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I convince myself the forest gets colder the further I go. Thats why I’m shaking. The snow crunches around my feet and clings to the bottoms of my jeans. I can still hear his sick laughter, and I hate it. I hate all of this. I wish he wasn’t like this. No, I can’t wish for that now. I’ve spent at least 2 years on this planet clung to his side like a hyperparasite. A parasite of a parasite. I have sins unforgiven, and this is my atonement. I’m an obedient yes man, whether my waking hours liked to admit that or not. He told me to run and I did. He told me he was going to kill people and I let him. Not a head shake in sight. I’d had my equal hand in tormenting these poor people, whether or not Habit’s was holding it. I’ve been going for hours, and my chest feels tight and I wish panting would do anything for me. I wish a lot of things. It’s never my place to wish. I regret dropping my gun. At the very least, I could shoot myself in the foot here. If thats not what I was already doing, I could bring it to a physical level. It wouldn’t do shit to me, I knew that much. The wound would close up too quickly. But whatever. It could make it interesting. I’ve been out here for at least 5 hours, and starting to think this was just one big mindfuck. He’s fucking with me. Or he simply really likes playing with his food. “Habit?” I call out, eerily aware of the fact my voice doesn’t echo. “Habit, I’m a little lost here dude.” I haven’t a clue if he’s even out there. If he can even hear me. It feels like I’m running in circles, despite only ever going straight. The forest never ends, and yet no sound seems to travel at all. Like I’m in a little box. I might as well be, to be honest. I’d turn around if I wasn’t horrified of actually getting lost. What if I was really trapped?I’d spent the past years giving myself the illusion of control, keeping the deluded idea that I could leave as I wished, painfully ignoring the short leash I was tied to. Or maybe pretending that I held the other end. I hear the sickening laughter again, the only thing that seems to travel through this space. It makes me wish I could throw up. Wish my body to be capable.
“Poor, poor little lamb.” His voice seems all too loud yet so softly whispered at the same time. I have to hate it. “Will killing you make me holy? More connected to heaven?”
I scratch at my own hands, watching the skin break under my nails. Feeling it reform itself quickly. Over and over. The air feels like its pushing against my shoulders, like everything is heavier. Drawing me towards the earth. It’s disgusting.
I take another step forward. And another. And then I’m running again.
This time, I’m not running alone. I can hear him, his timing is no where near matching mine and I know that its on purpose. Everything he does is on purpose. I feel my breathing fall into deep pants, almost like it was instinct. Like it was in my nature for my breathing to rise. I don’t know when he got so close, but too quickly is he barreling at my back, tackling me to the ground. I hit it with a harsh thud and the harsh crunch of snow as my face lands directly in it. It doesn’t last long for me though, as he’s yanking at my loose hair and forcing my head up.
“Does this make a sacrifice?” His hot breath ghosts across my practically frozen neck. He knows he has too much wiggle room here, because I can feel my bodys bones shift in ways that shouldn’t have been possible, not on any human. I don’t… know if I’m supposed to respond. I keep my lips sealed. I don’t want to respond. My entire body feels like I’ve stepped directly into hell. I hear the knife as it drags out of its sheath. I knew it was coming, because I eye that thing on his hip everyday. My constant reminder that the thing he’s going to use to kill me is always on him. It could be any moment. And it’s now. He takes his own sweet time, and somehow I would expect nothing more of him. He drags the impossibly cold metal up the side of my neck, and it’s too gentle. Too light. I don’t want it like that at all. It almost makes me wish he’d just get it over with. I’m not fond of being his idea of sick entertainment, though I know I have been for the past forever and a half that I’ve been wasting away here. I thought I was doing something right, something of importance, but as I’m forced against this sickeningly white sheet of cold nothingness, I only feel angry. Angry that I probably had a million options, and yet I just went with him. That now, as he holds his blade against my neck, I love him. In its own absolutely disgusting way, I love him. I love him as I loved Evan. And how I loved every Evan that has ever been. And I’ve loved him, as him and as he has done nothing but aide the horrors of everything around me. I love him because really, how different are we? In fold, we’re both monsters of our own classifications.
I finally feel him drag it further, press against my back, feel around for a soft spot not covered by bone, and dive in. It explodes like nothing I’ve ever felt. I feel my own bodies blood pool on my skin and begin to seep into the snow. Its all much less white now. “Do you feel holy?” He growls into my ear, letting my head go only to shove me over onto my back. He stands over me like this. I make no move to… move. To fight. To get up. I just watch him, watch me, die. He’s not smiling. Not like usual. Not like I would have expected. He just… stares at me blankly. I wish he’d smile. I plaster a big, fake smile on my face, and I wave at him. I don’t know why I do. I think something in me wants to comfort him. Wants to pretend that blank expression isn’t just because he doesn’t really care. I want to make believe to myself that he feels something close to remorse, or maybe guilt. Or maybe that he’ll miss me. And I know he won’t. But still, as my vision fuzzes around the edges and I seem to be less and less aware of any of my senses, I want him to. I want anything of him. I’ll love him.