murderer - frerard

[001]

I woke up on the floor of a room I didn't recognize, my vision blurring at the edges from the pain of my throbbing head. Fuck, I thought wearily, where am I?

It took me a while to recall just what had happened, but it all came back after a few minutes. I pushed myself from the floor, dizziness pulling me back down. I groaned, not even noticing the stains marking the carpet and dresser. The lighting was dim, and I was too focused on getting away from this place to even see the figure standing in the corner. I was in a bedroom, but whose, I didn't know.

"God, you're finally awake," I froze. "I was beginning to think I'd killed you."

"Could have," I mumbled, partially hoping the dude didn't hear me. He looked strangely familiar in the lighting, though I couldn't quite place it. I didn't think I'd ever met my neighbors. I was antisocial, to say the least. Until I got high.

"What's that, Pansy?" He had long black hair and hooded eyes, a sharp nose with cruel lips to match. Somehow, he was attractive, but in a weird sort of way. I was probably still a little high if this was the type of thing that was crossing my mind.

"Nothing," I honestly meant to come off a little less agressive, but the pot in my system made me sound way more pissed than scared.

"Oh?" The guy said, stepping closer to me. Our noses were inches apart.

Flick.

He grabbed my shirt at the collar and pulled my body against his, a knife suddenly tickling the skin on my neck. "Look, Pansy. I don't know what you think you're doing showing up at my house at - what? One in the morning? - but you need to stay away. Got that?"

His face was blurry and I was seeing about three pairs of hazel eyes waving around in front of me, and for some stupid reason, I grinned. "Anthrax," I mumbled, a laugh bubbling out of me.

He gave me a disgusted look, lightly dragging the blade across my skin. It stung, but no worse than the pain in my head where the bastard had hit me. Warmth dripped down my neck and soaked into my shirt.

"Alright," He drawled, "I'll make a mental note to stop playing fucking metal bands, if it attracts idiots like you."

A mental note. Mental was the word for it, I'd say. I blinked, stumbling backward. "Can I just go home, man?" I whispered. My throat was dry and scratchy. "I'm gonna have a huge hangover anyway, dude, can you just let me go?"

The weed was definitely helping me keep my calm, because what I wanted to do was cower in a corner and cry my eyes out. I was scared, but my faithful friend Mary J. Juana was, as always, there to rescue me in situations such as this.

He let go of my shirt abruptly, knocking me off balance. "Kid!" He hollered, but not at me.

The door opened with a creak and a lanky blonde guy, who could probably be close to the same age as me, sauntered in the room, a switchblade gripped tightly in his left hand. He looked horribly nervous.

"Look, dudes, I have nooooo idea why you've got all these knives and shit or why you're trying to, like, murder me, but I'm not gonna say anything about anything because I'm so tiiiiired, I just wanna go to sleep."

And suddenly, I was on the floor of my own kitchen with no idea how I got there. I had no memory of anything after complaining about being sleepy. Sun was shining through the blinds.

Fuck, what time was it? I looked toward the clock above the kitchen sink that said it was almost eleven o'clock. My mom would be home any minute; her shift ended at ten thirty.

I scrambled to get up, losing my balance and noticing the blood staining the hardwood floor. The back of my head pounded as if someone had struck me with a frying pan. Oh, right.

Either way, I used almost an entire roll of paper towels to clean up the mess in the kitchen and wipe the dried blood off my neck and chest. And I probably stank of weed, but I didn't care, because Mom probably knew I had it anyway, and if she didn't, she was going to find out today. So I tugged my shirt off and threw the red-stained ball into the washing machine before grabbing a new one and plopping down on the couch and turning on the TV.

Maybe last night didn't happen. God, I was hoping it was just my imagination or a dream or simply the pot, or just something else. But there was a fucking cut on my neck that was angry and irritated and a horrible pain in my skull that begged to differ.

ok hello i hope you like this because guess what i actually have a p l a n for this one haha nice so comment/vote/etc. and i love you guys !!! feel free to pm me or something b/c i wanna get to know u guys !!! thank u !!