Nothing: My Most Frequent Emotion

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Mr. Grayson's p.o.v

The pungent Kiwi-Passionfruit scented candles sitting at the top of my marble stone sink fight a losing battle with both my nostrils. I hate the candle, and I hate the smell it releases, but it helps with the odor of the rotting flesh.

I slip on a fresh pair of yellow rubber gloves as a precautionary measure. I don't need any sort of fingerprints or DNA on this body. Rolling my sleeves up above my elbows, I yank back the shower curtain and revealed to me is the bloody corpse of Matilda Manning. The twenty-something year old blonde lady I met at the liquor store two nights ago.

"Hey. I'm Matilda", she greeted me that night. I wasn't the least bit interested in anything that she had to say, but I knew that she wanted me. I could smell it off of her like a cheap cologne.

"Good evening", I responded

"...You uh...you come here often?"

"Yes. Do you?", I asked her nonchalantly, I grinned at her horrendous attempt at flirting with me. But only on the inside.

"Only when hot guys like you are around"

I stared at her blankly before she got embarrassed and said, "Im sorry... I suck at the whole flirting thing. I just... I really think you're cute and... I thought why not shoot my shot"

She twirled a strand of hair that fell onto her face and shifted her gaze quickly from my eyes to my lips. I invited her back to my apartment. It's then that she started to undress and I found myself wanting to slice her throat open.

And so I did.

I lean over the porcelain bathtub and stare at her pasty, pale features before pulling her gently out of the bathtub and placing her in the black body bag I picked up yesterday. I start to slowly drag her corpse all through the bathroom and down the stairs. With each thump, a bead of sweat forms at the back of my neck and at the bridge of my nose. In a matter of minutes, I have disposed of the body, and just like that, it's almost as if Matilda Manning never even existed. Death is a cruel mistress.

As I stroll towards my bedroom, I frown at the sight of a blood stain saturating into my pure white Calvin Klein dress shirt. I sigh at the loss of a splendid shirt and tuck it away with the rest of my old filth.

It could have something to do with the fact that I was fired just yesterday, but I'm particularly agitated and I need to be anchored. Now. So I change into something more comfortable. Dark jeans and a plain white cotton sweater. I need to go meet and old...friend.

#

I arrive at my destination and I'm visibly unamused by the sight. The house has an 80s looking exterior, coated entirely with bright red paint. An old fashioned red mailbox stands firmly at the front of the lawn, as if to be a sardonic touch. Who even physically sends mail anymore?

I climb out of my car and march up to the front door. I don't bother knocking. Luckily enough, the door isn't locked. I step into the house and a slight creek echoes the home as I close the door shut. The house is well decorated in mainly brown and red, with some purple accents. She always did like the colour purple. I take my time to examine the surroundings quietly, passing through the living room and laundry room. There's millions of pictures hanging on the walls.

She seems...happy.

The faint sound of...something strange and unfamiliar to me comes from the room beside me and I'm intrigued. My eyes dart down the corridor before I slowly enter the closed room. Once I open the door, I'm overcome with a strange sensation. I'm not sure what it is. I've never felt it before.

In the center of the room is a wooden crib, with a tiny creature moving around, screaming and crying. It's visibly upset. I've never liked babies. Well, I've never been this close to one in my entire life.

I walk towards the crib slowly, remaining silent and clenching my jaw. I place my hands firmly at the edge of the crib, asserting my dominance and my presence.

"Stop that", I say sternly to the little creature. "I don't like that noise. Stop it"

Suddenly, it's bright brown eyes find mine and the noise stops, it in turn starts to laugh. It's laugh was unblemished and it's gaze was purity and innocence if I ever saw any. It's only within a moment that it's miniature finger grips onto my thumb and it smiles. At this action, I feel overcome with a foreign wave of emotion.

"Jeffery?"

I'm jolted by the familiar, soft feminine voice on the other side of the room. I keep my expression impassive as I turn around and walk over to the door. There she is, as I remember. Her hair all messy and tied up, wearing only a nursing bra and shorts, covered in a robe. No makeup.

"Why isn't it scared?", I ask her nonchalantly

"What?", Dr. Renée asks while scrubbing her face with her palm. She's clearly very exhausted

"The baby. I yelled at it, and it wasn't scared. Why not?"

