|Eight|

•Week Six•

(My dog got hit by a car today. He's okay tho 🙂)

I shakily walked into the apartment, praying Jack and Ryan were still asleep. They could never find out what I did, I can't let then know what I've become.
Thankfully they were nowhere in sight, and probably still sleeping in their rooms.

I brushed past the corner, turning to go into the bathroom. I slipped the coat off, trying to scrub off the blood. There was way too much of it and the fabric was already stained. I sighed in frustration, pulling out the butcher knife instead. I wrapped a rag around it, carefully cleaning the blood and guts off of it, and I silently watched all the gore drain down the sink and into the pipes below.

No one will ever know.

I set the knife on the counter, which was more difficult than it should have been. I couldn't let go of it for some reason, I couldn't put it down.
I tore my eyes away from the newly cleaned blade, focusing my attention on my reflection in the mirror. I didn't look the same, well, I did but at the same time, I didn't recognize myself.
I stared into my crazed eyes that somehow still held the excitement and adrenaline I had while I was in that alleyway. My expression sent shivers down my spine, and I looked away.

I let out a deep breath, turning on the water and splashing some of it on my face to try and calm my nerves.

No, this isn't me anymore. I'm free of the knife now, I don't want to kill or hurt anyon ever again.

My heart tugged at me, trying to tell me that I can't be free of the knife, forcefully whispering that I can't escape. Because the truth was, no matter how hard I tried, no matter how many times I fought or how many times I gave in, I would never be myself again.
I was a murderer, even though I wanted to get rid of my addiction, now as I stared at the butcher knife I realize that I can't.

I blinked a few times, trying to calm my thoughts down enough so that I could at least finish cleaning up the evidence.

I am a murderer, I might as well act like it. There isn't a fight in me anymore, so now, I had nothing holding me back. I had shunned the whole other side of me that wanted to be a savior to people, the side that wanted to do good in the world.
All that was left was me and the knife, exactly how it should be.

I quickly opened the cabinet under the sink, planning to hide the coat there until I can get rid of it for good. I bundled the piece of clothing into a tight wad, but it quickly fell from my grasp when my eyes met what was under the sink.

Splatters of blood covered the wooden walls of the cupboard, bloodied gloves laid in one of the far corners, and hidden behind an old bath towel was the hang of an axe.

I suppressed the urge to make some kind of noise out of fear. The cabinet under the sink looked almost like the crime scene in the alleyway I had just made. What the hell was all of this?
My stomach felt sick, and I tightly closed the cabinet door before I could throw up in it.
It wasn't as gruesome looking as the stuff I've done, the main thing that made me sick was the fact that someone hid all of this in the bathroom. Did Jack and Ryan know about this? Did Jasper try planting something to freak out Ryan again? I felt so sick, and the thought of someone breaking into the apartment and doing..... Whatever the hell this is, made my heart squeeze with fear.

I self-consciously grabbed the butcher knife.
This was all I needed to see to know that we weren't actually safe. There was a serial killer in this apartment (besides me), and they were after us.
Whoever Jasper sent--or maybe Jasper snuck in himself--was probably still in the apartment building. Somewhere, just waiting for me to leave Jack and Ryan alone again so they can do something even worse.