Kid Against The World: Eight

Chapter Eight

I get out of the closet and embrace her, “Who is he?” I ask so dubiously.

“My father,” her eyes are red. “It sucks doesn’t it, when the person that shouldn’t hurt does this. Right?” she whispers as the man that just raped her is just outside of this room.

Kill the savage, my mind says.

And now I know why Namira wished Sybilla to be ugly because if she is ugly, then she won’t be rape, right? That’s the logic right there right, isn’t it. But she is beautiful, too beautiful to the point where her own father wants to grasp that beauty himself, a avaricious savage he is. His father is a savage, just like everyone.

Namira must have knew.

“I love you,” I say to her with the feel of relief.

I didn’t say it because I want her to say it back to me. I said it because I want her to know, God damn it.

“What now? You want me to say it back to you?” she reply to me with this snarl sarcastic tenor that pisses me off a bit, but I stay calm, I don’t feel like running away from this. I have no regret in the words that came out from my mouth. “You really love me? Or you just want to take me by the hips, stuck your tongue inside my mouth, and grab my breast and feel it? Huh? Is that what you want from me? You want to fuck me? Just like him, don’t you? That’s what you love, don’t you? That’s your love. Well, go on. Go on ahead. I don’t care. Do it. I can take another hit.”

She sighs after she finishes her beleaguering announcement, not knowing my true intentions. Nobody ever knows anybody’s true intent, that’s a pity.

“Shut up,” I say to her with my teeth gritting against each other. “What do you think this is? You think everybody wants to have sex all the time? You think that’s it? Are you stupid?”

I was stupid to say that, right after she just got raped. If I could, I would take it back, but it’s out there already.

She is not the type of girl to fuck; she is the type of girl you make love with.

“I’m stupid? You’re the one who’s stupid,” as she says this to me, her eyes are brimming with dreary thoughts and things her skin wished never to feel. “My father loves me, and you just saw how he showed it to me, didn’t you? That’s love right there.”

Again we are whispering.

She breaks a tear, and I manage to catch a glimpse of it.

“Yeah, okay. I’m stupid. You’re stupid. We’re stupid,” I say this a little bit louder but not too loud that it escapes this room, I don’t know why, I just really think she should hear it clearly. “I just really care about you. Don’t you see? I don’t care about anything else before I talked to you. I don’t care about myself, or anything. I don’t know what love is, but I have this gut wrenching feeling whenever I see you, it kills me and revives me at the same time. It’s nothing sexual, believe me. I can go watch pornography for that. But with you, it’s something different. With you, it makes sense. I don’t feel freaking empty because of you. I’m sorry if I place you in this position, making you the sole engine for my happiness. Blah blah blah. Yes, I place my happiness in your hands, because it was there the whole time. Kill me for that then.”

“Oh,” that is all she has to say.

I didn’t say this because I just saw the dreadfulness that has been struck upon her by her own father, believe me. I wanted to say this a long time ago, even before we started talking.

I’d be lying if I never thought about her sexually. I want her; I want to do all the things that would satisfy my carnal appetite. But I love her too, and that physical stuff seems to be just a bonus. I want to comfort her, I want to guard her. I want to hear that mouth of hers omit laughter. I want her to be safe from all the dangers. I want to give her the joy she deserves.

“I love you too, then,” she says this like it is an obligation, but I am weak and young, and greedy. So I mistake it, thinking she is being sincere with her words.

However, something about it ticks me off. And I got a little bit angry.

“No, don’t just say it because you have to. I love you okay, not because I want to see you naked, or because I can’t stop looking at you. I didn’t say this because I feel pity that your father is a savage. I will try to make the pain away.”

She is lying on her bed bare-naked, with nothing on.

“How?” she says. “How are you going to take this pain away? Huh?”

“He dies.”

I am indeed insane for this girl.

When I first talked to her, we were nothing more than strangers, another face that we know, but after just three days, twelve hours, random so minutes, and three seconds I know her more than anyone else in the world. Is that a bad thing? All I think about is her now.

Ted Bundy was a stone cold killer, I compare myself to him right at this moment. He was good at what he did. So why don’t I compare myself to one of the best? If I’m going to hell, why don’t I sin like a rockstar? There is no second best in hell. I just killed a man earlier, I can do it again if I want to, because they all deserve this.

Her father especially.

The death of a savage is by itself a salvation from al my sins. Forget about accepting Jesus Christ as my savior.

They got nothing on me, easy come easy go. I bet they have done some good in this life, but all I accounted for is the evil and pain they have caused. Be in your life, trouble is stride, so is their life. Now, you’re going to die. In my head I plan what to do. It’s easy. I will open the doors to the afterlife for you, all you have to do is attend. Take no luggage, no money is intended.

Believe me when this is over you’re going to come out laughing so hard no sound will omit. It’s going to fantastic, believe me. Ha. Laugh you savage. Laugh!