Page 108 of Little Psycho

I quietly draw my knife, biting the handle as I slip into the open window, entering a pitch-black room.I brush the snow off of me and tip toe towards the door, hearing the faint sound of the TV on somewhere in the house.Carefully opening the door, I peek my head out to make sure the cost is clear, and when I see that it is, I sneak down the long, carpeted hallway, distracted by the assortment of odd paintings hanging on the walls.I didn't peg him for an art collector, but everyone has their secrets.

Gripping my knife down by my side, I follow the stream of light shining in the hallway at the end, coming from underneath a closed bedroom door.With no way to know if he's asleep or not, I hold my breath and turn the knob, praying for the best.

Luckily, the Senator is passed out in bed, snoring loudly, with the window beside him wide open, a refreshing breeze steady blowing in.I take off my hoodie, feeling the cold grace my skin, cooling me off immediately.

As I turn to look at him, I shiver, a chill trickling down my spine and making all the hair on my arms stand.I feel sick.Flashbacks of my time with him attack my mind, threatening to break me.But I try to breathe through the discomfort as I approach the side of his bed, clutching my knife like a lifeline.

I can't do anything but stand here and look at him, my eyes glued to his sleeping body.Dark, curly hair covers his bare chest, making it look like he's wearing a sweater.His glasses are off, folded on top of a book beside him, as if he fell asleep before he could put them away.A pair of flannel pajama pants covers his lower half, reminding me of the ones my father used to wear.Another shiver.Another chill.Another surge of nausea consumes my belly.

Suddenly, as I'm least expecting it, Pete's eyes open slowly, and he looks directly into mine.He doesn't move.He doesn't scream.And he doesn't seem to panic; it's as if he was expecting me, which takes a little of the pleasure out of this entire plan of mine.

His eyes dart to the knife in my hand, and he sits up slowly, reaching for his glasses."You can take the mask off, Calista.I know it's you," he says nonchalantly, resting his head against the cushioned headboard, sighing.His shoulders slump and his demeanor shifts, as if he's giving up—accepting his fate at my hands.

"Is that right?"I play coy, twirling the knife in my hand.

"I knew you'd be coming for me," he says, lighting a cigarette.And much to my surprise, he holds the pack out to me, offering me one."Do you smoke?"

"I do," I tell him, keeping my guard up."But I brought my own."I reach into my pocket and pull out my pack, lighting one.

I don't know if he poisoned his or fucked with them in anyway, and I'll be dammed if I take one and get fucked over it.Better safe than sorry.

I take a deliberate drag from my cigarette, letting the smoke billow out into the dimly lit room.The faint light from the streetlamp filters through the open window, casting a soft glow over his face.There’s something surreal about this moment.Here we are, two enemies locked in a standoff of sorts, both unflinching yet guarded in our own ways.

“What do you want, Calista?”he asks, a hint of amusement lacing his words.

The calmness in his tone unnerves me, like a predator playing with its prey.He knows exactly what I fucking want.

I respond with silence, letting the weight of the question hang in the space between us.My heart beats loudly in my chest, threatening to betray my icy demeanor, and I remind myself why I’m here.My mind races through the scenarios—the battles I’ve had with myself leading up to this moment, all the reasons I thought I could conquer my past by confronting him now.

“I think you know exactly what I fucking want,” I finally say, forcing a steadiness into my voice that I don’t quite feel.“You took everything from me, and I’m here to return the fucking favor.”

He leans back, chuckling softly.“Ah, the righteous revenge angle.It’s a classic,” he muses, taking another drag from his cigarette.“But coming here—this?This isn’t about vengeance for you, Calista.It’s about closure.”

Closure.

The word reverberates in my mind; it’s rich with expectation and weighed down by the scars of the past.I take a step closer, the knife held firm.

“I’m not here to get closure,” I retort, my voice sharpening.“I’m here to make you feel what I felt.To take back a piece of me that you thought you could steal so easily.”

He shrugs, as if sitting here with my knife poised above him was a casual conversation and not the confrontation it truly was.

“You think hurting me will ease your pain?It won’t.You can take my life, but you’ll never get back what I’ve taken from you.”He looks into my eyes, a smug expression on his tired face.

Something in his critique strikes a nerve.A mix of anger and helplessness surges within me.The charge in the air thickens, and I can feel my grip tightening around the knife.

“You don’t know what I’ve been through,” I hiss, remembering the years of psychological torment I went through and the week of horror he put me through, how I fought tooth and nail just to break free.

“And yet here you are,” he says, cocking an eyebrow, his casual demeanor maddening.“With a knife in hand, thinking you’re the avenger.But tell me, what happens next?You stab me?And then what?You’re left with nothing but a corpse and more questions.You’ll still be that girl searching for warmth from a father who never protected you.”

“Shut the fuck up!”The words fly out of my mouth before I can harness them—a primal scream born from sheer frustration.I take an unsteady breath, my heart thudding wildly as emotions I thought I had locked away come crashing down.“I’m not the child you knew.I’m not fucking weak like you think.I’m not going to let you get into my head any fucking more!”

He chuckles, a slow, deliberate sound that gnaws at my patience.“But you will.You always do.Because this is who you are, Calista.All that resentment, all that rage...it’s nothing more than a sad mask—a facade—and you’re still lost in the fucking dark.”

His words slice through the air like my knife will slice through flesh if I make the choice.With every accusation, he’s peeling back layers of my resolve, laying bare the fears I’ve so carefully tucked away.I take a step back, the knife quivering in my grip, and I shake my head to clear my thoughts.

“You are not going to control this,” I say, my voice steadier now, though inside I'm still brimming with fury.“You’re not going to fucking twist this into your game.”

Infuriatingly relaxed, he raises his hands in mock surrender.“Then let’s flip the script.If you want to take your revenge, how about a deal?You take my life, but in return, I’ll tell you my story—everything I did, every choice I made that led to this moment.No secrets left between us.”

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