Drake The Notorious Killer.

Old Acquaintance

Again, I dream of Him.
Again, I fling the blankets off to check.
Again, I breathe a sigh of relief.
Again, I- fuckin hell. Cramps start up again. I groan and clutch my lower ab part as I roll around. That fucking hurts. A lot. Every movement I do brings pain. A whole heap of it. I curse. After forever, it stops, well, at least drops down a notch. I get up slowly and take a cold shower. I wear my panties first before I do anything. I take out a green and black checkered shirt, black skinny jeans and a bra. I wear em, brush my teeth, pull on my black converse and eat some leftovers from the night Drake was here. Looking over at the paintings, I stand and turn them over so I can only see the back. That's better.

I continue walking. No way was I gonna do skateboarding today. My eyes lock onto the cupboard. As I near it, my camera enters my line of sight. It's an oldish vintage camera. I got it from my dad. He was once a photographer and he passed his camera on to me when I was 10.

I reach out and grab it, reminiscing the warming feeling that spreads in my heart. It also comes with sadness. He died when I was 11. Someone killed him. They didn't even find the killer yet. I don't think they even bothered to investigate. I don't realise I'm clutching hard onto the camera, nor do I realise there's tears falling down my face. I shove the camera back into the cupboard, gently, before grabbing my jacket and heading out. I don't know what I'm doing. But I just need some air. I trudge down the street. It's a Wednesday I think so it's not all that busy. Or it could be Monday. I sigh before entering the Cafe.

"What can I get you?" In less than a minute of entering I'm approached by a waiter. The cafe is kinda busy today. At least ¾ of the tables are taken.

"Matcha milkshake and pancakes please."

"Will do." He walks back with a smile. My mind drifts off as I gaze through the window.

Is he still watching me like a hawk?
How many people has he killed since I've taken leave?
Does he miss me? Fuck. Why am I thinking that? I don't give a damn what he feels. He's a fucking sexy murderer with no remorse.

"Here you go Miss." I look back to the waiter as he sets the food in front of me with a smile. I smile back at him. He walks away, attending another table to serve.

I eat the food in record time. I stand and leave a 20 dollar bill. The waiter comes over and collects my dishes as I walk away.

"Wait. Let me get your change."

"Keep it." He smiles gratefully before I walk off. Down the road. Into the unknown. Into the unknowwwnnnnnn. Into the unknoooowwwwwnnnn.

Man I love Brendon Urie. He's fucking awesome. I enter back into my apartment before crashing down on the couch with a thump. Why am I so tired all the time? Maybe still jetlag.

****

It's been a week. Maybe 2. All I've done is paint, skate, eat, work out, and ignore any notes that are on my bike when I go out. Whenever one of them come into my vision, I reach out my hand and scrunch it up, shoving it in my pocket before my eyes can read it. I mean yeah, of course I'm curious as to what he's saying, but I can control myself. I hope.

Cadaver phoned a couple of times. We hung. His girlfriend Mandy invited me over too. We had a sleepover. A girls night some would say. We ate pizza, we did each others make up, we went out to the shops and bought whatever and stuff. It was fun. It's nice having friends. I like it. A lot.

I skate down the street, just cruising. I do a couple of tricks, listening to Panic! At The Disco. One of my earphones fall out. I slow for a moment, putting it back in just as whimpering catches my ear. What the hell? My eye looks at the alley. It's dark since it's a cloudy day. There's a couple of puddles. I stop my board and carry it, walking slowly into the alley. The whimpering gets louder. Then, it stops. I pull the other earphone out and shove it in my pocket, cutting off the music. The darkness clears. The figures ring clear in my mind. My eyes shoot from the person on top to the person below. The person below drops, whimpering and crying once more. The person above turns towards me slowly, zipping his jeans back up. No no no no no no no. All my efforts of trying, just crash down onto me. He stands in front of me. With some female at his feet. She has brown hair. Long. She looks strikingly familiar... If it isn't Grace. The same Grace that bullied me day in and out through primary school. I didn't even know she moved here. What a coincidence.