THE MURDERER AND I

chapter seventeen: the weekend

The weekend was a blur. All I remember was Dean's infamous smirk, smoking then kissing, and most of all, blood. Lots of it. Really, the whole damn week after was a blur in general. We murdered a few kids, no biggie right? Murdered, I thought. It's funny, because I never thought I would say that word, much less be associated with it.

Other than that, everything was the same. We attended funerals, despite the fact that we were the killers. It was ironic really, paying our respects to the people we killed in cold blood. Cold blood, oozing out of each and every one of those teenagers heads as they lay lifeless before us. But that's how we were I guess. Dean and I grew closer and closer, and I felt as if I would do anything for him. I guess I already had. But Beth, Charlotte and I barely talked after what happened to Steph. It hurt at first. They had been good friends of mine for most of high school, better than Steph, even if they were complete airheads. I didn't blame them, that's what they were taught to be. They were just taught to sit still and look pretty. That was never enough for me. I always wanted more. Dean gave that to me. Even if it wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

Him and I. We were like Bonnie and Clyde. I know, cliche right? But it was true, he was my partner in crime, literally. We never got caught though. Dean always made the murders seem like suicide. It almost scared me, how good he was at killing. A lot of things about him scared me, but I had never really thought about it before. No human being should ever be that good at taking another human's life away. But he was, and I guess now, I am too.

So that's how it went. Every few months a kid would die, and no one would know why. No one could crack the case of the "suicidal teens". At least that's what they called all these cases. It was all over the news. Every week, parents would wake up in fear that maybe their child would be next. Some would already wake up to a Monday morning article written about their child they had seen only the night before. I should have felt bad really, but for some sick reason, I didn't. I was positive Dean didn't. I was positive he didn't feel a thing at all, no matter how many times he had said he loved me.

I don't know why we did it, why we murdered these kids. Sometimes it was grudges we had held against them, grudges we took too seriously. Sometimes, it was just the thrill of it. Don't ask me why it was thrilling, because I don't know. I guess if I really had to answer, it would be the feeling of pride. Arrogance really. I know that sounds crazy, but there it just felt like, hey, do you really want to mess with me? I have a fucking gun pressed to your forehead.

I know I sound cruel, even sadistic. Sometimes I could feel myself going crazy, as if I were to explode at any minute. But for some reason, I didn't care. I kept doing what I was doing, and Dean was always at my side. Always. Always ready to pull the trigger if I seemed to flinch. I swear he was even more crazy than I was.