3 Breakdown

Believe me, I didn't do anything.

I love my family, they're the best.

They couldn't believe that I did it, they ARE my family after all.

During our conversation, which I can't really remember word per word now, my parents sounded like they needed a reason why I did it.

The problem is, I didn't.

Yes. I didn't.

They wanted an explanation. They wanted a reason to believe that it wasn't really me.

Desperation.

They were desperate.

Looking at my little sister's eyes, she was scared. Almost like she wanted the ever so loving brother she used to have to be back.

But I'm no longer the same, atleast for them.

Their eyes have been blinded already, yet they want a reason to see again.

They wanted the old me, but I never really left.

I never really changed.

It's me, can't you see?

It was a conversation I don't really wanna remember.

Not anymore.

10 years later. March 23.

I'm free, finally. This is the time when I realized that even if I weren't caught for murder, which I didn't really do, I would still be here for doing drugs.

Well, alot of drugs.

They rehabbed me, and was free on parole. To me, it was a bland experience. It was boring.

There was nothing for me to change.

Nor fix.

Sure, the drugs.

But they have done things to me for something more than that.

I'm no murderer.

You believe me.

Right?

.....

Thank you, I'm happy you do.

Moving on....

I still lived away from my family's house. I would see them for dinner every now and then, though.

They weren't exactly happy that I'm free, but they still wanted to express their love as family.

You see, this is why I love them.

Dad was especially proud to know that I took the rehabilitation seriously, I even promised them that I won't do drugs anymore.

I quit it.

I did.

One week after I was free, and still no job for me.

Then I remembered.... Dark web.

Ahh, dark web.

It was originally my source of drugs. I wanted to stay away from the dark web as much as possible.

But this shit society left me no choice.

The interviews were perfect.

It's just that....

They look at me, and they see a monster.

They don't even know me.

Hell...

....you don't even know me.

So I tried surfing the dark web, only to look for jobs.

As shady as it sounds, it's still profitable.

Dirty money is still money, you know?

I just wanna live.

As I was surfing, there was an ad that caught my attention.

No, it was not bright, nor big, nor did it have a nude lady with her saggy boobs hanging out.

It was just a short question.

"Ever thought of dying?"

With a telephone number below it.

I never really thought of it, and I have no reason to take my own life nor to let anyone take it.

I just shrugged it off and I took a rest for the day.

As days passed, things were really...

Should I say... Bad.

Not just the jobs, but the rent.

The fucking rent.

I can't pay for anything anymore.

I don't wanna ask my parents for anything, I'm too old for that.

29 years old and still has no job.

Great, Chris. Just... Great.

On top of that, I met this really cute girl on tinder.

We met a couple times, had sex, and she ghosted me.

Well, I should have seen that one coming.

Not gonna lie, she was a snack. Just a snack.

Everyday it feels like everyone's starting to see me as a monster, by the way.

Yupp, I'm a monster now.

One asshole even said I reek of blood.

I mean, who would believe assholes like that guy?

Other assholes.

He died a day later after saying that. None of my business, though.

Or so I thought.

Even just the word "dead" lights up my fuse. It makes me remember that hell... The hell I used to suffer and took responsibility for.

So now, I can't even watch the news.

Every death becomes my business.

In my head.

I wanted to get rid of it.

No drugs, no blood, no dirty hands.

My mom asked me one night, "Do you have anything to tell me? Perhaps, a problem or two?"

I refused to talk about it.

I'm gonna bottle this up, I don't want them worrying about me.

I don't want a therapist either, they remind me of that bastard psychiatrist who gave me pills to "fix" me. They were awful and left much worse side effects.

So I decided.

I need that ad.

I don't wanna live like this.

My fun days are gone in just a snap and I thought I could get it back.

And why the ad, you ask?

Why not just hang myself or slit my throat, right?

Who knows, maybe I don't wanna die alone.

Perhaps, I wanna make my death fun. Much more fun than this shitty adult life.

I opened the dark web and the first thing I see...

Almost like it was waiting for me...

Almost like God just wanted to give me a couple more reasons to use it....

The first thing I see is the ad.

Yes.

I dialed the number on my phone and it took half a minute to ring.

Someone picked up, "Your name?"

A creepy, old, raspy voice asked.

"Chris... Chris Everwald"

"Young one... Write this down.... Now."

Immediately I took my pen and sticky pad, waiting for another response.

The person on the other end started to spell out a... What seems to be an address.

"What is this place, and why do I have to go?" a stupid question, yes.

They just hung up on me.

What ever this place is...

It's gonna be a short ride.