Michael Myers: Final Girl

Young Lady, You're Scaring Me

She had been staying in the Myers' house for days now. He wouldn't let her leave. Her inquiry had upset him more than she imagined it would. She didn't understand why, why did it matter if she wanted him dead? Doesn't he? She was growing frustrated with his lack of an explanation, although she knew he couldn't speak. Or at least he chose not to. She hadn't spoken to him since, she just explored the ways she could convince him to let her leave. She didn't want to lie to him, she didn't want to be that person, but she had a mission. He was going to die. She didn't care if they killed each other or if she went away for the crime forever. He had already destroyed her in so many ways and she had made up her mind. This would be her final act. It didn't help sway her either that he didn't seem to be looking for her. It only confirmed that he had never cared. She meant so little to him.

Her own thoughts were beginning to drive her mad. She sat up from the dusty old bed to see Michael in the doorway. How long had he been standing there?

"You can't just keep me here forever," she said.

She didn't like the idea of hurting him, but he wasn't going to stop her. It wasn't his place.

He gave her nothing, not a single indicator that he had heard her. She scowled in return.

"How is it different from what you do? You think I can't see the blood on your clothes, on your knife?"

He glanced down, he did have quite a bit of blood on his coveralls. It was old, but there nonetheless. He hadn't been leaving, he knew she would try to go to him if he did. He looked back at her, she was looking at him expectantly. He had no way of explaining to her his reasoning. He had no idea how to show her why he cared or how much he cared. It was all new to him and he was after all, completely inexperienced in these matters. He just couldn't let her do it. He knew if she killed him it would in turn kill whatever innocence she had left in her. He knew killing him would only make him win. It would drag her down to his level. And she was too good for that. No, he wouldn't allow it.

He turned to leave, igniting her anger. She flew over to him, reaching up to grab his broad shoulders to make him look at her. She couldn't force him to turn, he was like stone, unmovable. He gave in and faced her, but he grabbed her shoulders and forced her against the door. She pouted like a child beneath him. He found it somewhat amusing.

"Are you just going to keep me here, in a cage like he did?"

Her words stung. He didn't want to be compared to him. She knew it hurt him and she regretted it quietly, but she had to find a way out. Hurting him was her only option. His grip on her loosened. She held firm in her gaze, not willing to back down. Michael knew that in a way the monster had already won. He could see the bloodlust in her eyes, he knew what she was feeling. He wished he could take it from her. He let his hand move to her cheek, brushing it gently with his finger tips. He hadn't touched her skin before. It was soft, warm unlike her now cold gaze. He had lost her in so many ways before he even had her.

The way his touch felt was different to her. It was gentle, something she hadn't felt in a long time. She almost let herself melt into it, but her mind was racing. She couldn't let it go. She reached up with one hand to put it over his while her other intended to find his knife.

"Michael," she said softly.

He felt he other hand find the handle of the blade, her eyes never leaving his. He silently pleaded with her, for the first time in his life he didn't want anymore death, he just wanted to stay with her like this. He closed his eyes as she slowly began to pull the knife out of his pocket.

"Let me," she whispered.

He didn't want to open his eyes. He was no longer holding her there, he was only holding onto hope that maybe she would stay, that she could ignore her need for blood. He felt her take his hand that had been on her face and gently kiss his fingertips before she slipped away.

He stayed there with his eyes closed for quite sometime after her footsteps faded away. The house grew eerily silent in her absence, a quiet reminder that she was gone not just physically, but in almost every way. He tried to focus on that feeling of her lips brushing over his fingers, but it only reminded him of how soft she was, how gentle. He didn't want to let that go. He couldn't. It wasn't fair that someone so undeserving had experienced her the way she had previously been. He wouldn't let her destroy herself when he was so close. She had taught him things without even realizing it, she was giving him life he didn't think he could ever have. He knew he was undeserving of her as well, but at least he cared about her. He cared more than she knew. He wouldn't let her give those last pieces of herself away to him no matter how badly she felt she needed to. He had taken enough.

He opened his eyes. He wasn't sure how long he'd stood there like that, but he couldn't waste anymore time. He knew she was already there and he had to stop her. He had to finally be able to do what he should have done years ago. Protect her.