Her eyes narrow and she looks past me, analysing the room. She pushes past me and walks towards the child with a bottle of milk in her hand. "Well, because she's only a baby. She doesn't know that she has a reason to be scared"

She picks up the baby and sits in one of the chairs to feed it.

"And that noise? Why did it make that noise? The crying", I ask again. "Why was it crying?"

"She was hungry", she grumbles, "she doesn't know how to speak yet so cry-ing is how she communicates. She cries when she's hungry or too tired or uncomfortable or hurt...sometimes she even cries when she just wants to be held."

"And how do you know the reason?"

"I don't. But...", she sighs. "it's my job to figure it out"

A sudden silence lingers.

"Why do you look so happy?", I ask, pointing towards one of the framed pictures. "Are you happy?"

She smiles weakly. "Yes. Yes, I am happy"

"Because of your baby?"

"Mostly."

"...I want to be happy too"

She lifts her head and she smiles politely but I can see the empathy dripping through her. "I know... everyone does. I'm very lucky to be"

"Maybe I should get a baby too", I chuckle sadly.

A pause.

"What are you doing here Jeffery?", she investigates

"I. Don't. Know"

She frowns. Another pause. "I'll put her to sleep in a minute. Why don't you go to the kitchen and we can have a chat"

I nod my head, leaving the room. I strut down the corridor and enter the light-ly decorated kitchen. It's much smaller than my own kitchen, and it probably has seen much less blood. In moments, Dr. Renée enters the kitchen as well and insists I sit at the table.

"Coffee?", she turns to me as she grabs the mugs

"Yes"

I watch her pour coffee into both mugs. She pulls a bottle of scotch from the cabinet and adds some to one of the cups. I'm assuming her own.

"Why didn't you call first?", she asks me before gulping down her coffee. She seems to be a lot less happy in real life as compared to the photos.

"I knew that if I did you'd come up with an excuse of why I shouldn't come", I tell her truthfully. "This way, you can't say no. Because I'm already here"

"You look good", she says softly

"You don't"

"Still charming, I see", she rolls her eyes and takes another gulp.

A silence.

"I did something bad", I murmur as softly as I can. "It didn't feel bad at the time. It still doesn't, but... I know that it's something bad. And now, I just... I don't know what to do. I try every moment and every second to hold onto the littlest bits of me that are still relatively...good. But then I realize—I pause —"there aren't any. I realize that, there is no part of me, not a single one, that is good. There's only wrong and evil and angry and jealous and possessive and bad. That's all I am. That's all is in me. There's just...bad"

She sighs and scratches her thigh, mulling over a response. Some things just never change.

"Why am I like this?", I ask her

"Well, we cant help the way that we're created", she says tentatively. "We can't help the things that we feel either. Or even the things that we don't feel. In the same breath, we cant help the things that happen in our lives, despite how much they might shape the people that we are. I think"—she stops—"...well, I know, that there is something in you that doesn't want to be a terrible human being. I know that because you want to be happy, and I know that because you try to hold onto any-thing in you that might be good. Even though, it might appear that there isn't"

A pause. "I fought for your release from the hospital because I have faith in you Jeffery. I know that you're strong enough to handle this harsh world"

"It's not fair...that I'm like this", I choke. Something inside me tightens, and I find my self not regretting the decision I made years ago to accept Renées love, though I know I will never be fully capable of returning it. Not ever

I place my hand on the table and she squeezes it tightly. "You're right. It isn't fair. Not one bit"

A pause.

"You feel sad now. But I don't. I feel nothing", I tell her, swallowing. "I find you completely interchangeable, even though I'm perfectly capable of acknowledging the fact that you are not. I'm pure evil and it amuses me that despite that, you manage to trust me. When your baby laughed in front of me, I fantasized about bit-ing its nose off and stomping on its head. I wondered how loudly it would cry if I cut off its sweet little fingers. And yet, you're able to sit in front of me and say you trust that there's good in me, even though it's a scientifically proven fact that there isn't. Not a shred. You feel empathy towards me when, Dr. Renée....", I pause. "I. Feel. Nothing"

__________

Hey y'all! Thank you so much for reading!

This probably would have to be my favorite chapter to write so far and I hope it's one of your faves too!

Also, we hit 3k reads which is INSANE! Thank you so much to all my twisted readers and thank you for reading this messed up psychopathic stalker roller coaster ride haha. I promise you it only gets messier from here

See you in the next chapter...x