Chapter 8

The sky was gray. The clouds overhead rumbled with a long awaited thunderstorm. When I looked out the window, I wondered what I really wanted. The answer had been Javier, it had always been him, and I still instinctively answered with him, but somehow it felt as though I should be wanting something else. It had never felt like that before. Of course he's still all I desired, but there was a creeping emptiness, telling me that was never going to be enough.

I picked up the switchblade, still stained in dried blood, and walked downstairs to find my father in the kitchen. He was sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over an empty plate and finishing the last of a cup of coffee, reading some novel that belonged to my mother. I stood silently in the doorway, watching him for just a few minutes. It was clear to everyone who had met my family that I took after my mom's side more than my dad's. I didn't look anything like him. And maybe it was for that reason he treated me in the way he did. He looked at me the same way he looked at his wife, never looking at me as though I was his daughter.

He looked up at me and flinched in surprise. "Oh, Marín, how long have you been standing there?" A smile crept across his face, the same one he had when he always looked at me. "Why don't you come over here and sit with me?"

I hesitated, then joined him at the table. His eyes followed me with every step I took, staying trained on me when I took my seat beside him. It was expected, the way he reached out and took my hair in his hand, wrapping his fingers around the straightened locks. It didn't make me feel any less disgusted then, but I wasn't scared like I used to be.

"I wish you'd stop straightening your hair," he said to me. "You know how nice your curls look." I couldn't count the amount of times he said this to me. And I kept hearing it precisely because I wanted to take away from him the thing he enjoyed about me the most. I kept my hair tied behind my head, I kept it straightened, because he didn't like it like that. It was the most I ever thought to do---it was the most I ever could do. But not anymore.

"I hate you," I said.

He froze, then pulled his hand out of my hair. "Marín, you don't mean that, do you?"

"I mean it. I've always hated you." I withdrew the knife and threw myself on top of him, sending his chair crashing to the ground. The speed at which I moved I could barely comprehend---without any sense of hesitation, I stabbed him in the chest, over and over and over again, listening to him cry out in pain. Blood splattered all across the tiles, across his face, across my face. "This is how it fucking feels!!" I yelled at him, and soon after, I felt myself smiling. Laughter bubbled up inside of me, until it was uncontrollable. "You love my hair, you son of a bitch?!" I took a lock of my hair in my hand. "Well FUCKING SWALLOW IT!!" I drew the knife across his exposed throat and cut away that chunk of my hair, before shoving it into the fresh, bloody wound. He coughed, he choked, blood bubbled up out of his mouth and his breathing was erratic.

I rose to my feet and stepped back a couple of paces. My heart felt like it wanted to explode out of my chest, and my body was alight with a kind of excitement that was unlike anything I had ever felt before. My hands shook, my breath was shallow, and my vision was jittery. This feeling was one I'd never give up.

After the moment had passed, I lifted up the chair, rolling him over onto the ground. He was still alive, barely breathing, and his eyes staring blankly above him. He tried to move his arms, reaching towards me, but the amount of pain he was in, and the blood loss drawing all of his strength away from him. I sat down in my chair and watched gleefully as he bled out, his breathing eventually slowing to a stop, his eyes glazing over as the last little breath of life seeped away from him. I couldn't stop smiling, even with his blood all over my face and my clothes. I felt myself starting to laugh again. I'd never felt so much joy in my life.

I waited until my mother arrived home from work. When she did, I was sitting on the stairs, watching the front door. I was the first thing she saw when she walked in, her daughter covered in blood. Her reaction wasn't immediately drastic; just a small frown crossed her face as she pulled her shoes off.

"Marín? What happened? You're a mess."

I stood up and walked down the stairs, meeting her where she stood. "Can I ask you something, Mom?"

She blinked slowly. "What is it?"

"Why don't you love me?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I don't know what could've possibly given you that idea. My dear, I've always loved you."

"You sure have a shitty way of showing it." I ran my fingers along the blade of the knife, held behind my back. "You don't even say it to me. You barely look at me. You don't even do anything about your creep of a husband."

She opened her mouth to reply, but no words managed to escape. I didn't give her any more time to come up with a response, anyway. As soon as she blinked once more, I forcefully shoved her back and then pushed the knife into her stomach. She grabbed at my shoulders, trying to push me away.

"Marín---! What are you doing?!" She tugged at my hands, trying to get me to let go of the blade. "This isn't---It's not like you!"

"You don't know anything about me!' I pulled the knife out and stabbed her again, this time, a pained expression formed on her face, the most dramatic thing that I'd ever seen pull at the muscles beneath her flesh. Taking advantage of the pain she was in, I managed to force her to the ground, crawling over her on top of the living room carpet. I pulled the knife out again, and continued to stab her, over and over, listening to the dull puncture of her flesh and the squelching sound of it against her blood as it poured and splattered out of her body. The whimpering sounds she made were almost pitiful, coupled with her increasingly weakening attempts at trying to get away from me. At last, I pushed the knife into her throat, destroying her ability to make any more sounds at all. What was left was gurgling as she spat up her own blood and choked.

When my mother was dead, I walked to the bathroom upstairs and washed the blood off of my hands and face. My clothes were dark, so the blood didn't show as much, but I still wore one of my oversized hoodies on top of it just in case. I took my mom's keys, walked out of the house, and took her car to Ava's.

I only had a driver's permit at that point, so my driving wasn't perfect, especially not with the mental state I was in. But I managed to get to Ava's without incident, and seeing that her mom's car was absent, I took solace in the fact that I knew she was going to be alone. But before I went in, I took a long moment to breathe. There wasn't anything more that I wanted to even say to her. I didn't even want to see her face. Maybe it was best that I didn't bother talking at all, and just went straight to the point. If I had to see her face again, I just wanted to see her suffering.

