Searching For Her

Chapter Seventeen

Chris stayed drinking every night. Something was plaguing him and he continued to tell these stories of why his mother was horrible, a bitch, a whore, and why he was a monster.

He sat me down on the couch and started up his blabbering.

"I was — ah — four when I started experimenting. There was a little rabbit out in the backyard. It was getting on my fucking nerves so I took care of it with good ol' Daddy's pocket knife.

"The look on my mother's face when she saw me cutting that thing up, ha! God I cherish the fear in that bitch's face. It fueled me more.

"Sometimes I regret it though. I still love my mother and father but they pushed me away. They couldn't even look me in the eye! Dear ol' Dad was getting drunk every night and Mom never stayed in the house.

"I started acting out more. I got into fights at school. I'd pick on my classmates and I'd argue with the teachers over stupid shit. But they didn't even care! They'd just come and get me and leave me in my room.

"God, I remember the day I took them out of this miserable world like it was yesterday."

I held Poppy closer to my chest. He was crazy! Crazy! What was he saying? Chris wouldn't do this. Would he? Yes. He would.

After our one sided conversation I was growing more afraid of who Chris was and I realized something. I had been in love with him. I had cared for him. He had me liking him. He had me wanting him here. Jesus! Do I have stockholm syndrome?

Those conversations continued constantly. He had even gotten so drunk one night he started talking about what he did to them. His own parents! He had raped his mother then stabbed her to death while his father watched. He was incredibly vague about what happened to his father. The picture he placed in my mind will haunt me forever.

"It was honestly all a rush, heh. I remember driving and driving and driving to find the perfect spot for them. It was pretty far away then I buried them both there."

He'd go on and talk about other things but I was terrified of him. Even more terrified of what I had felt for him. I felt sorry for him and what he had gone through. He was the one who did it though. He was the one who killed his own parents! But I felt sorry for him? Those emotions ceased though in a late night of September. Poppy's first birthday.