Heartless

Creator: DemonGirlMe

☀*this was given to me in chat but has been found on wattpad by the real creator. credit goes to the original author*

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Sometimes I just feel like killing everyone.

Like I want to make sure that everyone who has ever bothered me to stop breathing.

Don't tell me this is bad because you've felt that way too.

I don't need advice from some hypocrite.

It's not bad to think this way.

I'd say it was pretty normal.

I'd say I was pretty normal.

I am 21 years old. I attend college to finish my degree. I work part time at a local bakery. And I live peacefully with my roommate in a decent apartment near the school. I'm the only product of two selfish human beings who really didn't deserve to walk the earth. It's not all that bad now, at least I don't have to face them anymore. Now that I think about it, last time I saw them was the day I met my savior.

Like I mentioned, my parents weren't the best. In fact, they were the lowest kind of humans to have possibly lived. My mother was the local prostitute while my father was a hopeless drug addict who spent every penny we earned on his habit. Money was always tight when I was a kid. It was so bad that my parents sold me into prostitution the moment I turned 16. It was horrible. Every night my mother had a customer waiting for me. At least they were worried enough about money to make sure those 'gentlemen' always wore protection. It kept me disease free. Though, those little rubber balloons couldn't stop me from throwing up every night. Trying to rid myself of everything those men poured into me. I lost weight. Lots of weight. It was to the point that my parents, if I could keep calling them that, took notice and grew angry. It wouldn't do. Nobody wanted to buy a skeleton. They started force feeding me, doing everything they could to make me eat. They worked like a team. My father would tie up my arms and legs and would pull me by my hair so that my mother could shove whatever that was edible into my mouth. They never paid attention to my cries. Why would they? I didn't give them any profit and I learned then that they wouldn't give me any safety. Eventually I stopped crying altogether which they seemed grateful for strangely enough. It was best to save my energy for my clients my mother told me once. By the time I graduated high school (father said that the younger ones paid the most), I was locked up never to see the light again. My skin went from their natural shade to a sickly ash gray. My eyes lost their shine. And then eventually, I stopped talking altogether. My parents were happy. They thought that I've finally accepted my fate. They were wrong. Inside, the darkness kept growing.

I hated them. I hated them both. I hated the fact that they continued to live. Hated the fact that their hearts kept on beating. Often times while I did my work I imagined killing them and stomping on the still beating organs. Soon those were the only thoughts that consumed my brain.

I couldn't think of anything else.

It was my everything.

I couldn't care less if it was wrong.

I gave up on being right long ago. I had no more morals. Even with the darkness that grew inside me, I couldn't do anything. I knew I was weak. I figured that out one night when I tried to rebel against a client. I ended up a bloody mess. I tried to fix that. After I recovered my parents kept me on lock down. They weren't the best at security of course. My mother always slept during the daylight while my father was always out. Knowing that, I snuck out every day to find a way to strengthen myself. Why didn't I sneak out and leave? Simple, murder. I wanted to kill them. I wanted so desperately to fulfill the dream I kept on dreaming.

I was 17 then. The first time I tried to train I failed especially. I had no idea where to begin. However, that all changed once I met him. With him I finally gained strength. I continued towards my dream until I was strong enough at the age of 19. During that time I obtained a butterfly knife from one of my customers while he was asleep. I had it for a couple of more months, waiting for the right opportunity to attack.

I remember the day I snapped.

It was during a night I had a particularly horrible client. He was an abusive one, drunk off his mind. I was beaten terribly, but I endured it with my self training. He hit me while calling me every word in the book. Usually I handle those situations well, however something different happened that night.

He was beating me relentlessly, my blood spilling everywhere. I didn't care about that. I was used to it. I wasn't a cutter. I focused too much on the death of my family to really focus on self harm. That, and I actually do hate the sensation of pain. I usually never faced my abuser, but this time I looked up, a feeling of defiance filling me. I stared at this man, hatred bubbling inside me. He looked down on me, sneering and then spitting in my face. He punched me again in my face. I acted fast, grabbing his fist and in a blind act of fury, bit his arm. I bit so hard that I pierced skin. The drops of blood enveloped my tongue in an iron flavor. I blinked. It could've been because of the harsh way I was always fed or the lack of food that I've had recently, but…

It tasted amazing.

