the water line. Instead of my usual large t shirt I'm dressed in some white frilly dress to which I don't recall the origins of.

To my right sits a piece of stained paper. The writing on it almost looks like my own but I'm sure I haven't written it. I can't quite make out the letters but I can hear light footsteps as if someone's pacing.

As the rest of the room starts to come into view I see Patrick making short strides across the room. His hands hold the sides of his head and I can hear some mumblings coming from his mouth.

  Can't turn back now.

  The window across from me shows a light grey sky. It's got to be like 5 am or some shit. How long have I been in here?

I doze in and out of consciousness and partly think I may just be dreaming. Surely I'll wake up in my bed. My vision sinks to black and I can only hear echoes of Patrick's vocal tone.

Squealing like a pig. That's what it'll be... yeah.

My face suddenly jerks to the side and I scream awakening to a tingling sensation. Patrick had been the one to slap me awake and he now hovered over me, taking in my face for his soon to be memories.

'W-what's going o-on' my tongue stumbled over itself.

Patrick sat silent for another moment studying my face. His expression was blank as if all his thoughts left his mind.

'You're going to kill yourself my love...tonight.'

I nervously giggle a bit hoping to hear him laugh back. When his face stayed rather serious the smile slid off of my face.

'You're joking....Aren't you?'

He pulled his hand out of his pocket and clasped in it was something shiny and silver. Henry's switchblade? I only watched as he grabbed my wrist. By now I knew all too well that this was not a joke or some crude game he was playing with me.

I try to yank my wrist away but he's far stronger than I am. His face was cold and still as he pressed my head under the water. My lungs start to fill and I wriggle around trying to splash as much water as I could out of the tub until he pulls me back up. I sucked in long gasps of air and dug my nails into his hand. He's now smirking and his eyes seemed to light up. Blood seeped out of his hand but he held his grip just as tight.

He rolls up my sleeve and brings the knife to my wrist. The cold blade digs in and releases warm fluid over my arms. He drags the blade from the start of my hand all the way up to my bicep with his hands trembling. He makes sure to take his time with this and I cry at the slow tearing of my skin.

  I can't make anymore sound. My mouth lays wide open as my breath is shaking and tears roll down my reddened cheeks. My body twitches a bit and I start thrashing around wildly, doing anything I can to release myself from his grip. I'm sure he planned on doing the other wrist just as agonizingly slow but I wasn't going to give him the chance.

  Patrick pushes my chest down, knocking the air out of me, and switches his grip to my other wrist which he wildly swings his knife at. While it was diagonal in shape it was still a cut meant to kill.

  By now the water had turned a rosy color and Patrick had finally let his death grip go. He stepped back staring at the animal in front of him, squealing like a pig he thought.

  As my breathing became shallow and my eyelids drooped, Patrick came back. My hands had now plopped into the water and time seemed to slow down.

  He planted a soft kiss on my lips and grabbed my wrist once more bringing it to his mouth. With blood dripping from his tongue he brought the cold metallic taste to my mouth. He deepened the kiss letting the liquid coat my throat, only pulling out when he saw fit.

'Better luck next time.' Was all he whispered into my ear before walking out of the bathroom and slamming the door shut.

  Next time.

  His words bounced around in my head. My whole body was shaking and I grabbed one of my wrists trying to hold the separated skin together. Blood still spilled out into the now crimson water and the dress I had on was now a shade of pink.

  The note to my right had splatters of blood on it now. It had been soaked by my thrashing and looked as if it might fall apart. This sick fuck studied my handwriting and made me my own damn suicide note.

  This very well may be the end of me.