Page 1 of Psycho Killers

STARS

MEDICATING: BOYS NIGHT OUT

ASH

The apartment vibrates with the relentless pulse of emo music—a soundtrack to my high school years, now a bittersweet echo of nostalgia. Dom and Killian are at the doctor for a follow-up about his injured leg; Cali and Five are underground, preparing for tonight's race. Alone with my thoughts, I find myself in a perilous place, a darkness I can't articulate. I'm left alone with my thoughts and feelings, and fuck, it's a dangerous place to fucking be. The inexplicable weight of guilt crushes me; I'm consumed by the act of killing my father, and I can't figure out why.

It makes no fucking sense. He deserved it. His ass deserved everything he got. It could've been worse, but it was enough to kill him and remove him from my nightmares, my life, and fucking existence all together. He was a mean son of a bitch, sadistic and vile as they come. He raped and tortured not only me and the guys—even Cali—but hundreds of innocent young boys since before I was born. His cruelty was beyond measure—far worse than the act that ended his life, freeingme from his nightmare. He was a monster, a sadist who inflicted unspeakable horrors on me, my friends—even Cali—and countless other innocent boys for years. He was my only remaining parent, yet he was never a father to me; he didn't deserve the fucking title.

This fucking guilt, this overwhelming remorse, is a baffling enigma, especially considering my past actions with Cali. There was no such burden when I helped her kill those other men, so why is there one from me killing my father?

It's barely ten in the morning, and I'm already drowning in vodka and pills. Seated on the balcony, clutching the nearly empty fifth like a lifeline, I swallow a handful of Xanax and Dilaudid, chasing them with a fiery gulp of vodka. A fog descends, a suffocating darkness threatening to consume me entirely. And, honestly, I'm ready to let it.

The city mirrors my mood—a heavy, gray sky and brooding clouds offer a more comforting embrace than the recent sunshine. Darkness is my sanctuary, my natural habitat. I thrived in the shadows, never knowing the warmth of the light. Now, that possibility feels like it's forever lost.

I can't maintain this fucking charade—the pretense of normalcy, the denial of my father's death, and the fact that I'm okay. I drain the bottle, the world tilting precariously as I lean back, closing my eyes. The spinning intensifies. My heartbeat begins to slow quickly—so slow and soft I can't even hear it in my ears anymore.

Silence and darkness—that's all I hear and see, and you know, I've never felt more alive, more at home than I do right now.

The world fades. Not with a bang or a whimper, but a slow, gentle drift into nothingness. It’s peaceful, surprisingly so. The guilt, the crushing weight of it, finally releases its grip. It’s not gone, not really, but it’s muted and distant, like a half-remembered dream. The throbbing in my head, the nausea, the icy grip of the vodka and pills—all receding into the quiet.

I’m not afraid. Not anymore. The fear that clung to me like a shadow for so long—the constant, gnawing terror of my father’s appearance—is gone. Replaced by… acceptance? Resignation? I don’t fucking know the right word. But it’s a calm I haven’t felt since... well, since before I was born, maybe. Before the darkness consumed everything, and my life was ruined right before my eyes.

A faint sound reaches me—a distant siren, muffled and indistinct. It doesn't bother me. It’s just another sound in the vast, silent landscape of my mind. The city below, the apartment, Dom and Killian, Cali and Five—they’re all fading, too, becoming part of the quiet enveloping me in a dark and soothing cocoon of nothingness.

The last thing I register is a flicker of light, a sliver of sun breaking through the thick, gray clouds. A cruel irony, perhaps. But even that fades, swallowed by the inevitable darkness. And in that darkness, I find... not peace, exactly, but a cessation. An end to the relentless, agonizing turmoil. An end to the fight. And in the end, a strange, unsettling kind of... completion. Like I'm going to a place where I'll finally feel free, like I belong, where I won't have to live with the guilt from the sins I've committed, even against some of the world's most terrifying monsters.

As my breathing labors and my heart beats even slower, struggling to maintain a strong, steady rhythm, there's a faint whisper that comes from a distance, telling me to let go and come home. So instead of fighting, instead of hurting, I accept my fate and follow the familiar voice deeper into the darkness until a bright, shining light at the end of it burns my eyes but welcomes me with open arms at the same time. I embrace it, feeling peace enveloping me like I've finally found where Ibelong... But it isn't in the apartment with my friends; it isn't even on earth.

I know where I am now, and if they look up at the dark sky in the dead of night, they’ll be able to see me. Not the real me, not physically, but in the form of a bright light. For I'll be the brightest shining star, sparkling more than the others. I'll be the light that they need to guide their way through the darkness, and no matter what, I'll always be with them, even if they can't see me. They'll be able to feel my presence like a shield of protection wrapping tightly around them, and I'll keep all of them safe, counting down the days where we'll all be able to meet again.

ONE

POP ROCKS

MY HAPPY ENDING: AVRIL LAVIGNE

CALISTA

Stakeouts can be incredibly fucking dull. After enduring so many together, the realization crosses my mind yet again, primarily because I’m sitting here, stifling yawn after yawn, squeezed next to Killian in an abandoned building across from one of his father's offices, both of us trying to peer through the same window.

My thoughts are consumed by Dominic and how his appointment is unfolding. He’ll either return home with his cast removed, or he’ll still be stuck with that fucking thing. For all our sakes, I really fucking hope it’s off. He’s been miserable, and his gloom has cast a shadow over the rest of us.

I’ve tried calling Ash, but his phone always goes straight to voicemail. I don’t dwell on it too much since this is typical behavior for him. Assuming he just wants his space, I slip my phone back into my pocket, deciding to let him be. Yet, an unsettling feeling gnaws at the pit of my stomach, whispering that something isn’t quite right. It’s as if something has happened, but I wouldn’t even know where to start searching.With everything else going on lately, I try, albeit unsuccessfully, to push that unease to the back of my mind.

“God, I’m so fucking bored,” I exclaim, rolling my eyes and tilting my head back until it reclines comfortably against my shoulders.

Killian laughs, nudging my shoulder with his, and offering up a bright smile that finally reaches his eyes. It warms my heart, prompting me to smile back. But I can sense he’s on the verge of saying something; that familiar glint in his eyes betrays him every time.

“What?” I inquire, rummaging through my backpack for something—anything—to snack on.

“If you’re that bored, I’ve got something that might just hold your attention,” he winks, and I can immediately guess where his mind is wandering.

I pull out a pack of Pop Rocks, a mischievous grin spreading across my lips as our eyes lock. He licks his lips, glancing between the candy and my eager gaze, desire flickering in his dilated pupils.

“Tell me,” I urge, ripping open the foil pack and pouring a handful of the candy onto my tongue, relishing the mini explosions erupting in my mouth.

“You know what they say about Pop Rocks, right?” He asks, his pierced brow raised playfully, his tongue brushing tantalizingly across his lips.

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