Morbid, Chapter 4

The next morning I overslept by twenty minutes and was forced to run the mile and a half to get to school pseudo-on time. He met me halfway, this time. My backpack slid off my back, shifting weight on to where I'd been stabbed on it's way down. In  a way, it helped me feel more alert. I grabbed my pocket knife from it's keychain before the backpack touched the ground.

"You know, yesterday I wasn't planning on killing you." he held his hand up to stop me before I could interrupt, almost like he knew everything, "Truthfully. And I understand your reaction was in self defense. I never pinned you as a cold blooded killer. I went to see if you'd recovered correctly after the previous night."

My stomach dropped and I felt like a terrible being. But I realized I would've had to kill him if it weren't self defense because…everything I did was self defense. This man was going to kill me. I knew he was going to kill me until I was dead. But that didn't mean I couldn't try to survive.

"Yea…I'm a little bruised but I've done worse when I used to play basketball." I said, "And you? Sorry that I had to impale you…"

"Twice now. Yes…well I'm alright. You managed to get my heart each time so I didn't feel much. And the heart is the first thing to recover with us. Then the brain. So we don't actually feel pain if it's the heart. I apologize that I didn't stab you in the heart."

"No no no," I said, "It's alright. You did what you felt necessary." We were having a perfectly civilized conversation about killing each other. I wondered if this is how a murderer felt in the afterlife, talking to their victim. I severely doubted that.

"Anyway, it's my turn, I do believe," he said, waltzing up to me and covering my mouth with a rag. "Dear, you shouldn't feel anything this time. Maybe a slight discomfort--"
I took my pocket knife out and stabbed him in the heart. Again. I was beginning to feel like a one trick pony. The rag slid out of his hand. I didn't know what was in it, but I knew I was a bit lightheaded as I said, "This isn't scrabble, we don't take turns."

He fell to the ground. I dropped my pocket knife on the ground next to him and tried to stop shaking as I proceeded to school. 2 to 3.

And that's what concerned me. How could I be winning? It didn't add up. He was better at this than me. I hadn't been trained. I had been doing all the same thing. Monotonously finding a way to the most vital part of a human. And he had planned on using poison. Not every girl carries a pocket knife…he hadn't been expecting…

And that's when I figured it out. I realized he hadn't thought I'd kill him. And I hadn't thought I'd kill him. I never showed any signs of stepping up and being able to do this. He and I both thought he would eventually win this battle. He was too relaxed about it and that was his downfall. I was too stressed about it and that's why the score had me in the lead. He would have to start paying attention if he wanted to win.

A part of me wanted to lose. I'm not suicidal, I just wasn't a murderer either. James seemed like a nice guy, he really did. He cleaned up after each murder. He tried to make me comfortable and wanted to make sure I was ok. Me, someone he didn't want to live. I felt sick…