Black and Blue

2 - I Go On a Coffee Date, Except We Both Hate Each Other

By either dumb luck or ridiculous means of internet fame, my research didn't fail me. The next morning, instead of fixing myself breakfast or even laying in bed a couple minutes extra just to allow myself some compensated rest, I spent half an hour on my computer trying to find out whatever in hell that thing that attacked me last night was.

Well, well, well. For starters, the word creepypasta told me all I needed to know on the "what" part. Now I needed a "who."

And I must say, it was very convenient on his part to just so happen to be eyeless.

"...lost your left kidney last night. We don't know how, though. Sorry, Mitch," I read in a mutter over some cold ravioli. I'd been sitting in the dining hall closest to my house for about three hours now, barely picking at my food. Another wasted meal pass, I thought to myself, too tired to care all that much. Apparently, the guy who posted this story in the first place took it down a few years ago because he was "ashamed" of it or something. That was really all I could gather, which was a little disappointing but I figured it wasn't too important. At least, in my case. I took another half-assed stab at my pasta before cramming some into my mouth. I wasn't about to disappoint my parents with all this no-eating stuff again. That shit doesn't help you pass, me. It doesn't help you pass.

I'd washed the scalpel he left behind earlier, almost cutting myself in the process. This guy did not clean his tools as much as he should have, which added up; if you're already a cannibal on the loose, who cares if one victim's blood mixes with somebody else's? I'll admit, it still unsettled me. Just a little bit.

"Gross...gross...ew. God, what else have you cut open with this?" I whispered, examining all the dirt and god-knows-what-else cemented onto the blade once classes had ended. I remembered with a trace of fear that I'd touched this with my bare hands before. Worse, I'd injured myself with it. Who knew what was in my blood right now?

Whatever. I can't even go to someone about it, I told him I wouldn't. Besides, they would never believe...

I stole one last glance at the scalpel, hope flickering in my chest before eventually petering out.

No. Don't be stupid, this isn't enough. Where would they trace the DNA? My prints, my blood's on this thing, for Christ's sake!

But it's proof. It's small, yeah, and definitely going to confuse anybody I show it to. But I have it. I just have to hope he doesn't...

I furrowed my eyebrows at nothing and almost chipped a nail picking at a dent in the bathroom wall.

"This can't be the end. He just lets me off the hook, expects me to either hold this all inside until I die or forget it ever happened?"

I waited one more day, wondering if he was going to come back. I might've even wanted him to come back. At least, part of me knew he would. So I took some extra precautions.

—

I regretted this choice of position starting around 11:00; I was being half-smothered by my pillow and felt the skin on my knuckles being rubbed raw underneath my head as I clenched a knife. But my windowsill was starting to creak, and something told me it was not just the wind. It was too late to move now.

Exactly how still do people lay when they're asleep?

I made sure to keep my eyes slightly open and damn near started holding my breath when he leaned down and waved a hand in front of my face, all slowly. Every little thing about him was getting on my nerves now; how he kept tilting his head, the way he squinted behind his mask, just the way he was standing—it was like somebody was holding a gun to his head. But then he got close. Like, really close. I thanked God and Heaven above that I couldn't smell his breath. I tried not to shift or squirm as he lifted my head, and after a minute he laughed.