Vile Shade [Book 3] [Jeff the Killer x Reader] [JTK]

Memory 4: Doctoring (Day 21)

It's been so long since I got to enjoy the simple things in life. Or should I say complex things? I dunno. Everything's just mashed into a blur these days.

I can't seem to put my finger on what's bothering me. I have everything I need- fun and games. Well, I don't have the materials needed to push through with those games and have that fun, but I'll get those later. I'm giving myself the time to think on this walk to the doctor's. I absolutely hate everything about him. That's it! I'm irritated and annoyed because of how prestigious he talks and how formal he walks. And he can't even live up to those expectations. What a dump. He's just a piece of trash that people throw in the garbage when they have the chance. Who knows how he even manages to walk around so pretentiously, right? Nothing good comes to him when he helps anyone out. Just a paycheck in the mail at the end of the week and a long night of sorrow alone. Sounds like me. But without the paycheck part. Or the loneliness.

Anywho, I'm on my way to see him. I would never even think about visiting that specimen if I didn't absolutely need to, but this is important. This is how I'm going to be human again. Happy pills, sad pills- I've tried it all. The only type of adrenaline is physical. And it doesn't come from a tiny capsule labeled "eat me". No, it comes from labor. Hard, physical labor that you put all your effort into. Like murder. That rush of despair across their face just allows me to feel even better about myself. Johnny was the one that told me about the art of killing...

I really shouldn't say that name.

The hospital walls look very bitter today. Their blank complexion is just agonizing to stare at and the ceiling is too low and the doors are too damn thick and the air is too hard to breathe. I can't stand this fucking place any longer. She needs to hurry up and recover so that I can stop coming here.

Finally, I see the frame of the room Dr. Donkey is in. Is that his name? Dr... Doozie? Dinky? Trashcan?

The sign on the wall says it all.

Room 101910- Dr. Devin Smiley.

Ah! Dr. Smiley. That's what it was. I wonder why... Oh, yeah, 'cause his mask has that creepy smile on it. Gives me the chills.

Before letting another moment skip by like the continuation of precious time, I knock three times on the door frame and enter the hellish doctor's office. He sits in a chair behind a computer monitor with an empty stare across his face. His desk is strangely clear with the exception of a neat stack of paper, a stapler, and a nameplate. I watch his eyes roll back and forth across the screen as if they're in a vicious cycle, and for a moment I get the impression that he's a completely different person.

The rest of the room is melancholy. Walls are splattered with invisible color and a rainbow stretches across the ceiling in my imagination. A TV in the corner drones out a hum that I push to the back of my subconscious, and a few chairs are scattered around, but the tight space doesn't allow very much leg room.

"Oh," Smiley grunts, glancing up from his screen to look at me. "Can I help you with something?"

"Yeah, Dr. Dickhead, I need some anesthetic stuff or something," I reply, smirking at my own remark.

His eyes immediately lower more than they had before and the corner of his smile twitches. He slowly stands on his humble feet and takes a couple silent steps around the desk. Losing eye contact, he pulls a chair away from the wall and turns it so that it faces the boring screen. After beckoning for me to sit down, he shuts the door I entered through and closes the curtain with a snap.

"I don't really understand the question," he mutters, "and you shouldn't talk to me in a public place like this."

"I tried going to your cabin," I reply. "Did you move or something?"