Page 2 of Some Like it Violent

I remember the thrill that ran through me as I led him into the woods. I’d been calm the moments before I did the act. My bully had taunted me as he followed me deeper into the woods, thinking he was the predator and I was his prey.

How wrong he’d been.

I’d felt the darkness, the rage I kept buried, surging to the surface. It had been a force I wasn’t able to control. I hadn’t wanted to. Not anymore.

I replayed that first kill countless times in my mind. It got me so hard thinking about how it felt to take a life. The sight of his blood on my hands, the smell of something metallic saturating the air. I closed my eyes and remembered the fear that had been in his eyes when he realized what was happening. I heard his screams fresh in my mind, followed by the gurgle of blood filling his lungs and throat.

His fear had fed me. It ignited something twisted and hungry within me. And after I stood over his corpse, staring down at the gruesome scene, I realized I felt alive for the very first time.

My darkness had won in that moment, and I’d never reined it in since.

I slowly opened my eyes when the door to the holding cell clanged shut with finality. The last guard entered. He was a new hire. I could tell by the way he eyed me, a smug grin slightly lifting his lips.

He didn’t know who I was, what I was capable of. He thought he was in control.

So fucking pathetic.

The seasoned guard barked an order, and the recruit hauled me to my feet. I’d let him think he called the shots right now. I’d feign compliance.

The chains securing my hands and feet clattered together as I shuffled forward.

I had a plan, one that would cause a hell of a lot of chaos and violence. They had no idea I’d orchestrated this entire thing. Killing those prisoners hadn’t been about anger or impulse. I was always in control—ever since that first snuffed-out life—even if I was slitting a motherfucker’s throat and watching him bleed out.

Everything I did was always strategic.

I’d spent the last year with scenarios running through my mind, each one bloodier than the last. I needed a reason to be moved, transferred to where I was forced out of this prison’s walls. It was risky. They could have just kept me in solitary. But it was a risk I’d been willing to take.

The guards led me down the corridor to the exit where the bus waited.

Everyone I passed knew to avoid my gaze—like prey instinctively sensing a predator. And I took pleasure in their fear, knowing that I was the one causing their terror. It was a fucking aphrodisiac.

When the exit door pushed open, the sun hit my face. I squinted, unaccustomed to being outside. I was in solitary more times than not.

The transport bus was a fucking beast’s cage of reinforced steel made to contain monsters specifically like me.

There were a few other prisoners being loaded in, and when it was my turn, I climbed the four steps to get onto the bus. They tried to lead me to one of the first seats, but I used my strength to power through the aisle until I was in the very back. Where the emergency exit was.

They didn't give me shit about it and instead stayed silent while they locked my chains to the floor. I leaned back, testing the strength of my bonds, and kept my smile to myself, as my plan was coming to fruition.

After they made sure everything was secure, the bus’s engine roared to life a second before pulling forward. They thought I was restricted and broken. None of these fuckers understood that not even reinforced steel could contain the type of monster I was.

Before I’d been diagnosed, I always had people watching me, looking at me like they expected me to be the killer I turned out to be.

And after they found me standing over my high school bully’s bloody corpse, I’d been analyzed and picked apart by doctors who thought I was their personal lab rat. They couldn’t understand how a child could be so brutal and savage in the way I had been. They wanted to know what I was, and they finally found the right word to describe me.

Psychopath.

And when they realized what I was and could label me, I’d seen the satisfaction on their faces. Being able to put me in a box meant they had some kind of control over the situation, over me.

I’d been a slide under their microscope. They’d studied my brain scans, written reports on my lack of empathy, and awed by how I answered that I felt no regret over what I did.

Now, I finally allowed my smile to spread across my face and let out a low chuckle. The guard sitting beside me eyed me hesitantly and shifted on his seat, his hand instinctively going to his weapon.

My imminent escape was a violent promise to society. They thought they could lock me up and throw away the key. It had been too long since I felt the rush and pleasure of a kill, one I truly felt the urge to commit and not as part of an escape plan. But soon enough, I’d find my next victim. I’d get that adrenaline rush that only came when I was in complete control and watching life fade from someone's eyes.

Everyone thought they were safe. The world thought they could cage me. How wrong they were.

They had no idea the violence I was about to unleash.

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