Soon {Zarry}

Twenty-five Inquiries

"How long have you known Louis?"

"Too long really. . . about seven years. Is your left or right nipple more sensitive?"

"What the- What kind of question is that?"

"Nuh, uh, you have to answer my question before I answer yours."

"It shouldn't count as one. . . I don't know. . . my left?"

"And to answer yours, it's a sexual question. Now, how much can you take in your mouth?"

"Zayn, I'm trying to ask legitimate questions! Could you at least take this seriously?"

"I am. Part of what I want to know about you is your sexual desires. No matter what it is, I want to always push the limits - your limits included."

"Tch, I won't answer that. Ask a different question."

"How much are you willing to take?"

"I'm going back."

"Wait, wait, I'll stop. . . It's
just too easy to tease you. Hmm, what is something you never told anyone before?"

". . . that's hard-"

"Then say the first thing that comes to mind."

"The reason I became a psychiatrist wasn't so that I could help people; I just wanted to help myself. . . Do you tell Louis you won't kill him either?"

"No. I'd kill him any day of the week, but the fucker's like a cockroach. You wanted to help yourself. . . does that have something to do with why you believe I can get better?"

"Yes and no. I'll be frank with you; I was not some homicidal mess with an obsession with blood. But I did have a strange fascination with death, and growing up, it scared me to think I would end up a murderer. I spent a lot of time trying to justify my feelings and avoiding the anxiety that came with not knowing, so anything I could learn about mental disorders and phenomenon, I got from library books. Yet it wasn't enough; what separated me from someone. . . well, someone like you? And then came along the fated day I was asked to take Zayn Malik, Loringdale's most notorious serial killer, as my client. Two sides of the same coin-"

"Two sides of a coin implies we have the same urges; I do not believe that, Harry. Perhaps I haven't conveyed it enough, but-"

"Shut up, I'm not done. I know that, but I'm just generalizing here; you and I could have very easily been the opposite dynamic we are now: killer and hostage. You didn't have to kill, but you did, and I can't change that. I can, however, help you understand yourself and your sick obsession. Which brings me back to the question: why do you kill?"

"Darling. . . it's dark out; maybe we should head back."

"No, that isn't fair; you can't just change the subject!"

". . . it isn't fair, but I'm doing it anyway."

"Why do you still not answer? What's stopping you?"

"There are things that I don't want anybody to know. Not even you, as a psychiatrist, as a lover, as a friend - whatever you want to be to me."

"Okay. . . why did you want to be a serial killer when you were young?"

"I've always liked the color red, so much so that I only used the red crayons in my color box. Then, I remember the first time I skinned my knee, red was everywhere. The pain did little to overshadow the joy inside of me. Blood was just like paint, dripping and staining things; I had wanted to collect it all and use it for my art. So I started to cut myself, just deep enough to draw blood and put into a little inkwell. Tiny scars all over my fingers. . . it really worried my mom, but I just told her it was from playing in the woods. Eventually, around thirteen, I realized that little cuts weren't enough to finish any piece of art I could make. Really, this story isn't all that interesting. . ."

"No, no, it is. Please continue."

"I began to cut the inside of my forearm, places where my mom couldn't see. Of course, like mothers do, she found out anyway. She didn't know what it was for; she just thought I was depressed or bullied. Everyday she would have me strip to my underwear and check for new marks. How was I supposed to get my red now? As all things go, it was a natural progression towards the idea of killing somebody. By fifteen, I was resigned to the fact that it was simply a necessity now; something I'd have to become to get what I wanted."

"Oh. . ."

"Oh? That's all?"

"What am I supposed to say to that?"

"I don't know; you're the fucking psychiatrist. Do your analysis bullshit or something."

"Ugh, if it were that easy, I would. Just ask me your question."

"All I have left are sexual questions, darling."

"Really? All that intelligence and only sex comes to mind?"

". . . yes."

". . ."

". . ."

"I'll ask a question then. You once called yourself the country's most notorious criminal. Why lie? If anything, I'd say you were the state's."

"I wouldn't say it was a lie, more like an objective. Something I'd be in the near future."

"Even though you were in jail?"

"Especially because I was in jail. At the time, I had five confirmed. You and I both know I have more notches in my belt than that."

"Your ego is way too big."

"I know, darling. Now answer me this: should we fuck in the woods?"

"We should go back home."

"How about this? You run back to the house, and if I catch you before you make it, we fuck in the woods."

"Fuck no, Zayn; you're faster than me!"

"I'll give you a full minute head start. Now get to hoppin' little bunny.

". . . oh God, he looks like a proper wolf licking his lips like that. . . He's not even giving me much of a choice, the fucker. . . I swear to God if he catches m-"

"Quit grumbling to yourself, darling! 3. . . 2. . . 1. . ."

". . ."

"Ha ha, I've never seen him run so fast. . ."

". . ."

". . ."

". . ."

". . ."

"Shit!"

"Oh my, looks like the little bunny tripped right into my arms."

"Damn it, I was so close! We are not fucking in the woods, Zayn!"

"Yes, we are."

"No, we are not."

"Yes, we are."

"Read my lips: no."

"And taste mine. . . yes."

"I really don't want the first time we fuck to be in the goddamn, cold ass woods."

"But then what was the point of the bet?"

"The point was that it was pointless because regardless of the outcome, we were not fucking in the woods."

"But what if we do fuck in the woods? And what if you like it? In fact, what if you like it so much, you can't do it unless it's in the woods?"

"All these hypotheticals you're throwing around - they just, they just aren't possible."

"You don't know that until it happens. Hypotheses can only be proven through experimentation, so we should-"

"Zayn."

"Harry."

"We are not fucking in the woods."

"Yet."