Bloody Knives in My Leftovers

Chapter 14: Honesty is NOT the Best Policy

A trigger warning for extreme descriptions of violence, delusions, and just some fucked up stuff. Read at your own discretion.

You remembered that night, listening to pop music on the speakers, feeling sick from junk food and merry-go-rounds. Your mother looking at you with that fiery compassion that only she mastered.

Well, only it wasn't really compassion. Not the way she looked at you. It was more of a weary calmness, a kind of smile that told you she was struggling to love you, to understand you.

Your little sister was the one who got that fiery compassion– no, that protection... from you.

You remember the static like buzzing, the little voice that only grew louder as you got older. Remembered it command you to toss a handful of nails into the street, compel you to hit the neighbors dog with a rake, bite strangers...desperate for the sting of blood and flesh.

You also remember the doctor visits, the moving around, the many psychiatrists your mother had to scrape by to afford. The bottles of medication made to rid you of the 'delusions'. The way she wore long sweaters to hide the nail marks and tooth carvings littering her arms.

She would hold you at night, muttering that it wasn't your fault. She knew you didn't want to, you just couldn't help it.

You were different, special...fucking–

"..crazy! I don't think I can take it anymore. It's just getting worse...nothing is helping." Your mother sobbed into the phone, hand tangled in her hair.

You sat at the kitchen table, spoon feeding your little sister with airplane noises and smiles. She happily swung her legs and swallowed each bite with a giggle.

You were sure that your mother knew she was in earshot, but her hushed whisper welling with panic made you think she tricked herself into believing you couldn't hear, or maybe didn't care.

These calls were monthly now, phoning whatever relative or friend or specialist she could. Begging for help only to be given empty sympathy and told that, 'It can't be that bad.'

The most recent incident was being expelled from another school for burying a fork into some kids' neck. You don't remember why you did it, just that it felt good to do it.

You weren't sure why they didn't press charges, after all, you were a fresh 18. But that's how all these things worked out. You would do something horrible and consequences seemed to avoid you, the buzzing in your skull assuring you that you were doing good and didn't deserve the normal punishments.

Whatever the case you were pretty damn content with it, pretending you were normal enough for everyday life while your mother cringed from your smiles and your little sister didn't seem to comprehend the looming danger.

She laughs, a sound as sweet and pure as a bell. 'How fairies are made', you recall from your mothers stories.

Yes, fairies. Magical creatures that caused mischief and sought out human companions.

You used to tell yourself that the whispering voice you heard was a fairy, giggling and taunting you. Encouraging your taste for carnage, the violent mood swings, anything dangerous.

You didn't mind it much, not feeling much of anything when it convinced you to hunt down these 'targets.' You were doing a good job, at least that's what it told you.

Finishing up the food in front of you, you carefully wipe your sister's face, pinching her doughy cheeks a little. Watching as her nose scrunches and she waves away your fingers.

"Okay. I know." Your mother takes a deep breath, eyes flitting from the carpet to meet your eyes. "Today, I think." Again her gaze flits off and she sighs, a small achy smile raising on her lips. "Thanks." And then she hangs up.

You pretend you weren't watching, or listening. Gathering empty dishes and patting your sister's head with a grin. Your mother rakes another hand through her hair and then pulls herself off the edge of the couch, shuffling to the kitchen table.

She smooths your sister's hair, a soothing motion she hadn't done to you since your twelfth birthday. You start on the dishes.

"Honey?" It's obvious she's fighting to keep her voice even and you know she's not even looking at you. Almost as if she can't bear to mean the words she says.

"Hm?" You hum back, ignoring the static that nips at your vision.

"How about we take a trip today? Get our minds off things." You can hear the strained smile, assuring you it was a casual suggestion. Or at least tried to.

You look back, catching her gaze. You rub your wet hands down your sweater, turning off the water and leaning back on the kitchen counter.

"Where would we go?" You tilt your head, watching as she uses her saliva to wipe a piece of something off your sister's face. You cringe, wondering if it tastes like dough and sickly sweet caramel. Probably.

"I was thinking that park, ya know the one a little ways from here." She looks up through her half-swooped bangs, a smile peeling at her chapped lips. She had a terrible habit of biting at them. You bet they tasted like iron and bile.

You shrug, "Why not the one we went to for my birthday?" It was further from the house, maybe thirty minutes. She raises a brow, looking surprised.

"Really? You know that's a while away, quite a drive." She's nervous, picking at the skin around her nails.

You nod, "Yeah, if you're up for it."

She pauses then laughs a little, "Sounds like a plan."

And that was that, her never bothering to put up a fight and you pretending this didn't bother you. If you squint hard enough it was almost like you were a normal happy family.

So McDonalds it was, accompanied by a merry-go-round and throwing up in the bushes.

You remember finally feeling a sense of peace, the urge you felt to gnaw and escape was dampened. Hidden by soft almost forgiving smiles, and for once it really felt like you belonged.

It was like looking into foggy water, sort of hard to decipher exactly what happened....difficult to recall when your ears were ringing and the static attacked your vision. You just know that your mother had this....terrified look on her face. Like someone had doused the light in her vibrant (e/c) eyes.

No, that wasn't quite right. You had doused it, squashing it into dirt and blood.