My Killer

Paper-Thin

How long is forever?

Forever is the eternity it takes for a killer to leave your side and return again. How do I know this? It's quite simple really. Michael put me through it. He put me through the never-ending experience of forever. He put me through this special brand of hell. He put me through forever, and yet forever didn't last nearly long enough. Ironic isn't it?

Forever is a fickle, soul crunching thing.

Every minute the fucked up monster was gone felt like an hour, an hour of not knowing, an hour filled with this particular sort of dread. Dread which was so harsh, so tangible that I could swear that I tasted bile at the tip of my tongue because of it. A taste of bile, of sick, when I had yet to actually retch. Bloody fantastic ain't it?

I knew what Michael was up to, or at least he had given me a vague impression of his current deeds, and that knowledge did nothing to lessen the harsh twist of time. Knowing made it somehow a lot worse.

I wanted time to stand still, and yet the slow passing of time was a torture in itself. The endless agonizing wait, the pain in my stomach, the cold sweat clinging to my skin, the dryness in my mouth, the itching on my nose, right elbow and chin, the tightness of my throat, the prickling in my fingers due to lack of blood in their elevated state, and the spinning of my mind as I contemplated what was to come, was a relentless sort of hell. Hell, I was actually in hell.

A white ribbonlike rope was all that held me in place, and fuck me. I could not for the life of me get free. The killer was gone, and I could not get these damned ivory knots to loosen up. I was in hell alright.

I struggled in vain for a long time, I struggled until I had no struggle left in me. My resolve had been worn down into something paper-thin. A fragile thing that might break under the pressure of time itself. Michael had given me forever, and yet forever was not nearly long enough. Because I could not get my fucking hands free. I was stuck in his bed. Stuck here as he prepared yet another game. The mere thought of his games made me sick to my stomach, the burden of forever constantly adding to that dreadful weight.

I don't know how long Michael had been back when he finally came to fetch me, nor did I have any clue as to how long he had been gone in the first place. All I knew was that forever had come and gone, the pain making my body scream in agony was a testament to that. Forever, the span of time it took him to fetch new players to this fucked up game of his. Forever, leaving me drained in the wake of his absence. Forever, the wicked taunt of what was to come. Forever, I hated it.

I lifted my head up when the soft telltale sounds of someone approaching made itself known. Michael was back.

I didn't make a sound as he entered the bedroom. My eyes were fixed upon his towering form. His bulk filled the doorway, almost dwarfing it. Yet, that wasn't entirely true. Michael was tall, but not actually a giant. There was something about his presence which made everything around him seem so fucking small and him somehow that much larger, a trick of the eye of sorts.

He was terrifying as he smiled at me, his twinkling eyes capturing my own heavy wide ones.

"You're still awake I see."

He sounded cheerful when he finally broke the silence. Cheerful, like he had just come back from a great night out. His mood still bright from that special kind of high only living in the moment could give you.

Still awake?

Fuck you!

I wanted to scream at him but kept my dry lips closed. The anxiety which had taken ahold of my body, as he put me through forever, had been a strain on my now limp form. Everything ached, from the constant pounding in my head down to the numbness in my right toe. Being forced to keep this unforgiving position on the bed had not done me any favors. No, even readjusting my fucking legs hurt. But not as bad as my hands. The rope combined with the elevation had numbed my fingers and wrists in the most painful sort of way. Then there was the dryness. I was parched. The spikes in adrenaline as I had waited in agony had dried me up like a jellyfish left on land to die. My lips were chapped, my tongue felt like dried-up sand, heck, even the gentle act of breathing felt like it might bring on another dry coughing fit. I needed water. I had none left in me. I actually felt slightly faint.