Seventeen - Part 2

He stepped out of the shower, his skin red and beginning to blister from the heat of the water that had been beating down on his flesh no more than thirty seconds before. After using a towel to rub himself down, he pulled on his boxers and a pair of jeans and looked down with excitement, watching as the watered down blood drizzled down the drain. Immediately grabbing his bottle of bleach from underneath the sink, he unscrewed the cap and dumped a good half of it into the bottom of the shower and then directly down the drain to ensure that every drop of blood was removed from the nooks and crannies that had screwed over so many men of his profession before. Sticking the bottle back under the sink, he glanced back in the mirror, turning his head left and right in search of any scratch marks that he may have acquired during his latest escapade.1

The steam in the room made his lungs feel as though they were going to collapse every time he breathed in, but it was comforting for some reason. It always had been after something like this. He heaved a quiet sigh and ran a hand over his face, tugging on the rest of his clothes. He loved this part.2

If he closed his eyes he could still picture her.3

She couldn’t have been any older than eight or so. Skinny, long blonde hair in pigtails, and the fear that had shone in her eyes nearly caused him to make a mess all over himself. He could picture every little bead of perspiration on her upper lip-4

“Stop.” He panted, feeling his stomach swirling and tightening up excitedly. Already, the blood was pulsing to his waist, and, not wanting to have to take another shower, he heaved a deep breath and forced his body to relax.5

He needed food.6

Adjusting his pants, he left the bathroom and walked into the kitchen. His refrigerator was nearly empty. Four day old pizza, expired cranberry juice, a gallon of milk, a stick of butter, mustard and what looked like egg salad mixed with moss. The cupboards were essentially the same. Top Ramen and boxed Mac and Cheese. He felt like a college student.7

“Good enough” he grunted quietly, grabbing a box of Mac and Cheese and a pot from another cupboard. He filled the pot with hot water and set it on the stove to boil. His hands wrapped around the remote and he turned the TV on. Flipping through the channels, obviously bored, the endorphins having worn off along ago. Finally, he stopped on some talk show with out of control teenagers and their distraught mothers, who just sat there for an hour, bawling their eyes out as their babies confessed to crude and demoralizing acts that any person in their right minds would have done to begin with. That was interesting for all of five minutes before he had to change the channel again and settled on Spongebob.8

The water was boiling, so he added noodles and pulled out the milk and butter. His fingers made a tapping noise as they beat against the countertop. His eyes felt glazed over as if he’d just smoked a particularly large joint and he knew that they were probably bright with fever. Raking a hand through his still damp, dark brown hair, he leaned against the counter, pushing his stomach against it and exhaling loudly. Spongebob’s high octave and Patrick’s deep, retarded laughter sliced into his eardrums and he felt his upper lip curling in disgust. 9

Hands wrapped around the remote once again and he switched the channel…10

On the news was a skinny girl, wristbands scattered up and down her arms. Her deep burgundy hair hung limp and lifelessly around her face, which was considerably pale despite the sun that shone heavily on her. The headline on the bottom of the screen read:11

”SIDEWALK SLASHER’S ONLY SURVIVOR GRADUATES HIGH SCHOOL”12

The reporter sat in front of her, the same plastic smile that they all have plastered on her face as she stared at this girl. “It really is an honor to meet you, Roscoe. After everything that’s happened, it’s so great to know that you’re still here. It shows a great deal of strength on your part.”13

The girl, Roscoe, sat back in her chair, crossing her legs. Her face remained completely blank and he searched her face for something familiar. His stomach boiled. Never before had he left a victim alive, at least that’s what he thought. Why hadn’t he paid any attention to the news?! It had to have been years ago, he never went for anyone older than about twelve, and here she was, graduating high school. His hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.14

He didn’t even hear the water boiling over.15

“I’ve had a lot of people around to help me through it.” The girl said finally. He could hear the falseness in her voice, but no one else around her appeared to. She flashed a smile and shrugged. “I really just… you know, try to focus on the present instead of the past.”16

He snorted and rolled his eyes, watching her body language. The way she carried herself alone proved that it was total bullshit. Her arms were crossed tightly against her chest, shoulders rolled back and jaw set tightly as if she were gritting her teeth. He watched those arm bands carefully, a slow smirk inching onto his face. She was definitely hiding something. He wished that she was wearing a tank top or something, something to see that his mark was still on her. Something to tell him when he had gotten a hold of her.17

“That’s good to hear at least. So are you planning on going to college at all?”18

“I’m thinking of taking a year off actually. You know, just to sort of figure things out and whatnot. I feel like if I just sort of spent some time getting a little bit of money under my belt and everything before furthering my-“19

Roaring in anger, he turned the TV off and threw the remote across the room, delivering a harsh kick to the wall. His feet stomped back and forth across the floor, palms slapping against the pockets of his jeans. His mind raced feverishly, trying to come up with something, ANYTHING to make this go away. 20

He could…21

No.22

He couldn’t be impulsive. That’s how people get caught. They get stupid and impulsive and just wind up screwing themselves over. He couldn’t just run out and grab the first kid he saw… as badly as he wanted to. He was losing control. His hands clenched into tight fists. Blood wet his fingertips, knuckles blanching under the tightness of his grip.23

“God damnit…”24