The alarm clock buzzes for a while before I finally get the energy to shut it up. The sun is shining on my face, so bright that it's practically blinding me. See? Told you it isn't always raining...
School days. I hate them.
There's a little pause in my head as I process what I just said. Hate...School...?
No. I shake my head, trying to get the thought out of my head. You know you don't hate it as much as this place. You're just delirious.
I sit up straight on my bed and sigh.
"You know you hate it here more than any other place in the world." I say to myself.
Rubbing my face, I stand up.
It's quiet. So he probably left. I hope he left. I really don't want to see his face after he's... finished.
I slowly go to the washroom, turn on the tap and wash my face with ice cold water that pierces my eyes open. I do it one more time to alert myself. Yeah, I'm a paranoid teen.
I look up at the mirror hanging right in front of me. Just a few inches away. I never look inside the reflection's eyes. Maybe I'm too ashamed of myself to. But they always seem to fall on my neck. On the permanent scar. It looks like nothing now. It used to be horrible. But people don't know that. Whenever they see it, they freak out. Like that's the most horrible thing ever.
Not as horrible as before though...nothing at all like before.
I walk towards the kitchen past the lounge, avoiding his room.
Today is the day when I have to wake up extra early. Like I said, it's the end of the month.
I grab a piece of bread and microwave it. Not a fan of breakfast when I'm about to do my part of the job.
I chew my food, liking the softness of it.
I take my time, sitting on the marble counter, staring at the ground.
How long will it take me to finish my work this time? I wonder. I hope I make it to school in time.
Whenever I'm sitting here like this. Whenever I'm about to do what I'm supposed to do, these thoughts flood my mind.
What must have happened to the person? How long did the person suffer? How long did the person struggle? Most importantly, what does he even do with them?
"Shut your head up, Joey Miller." I hiss at myself, frustrated. "How many times am I supposed to tell you that?"
We made a deal when I was a kid. It's a fair deal. A selfish one, yes, but still fair.
A deal that keeps me alive...
Even when I was a little kid, I knew I wasn't his son. I knew he wasn't my family. And he knew that I knew this. Living with this person has always been like living with a shadow. It's always by your side. Even in the morning or in the night. The only difference is that you can't see it that much in the night. In the dark. And that's when you want to see it the most, trust me.
He told me that my mother had died a long time ago. And that he's the only person I had.
But I always thought otherwise. I never felt safe around him. I never loved him.
He never hit me or anything. He just...watched me. My every move. A silent man.
We used to shift a lot. From town to town. Never the big cities. Because in those places, you can get caught easily. Security is strict there unlike the towns.
What used to confuse me the most was the fact that he acted so differently in public. He acted as if he has always been a likeable person.
But he's a psycho. A maniac. A lunatic who loves to see others in pain.
Sometimes I think he's got a psychological problem. A very serious psychological problem.
But there're times when I say to myself, a devil can't have a psycho problem. That's just the way they are.
I found out about that two years ago...
It was a dark night. There was no moon in the sky. I woke up from a nightmare. I'm not afraid of dreams, so I was about to go to sleep when I heard noise downstairs. That creeped me out...
I followed the racket which led to his study. The door was slightly opened. And there I saw the truth. He was standing there. A knife in his hand. Someone lying on the floor. Blood seeping out of the victim. And he wore a smile on his face. A smile that wasn't human. It scared my to the core of my heart. I let out a soft squirm. He heard it. And within a second, he was staring at me, holding my arm tight with his hand as I kept trying to break free.
I was so afraid. So afraid that I don't feel fear anymore. Like all of the fear drained out of me after that night.
That day he proved I wasn't his son. Not a moment later, he decided to end me. He didn't even have to say it. I could see it in his eyes.
"Don't...do this." I said, tears streaming out.
But he only stared. A vicious stare that told me everything.
"I...w-won't...tell." I tried again, as he lured the knife close to me.
"Won't you?" He whispered, menacingly.
He didn't give me a chance to answer back. Lashing the weapon at me. I ducked. I barley made it. I was an inch close to death but dodged it. The knife only grazed at the side of my neck. A deep yet tolerable cut at that time.
I managed to escape from him, racing back to my room. But he followed me, and just I was about to lock the door, he slams it open, with me falling backwards in a trap.
And there was nothing I could do. Nothing at all as he approached me. If I hadn't gotten that idea in my head at that time, I would have been long gone..
"We...we can...make a d-deal." The words had spilled out of me.
He froze. Knife midair. And that's when I knew I got his attention.
"What did you say?" He hisses.
I tried to sit up straighter, repeating my words. "We can...make a deal."
He frowned, "A deal?"
"I..I can help you with th-this." I offered desperately.
He leaned closer, smiling the same smile he had before, "You can help me? I don't need your help."
"But...But I can make it easier for you."
His eyes grew, "What?"
"If..." I breathed, "You don't kill me...I can bring the people to you."
"Can you?" He had chuckled at me.
But I didn't stop. Because thoughts were rushing in my mind at that time, and didn't want him to do this to me.
"You'll get old. You won't be able to bring people towards you. I can help with that." I explained, looking down at the knife he was pointing at me. "I can make it easier for you."
He had smirked. "So you want to live...?"
I gulped as he said, "Ok. Fine. But you'll have to bring one idiot every end of the month. Think you can do that, boy?"
"Because if you don't... I won't hesitate." He placed the knife on the recent scar and runs the blade over it again, deepening it. I wanted to scream but I was too scared. Blood spilled out as I groaned.
He stood up, as I put my hand on the wound, trying to stop the blood.
"Think that scar as a reminder..."
And with that he walked away...
As a reflex, my hand goes right on the scar. The reminder.
John Miller. My so-called father.
People call him friendly. Kind. Generous. Helpful.
They call him an angel.
But all I call him...
is a monster...