At quite a slower pace, I climbed out of my mother's car and walked up to Ava's front door. I stood there for a good two minutes before finally ringing the doorbell. Another minute passed before I heard footsteps approaching the door, the sound of someone's breathing against it, and then the sound of it unlocking. It swung open to reveal Ava standing there, her eyes red and puffy, an obvious sign that she'd been crying.

She unlocked the screen door and pushed it open. "Marín, what are you doing here---?"

I entered the house and pushed her inside, slamming the door behind me. Without saying anything, I pinned her against the wall and started stabbing her, now as natural to me as breathing. She screamed louder than either of my parents, her high-pitched voice reverberating through the room.

"Shut up!" I yelled at her. "You're so fucking pathetic."

I probably stabbed her more than I did with either of my parents, for by the time she collapsed to the ground, her stomach felt as though it had been turned to mush. She threw up her blood, and maybe even chunks of her own stomach, her body convulsing so weakly and so painfully. With each retch, the blood spilled out from in between her lips so very slowly, pooling on the floor next to her face, soaking her cheek and her hair. The last thing she saw before she died was me, standing over her, her blood covering my face.

Killing her didn't bring me as much joy, for a reason I couldn't guess. But I was satisfied enough to the point where I didn't dwell on it for too long. While I was still in her house, I found her mother's address book, took note of Kendall's family's address in there, and quickly left before anyone could see me. But as I sat down in my mother's car, I couldn't keep myself from thinking of Ava again. Everything we ever did together, everything she ever said to me, all of the bullshit she pushed through just so that she could be with me. I still treasured our friendship, and even until the very end, even when I was so angry with her to the point where I gutted her in her living room, my mind didn't want to hate her. Something in me still longed for those days, where we could laugh together and listen to our favorite bands and go to concerts.

When I realized there were tears running down my face, I quickly wiped them away and tried to clear my head. I was being too dramatic. Ava brought this upon herself, of course.

By the time I got to Kendall's place, the sun was setting. I first peered in through the windows, and upon seeing her sitting alone and watching TV, and with no cars in the driveway, I took that as evidence that she was completely alone. She opened the door moments after I knocked on it, saw my blood-covered face, and screamed.

I killed her the same way I killed Ava, and this time, it was far more fun. I let her try to fend for her life a little bit, watching her drag herself across the floor, blood streaking behind her. I liked it when she looked at me with that horror and fear across her face. I loved making her feel the same way that she made me feel.

By the time she was dead, it was completely dark out. I was sitting on her living room couch, taking a moment to breathe, when I heard a knock on the front door. I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound, and suddenly, I was filled with a brand new kind of fear. Slowly, keeping myself low to the ground, I crept over to the front door and peered through the peephole. On the other side was Javier.

"Kendall??" he called. "Are you there? I need to talk to you! It's kind of important!" I quickly pulled away from the door and scrambled to find a hiding spot. I couldn't let him see me here, not like this.

When I tucked myself underneath the stairs, he knocked again, and that's when the door fell open. I silently cursed myself for not closing it all the way, let alone actually locking it. Of course he walked inside. His steps were the sort of hesitant few steps over the threshold that made it clear he knew something wasn't right. He called out for her again, then headed up the stairs first. Once I was sure he wouldn't be able to see me, I quickly got out from my hiding spot and dashed toward the living room where I left her body. I dragged it across the floor, making my way to the sliding glass doors that led out to her back patio. I made sure to close the curtains on my way out, though I wasn't sure it was going to be enough.

I was trying to conceal Kendall's body in some bushes when I heard Javier getting ever closer, still calling out for her. When he suddenly went quiet, that's when I guessed he must've entered the blood-splattered living room. There wasn't any time left. I needed to get out of there. But when I was trying to figure out how I would get myself over that godforsaken picket fence, Javier was already walking outside.

I looked at him. He looked at me. But he wasn't really looking at me. He was looking at the knife in my hand, the blood covering my body, and the dead girl behind me. My heart raced again. I felt like I was going to hyperventilate, faint, or just lose my mind completely.

I stumbled to my feet. "Javier, please, I---"

He stepped back away from me. That hurt more than anything. "Marín...what...what did you do?" he said, his face a mixture of horror and disbelief.

There was pressure building behind my eyes. My lips quivered. My hands trembled, and my knees wanted to collapse beneath me. "You don't...you don't understand, Javier. Please, don't run away from me."

I stepped toward him, and he stepped back again.

Javier shook his head. "I can't..."

Everything in me screamed that I couldn't let him get away. Without even a split second of thought, my instincts drove me to run at him and grab him before he could run away from me. He fell to the ground beneath me and tried to pull away, attempting to tear the knife from my hand. I wasn't even pointing it at him, I just wanted him still.

"Please!" I cried. "Please just listen to me!"

"Marín, I...I can't..." he managed through gritted teeth.

Eventually, he managed to pull the knife away from me. I didn't care, I wasn't even looking at it, I just wanted him to be still. But all of the movement and tension in my body suddenly stopped when a sharp pain shot through my body. In a daze, I looked down to see the knife sticking out of my stomach. I looked up to see Javier looking at me, the same terror and confusion on his face as he crawled out from under me. I fell back hopelessly, collapsing onto my side.

I must've done that by accident, I thought. I was never really good with knives of any kind. Yeah, that was it. I mishandled a knife while trying to wrestle another person. Javier couldn't have done that. He would never hurt me.

He would never hurt me, right?