dave opened the door of my new cell. green eyes was sitting on the bed on the left. my calendar was above the bed on the right.
me: bye dave. see you.
dave: bye jessica.
green eyes looked up. i didn’t smile at her. i walked to my bed and sat down.
me: so.
jessica: i once thought my bestie was conspiring against me.
me: i know.
jessica: i’m not crazy.
me: i know.
jessica: who told you?
i shrugged.
jessica: are you crazy?
i showed her my wristband.
jessica: why are you here?
me: why do you ask?
jessica: you know i have schizophrenia. you seem very normal. why are you here?
me: i’m here because i sacrificed the 666 most beautiful virgins of our school to satan.
green eyes was shocked. i smirked.
me: just kidding.
she breathed a sigh of relief making me laugh, slightly devilishly.
me: i only got to 66. then i was caught.
jessica: what?
me: i sacrificed only 66 girls. not 666.
jessica: why would you sacrifice 666 girls?
me: 666 is the number of the devil. i thought it had something unique, but apparently there’s some russian clan who kills people by stabbing them 666 times.
jessica: that’s not the same as killing 666 people just because you like the number.
me: i told you, i only got to 66. and they only found 7 bodies.
jessica: where’s the rest?
me: i fed them to pigs.
jessica: you’re scary.
me: how does it feel to be scared? is it a nice feeling?
jessica: you mean you’ve never-
me: never. i don’t have emotions. i’m a robot.
jessica: so you’ve never been in love?
me: never.
jessica: you’ve never been happy?
me: you mean pleased? i felt very pleased when i saw the metal of my knife sink deeply into the porcelain-white skin of her stomach.
jessica: no, i mean happy as the feeling of luck, of joy. you know?
me: no, i don’t know. i wish i did.
jessica: i’m sorry that you’ve never been able to experience the greatest feeling of all.
me: i thought hate or burning rage was the best feeling.
jessica: i think that’s why you scare people of.
me: what
jessica: people are afraid of you.
me: i am afraid of me too.
then she zoned out and our conversation was over. she started dictating some recipe and i wasn’t very interesting in becoming a three-star-michelin chef so i ignored her and lied down in my bed. well, bed; it was just a matrass, no pillow, no blankets. someone called tony once murdered his cellmate by holding his pillow over his face and ever since pillows aren’t allowed. but at least someone hasn’t tried smacking someone to death with their matrass (though i’m sure most of us have considered it) so i have something to sleep on. it’s not a bad matrass, it’s very comfortable.
a strange feeling rushed through my body as i lied on my matrass, other jessica’s mumbling filling up my brain with useless information on how to cook the perfect spaghetti bolognese. i felt strangely calm and at ease and comfortable and pleased, without having to find calmness in pushing my knife’s into the perfect girl’s body. was this happiness? had i found happiness in a schizophrenic girl’s mumbling voice? no, i told myself. because psychopaths don’t feel happiness.
maybe it was a sign. maybe it was a sign i had to kill her before i got close to her. it was a sign to kill her before she got dangerous, before i got attached to her, before she could hurt. it was a sign to kill her before i became too attached to her until i couldn’t be without her. it was a sign i needed to stop her now i could. the voice telling me to kill her became louder and louder, but instead of focusing on the voice as it usually would, my brain tried focusing on the sounds green eyes’ rhythmic mumbling. it worked. i breathed in, and out, in, and out, in and out. the voice was gone. it was over. i hadn’t realised until i turned my head to look at green eyes that she hadn’t even been mumbling. she was asleep.
i got out of my bed and walked towards hers, to check if she really was asleep. she was. a light shone through the big window of my new cell, lighting up the room and especially her face. and even though her face seemed to have known many tears and she had dark bags under her eyes, i could also see the crinkles by her eyes. she had known happy times too. and even though i didn’t know this green eyed girl, i found myself admiring her beauty. and her courage for sticking up with me. there was something about her. i wasn’t sure whether it was good or bad, but i was resolute i needed to find out. i needed to know more about her. i needed her to keep me sane. because she seemed to be the only one that could keep me sane in this unreasonable world. and i appreciated her already because of that. because psychopaths don’t like or love people; psychopaths can only appreciate them. and i appreciated green eyes. i appreciated her more than i was willing to admit.
