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

Memory 15: Metempsychosis (Day 365)

As I open my eyes, I immediately feel the cold of the air blowing in from the open window, and it instantly causes me to close them right back up. The shackles of frozen ankles reattach themselves to me once I move away the covers I slept with, so I pull on a longer pair of pants, the ones that bag at my heels, and rub at the corners of my temples. It was a long night.

By the window, I stare at the way the white field overlaps the red roses and thorns lying underneath. It must be nice to have such a blanket to rely on during these chilly times. They can be cozy with each other without needing an excuse, and every single one of them doesn't question just how cold it is. They accept the weather and move on as if yesterday isn't needed to explain today, which is exactly why I understand that simplicity is simply not wanting to predict the future based on the past. I just wish other people thought the same.

I open the door leading me into the living room and glance at the girl sitting on the couch with a grim expression.

"Happy New Year's," I state with authenticity. The smile on my face probably looks stupid for that of a kid. But am I really a kid still? I'm certainly not an adult. "Feels good to be in twenty-"

"Stop," the girl sighs. "I don't like to remind myself how old I'm getting."

I used to be like that, but I take it as it comes nowadays. Age is inevitable and untrustworthy. No one can be classified by it, yet society likes to develop opinions on the numbers like they're a book in need of a critique. There really is no reason to fear getting old, but I guess the people here make it impossible for you to forget that you have lived so long and made so many wonderful memories without them. Either way, when you schedule a meeting with death at too young of an age, there's no way you'll make it past him in a test of knowledge and strength.

"Hey, do you remember that time when we saw a black butterfly at the window sill? The one that wouldn't go away?"

"Yeah." I gaze back over at her and chuckle slightly at the memory of the pest I spent hours trying to get rid of. She wouldn't let me close the window on it, as that would probably entail its death, and I was forced to shoo it away first.

"I saw it again last night," she quivers. "It landed on my face while I was in bed and laughed at me. We had a conversation about today and how you were going to give me a gift by the fire and how a storm was supposed to trap us in tonight. Were you going to get me something? I told you not to do that again... It makes me feel sad."

I'm honestly unsure of how I should respond to this. I can't tell if she's being serious or not.

To be quite frank, I actually did get her flowers yesterday to give to her today. But maybe she saw them when I came home? I wanted it to be a surprise because it's been a while since I was able to surprise her. The only time she has a smile on her face is when she is shocked or taken aback. Other than that, her face is neutral and gloomy. And she is an expert at predicting my actions most of the time.

"I did get you flowers," I say. "I didn't think you'd find out though."

She laughs as I retrieve them from the back room and apologize for making it so obvious. Before I hand them to her, I spot a weeping rose bundled in the center of the pack and pluck it from its stem, crushing it in my hand so that the petals crumble on the floor beneath my feet. She thanks me and insists that apologizing is for the weak. Apparently, she enjoys making mistakes so that she can look back at them and humiliate herself in her head. She finds entertainment in watching herself discover how much of an idiot she can be when she doesn't pay attention or focus on the situation at hand hard enough.

"Can you please close that window?" she asks me. "It's been open all morning and even the best blanket in the house can't keep me warm enough."

"We need the air."

"We don't."

I find it hard to hesitate any longer, and every step towards the window is like a leap at faith, an aggressive attack against creators. I know she needs it open, but I also know she needs it closed for her own happiness. Fresh air is like an antidote that cures anything in the world, and she needs it especially in her situation. If I can't convince her to keep it open all the time, I'll need to find out how oxygen therapy works.

Glaring at the snow outside, I see the tops of roses trying to reach the surface and breathe. They're stuck underneath all that weight and can't keep themselves up. They're shivering. Shivering with helpless cries and bloodshot eyes. I can't get rid of all that snow for them no matter how hard I try.

Why is the world like this? Why do we have to protect ourselves from each other? The only weight we feel is the weight others inflict upon us, so why do we just sit there in the defense and let it pile up? It's every man for themselves. Well, I'm sick of that excuse. I don't want to hear about that stupid philosophy that indirectly tells us we are alone and individual. What if I don't want to be lonely or independent? It's caused more problems for me than miracles. I gulp down my thoughts before I end up shouting them out loud. The window closes with a squeak.

"Thank you," she says.

I hate it when people thank me. But somehow, just somehow, it makes me smile. It's a genuine, sympathetic smile. She doesn't deserve it from me, but I'm all she has now.

There's a wolf behind this smile... and it's eating me alive.