Buzzkill(er)

The first couple of days had been the weirdest.
I didn't know what to do with her, I knew I had to practice whatever I was doing, but I was still helpless. I had figured out pretty fast that I didn't want her to see my face properly before I had figured it all out. So as any other person would do; I got my hands on one of those full face plain white theatre masks, and started to wear it whenever I would interact with her.
It felt as if I was interacting with a rescue animal that needed to be rehabilitated and cause of that could not get attached to humans before being let out into the wild again, but it was worth it.
Sure, I was going out every night to practice but I were starting to feel odd about it. If I continued the way I was doing it now I would get caught before I even got to her.
I would be thrown away in prison to rot alongside proper killers; killers with a goal, and a proper way to execute it.
I was just a pathetic excuse of a crazy homeless person who's murders are a side effect of childhood abuse and a shitty lack of judgement. But oh boy, how the press would have loved that one.
Sure, I would never have gone through with my original plan, but I had still managed to kill several people. The press would love it if they found out about my fucked up childhood, and teen years. They would absolutely love it! I would get all the recognition I really deserved. Much more than what little I was getting now.


---


It had been about a month since she had been kidnapped from her dorm room. She was still not allowed to roam around freely in the basement though.
Her new, and improved if you ask andy, schedule was:
09:00 - Wake up/get woken up.
10:30 - First bathroom break.
10:45 - 11:00 depending on what he felt like that day - Breakfast.
11:45 - Second bathroom break.
14:00 - Third bathroom break, this one being optional, also not consistent at all.
15:30 - Dinner.
16:00 - Fourth, possibly third, bathroom break.
He would usually stay away from the basement for a while after this last bathroom visit. Sometimes she wouldn't see him before morning again. Sometimes he would stay in the basement though. He would sit there and watch her from behind his mask.
He didn't speak, he rarely did. He would tell her simple commands when he was escorting her to the bathroom, or when she was eating weirdly or too much. Other than small things like that he kept quiet.
She couldn't remember what he sounded like, not really. She knew she had spoken to him, she knew she had. If this was even the man who she though he was.

The only way to keep calm, and focused in a situation like this (being kidnapped and basically held hostage and all that jazz) was to count. It didn't really matter what she was counting, if it was time , how many screws there was in the planks in the roof, or how many times he would enter and leave during one day. Then again, thats easier said than done. Sometimes he would blindfold her, but other than those times, she was counting time.
She knew she had been fairly lucky to not have been killed yet. Even though she had once read that when your kidnapper start being more passive and hide their face thats when stuff usually turn bad.
He hadn't been wearing a mask or been distant the night she had been taken there, so why did he change so fast? Was he already regretting kidnapping her? Was he going to kidnap another person? Or did he just get a kick out of kidnapping people then playing a twisted version of house with them afterwards?

Another way to keep sane during this whole thing was to memorize things. She had memorized the room, or what she could at least. She wasn't able to turn around and look around when she was bound to the chair, and the brief moments she had out of the chair didn't give her enough time to look at anything but the ground and the kidnapper himself.

It was crazy how calm she could convince herself to be. How she felt like she got it all under control, as if it was nothing major to worry about at all.
All that, but still constantly feeling like she was in the middle of a panic attack.
She thought she got pretty legit reasons not to feel that great all the time. After all, she had been kidnapped by the guy she had a one night stand with, and he kept coming into the room wearing a creepy white mask and not saying a word.

There was a clock in the room, thats how she knew her schedule. She would notice how he came into the room at the exact same time every day. Not a second to early or a second too late. He was really consistent when it came to times.

"You don't scream enough." A dark raspy voice came from what seemed like nothing. She looked up to see him, but this time without his precious mask.
He stood close to her, his black hair hanging down around his pale face as he was looking down at her. He got a smug smile plastered on his face, as if he was about to tell her a huge secret.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. something cold and sharp was poking into her neck.

"I would have expected you to scream more." He pushed the object closer to her neck. She had now realized it was most likely a knife. Her heart was racing, and she held her breath. As a kid she had always wondered how it felt to explode from the inside, as she had seen a movie where this happened when a very fat man had been eating and eating and eating. She had been trying to hold her breath, or eat lots and lots of food to try to find out, and she thought she might finally get to know the answer now.


---


I moved the knife away from her throat. I didn't plan to hurt her, just scare her. Remind her who I was, and how she was under my command, how I was her god. Cause that was exactly what i was for her, a God; a god in control of her life. I was the one deciding whenever she should live or die. I was the one in control.

I didn't plan on physically hurting her, I didn't want to resolve to that yet. I knew I wanted her to respect me, love me, and worship me. This was just the first step in that direction so to speak.
I still didn't know what to do, not properly at least. But I had made the decision on taking a break in the "practicing".

"Scream for me." I say with a dark tone. I also slide the knife down to her chest, slightly pressing it to her skin, barley pinching it.

No response but some heavy breathing.

"Scream. for. me." I say again. This time a bit louder, and pushing the knife further into her skin, drawing a bot of blood.

She whined.

"Scream!" I push the knife down slightly, making a small cut.

Scream I say, and she obeyed.

Notes

"I didn't plan on physically hurting her" sure andy.