Not just tasting it, seeing it seemed to do something to me. My breath hitched, I felt my heart pumping rapidly. It felt amazing. I started shivering, panting heavily. This feeling. What is this feeling? It was controlling me. I wanted more. More. I hungered for it. I needed more.

I stood up, wobbling slightly. I look over to the man with crazed eyes. He was clutching his bloody arm, cursing at me as he stood up as well. He went to grab for me but I moved faster than him, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I grabbed the butterfly knife I kept hidden in one of the drawers and positioned it in front of me. The man charged at me, not noticing my weapon, and tackled me to the ground.

I heard him gasp as we both landed. The wind was knocked out of me but I still managed to kick him off of me. When I got up I saw that the knife had pierced his stomach. I stared at it for a moment in shock. I stabbed him. I actually stabbed him. With a hand shaking in excitement, I grabbed the handle and pulled the knife out roughly. His blood splattered over my skin and the little clothing I had on. As soon as the knife was out he screamed loudly, the pain clear in his voice. He stared at me wide eyed and I stared back. I reached one hand up to my cheek where blood splattered and stared at it hungrily, taking it to my mouth where I licked it clean again. The man watched, horrified. He started screaming at me again. Calling me different names this time. Things like monster and freak.

I didn't mind.

I couldn't have cared less.

I gripped the handle of my knife tightly and swung it up again. For the first time since forever, I felt my lips twitch into something that resembled a smile. And then the knife swung down again. And again. And again.

I was so mesmerized by what I was doing I didn't hear the door swing open to reveal my parents. I didn't notice them until my mother screamed bloody murder. I turned to them and smiled at them. My form must've been horrible. I must've been covered in blood from head to toe. I didn't care. I stared at my parents, smiling the biggest smile I've ever smiled.

And then I lunged at them.

The first down was my father who I stabbed right in the throat while he was down. I brought the knife up again and enjoyed the sounds of him gargling in his own blood. Then it was my mothers turn. Hearing her screams were so satisfying to hear as I pushed her down and got on top of her. I smiled at my mother again and then stabbed her right inside her whorish mouth. Over and over again until she stopped moving. I looked back at my father to see that he's stopped moving as well.

I was breathing heavily. No. It wasn't enough. I wasn't satisfied quite yet. And then I remembered. I looked down at my mother and then back at my knife practically dripping with the sticky sweet liquid. I ripped open her shirt and stabbed her chest, being careful not to hit where my prized organ was. I chanted what I said every time I imagined killing them, only this time, the thrill was real.

I hate you.

I hate you both.

I hate the fact that you both continued to live.

Hate your beating hearts.

With another grin I ripped her chest open revealing a heart which pumped weakly. I gripped the poor thing with my small hand and with one swift movement, pulled it right out from it's cage. I stared at it, the blood leaking from the ripped tubes. I wanted to crush it, to smash it with my foot, but the smell was so intoxicating that I brought it closer to my face. And then, without a moment's hesitation, I bit into it and tore a piece off, chewing it and then swallowed. I paused for a second before I tore another piece and eventually devoured the whole thing. Without wasting anymore time I did the same to my father and the man who ended up taking my murdering virginity. I chuckled at the thought but then froze when I heard what sounded like muffled clapping.

I turned around to see the only person who has ever helped me in my whole life. I smiled at him and watched as he bent down, scalpel in hand, and pierced the skin of my mother above a certain area.

He looked back at me, black liquid dripping down the empty holes where his eyes should've been. The blue mask that he always had on was in his hand as he smiled at me, his sharp, pearly white teeth contrasting with his dark grey skin. He looked proud of me, as if he's been waiting for this moment for the longest time.

He was my hero.

My savior.

"Congratulations on your first kill and first feast…my new proxy."

"Thank you…Eyeless Jack."

My master.