Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I paused, grip faltering as the object of my rage slipped slightly in my hands. They were slick with blood. Not mine. I realized my eyes were closed, and when I opened them, I remembered why. My daughter’s eyes were wide and tear-filled as she struggled against my grip. Her feet dangled in the air, slowly going limp as she lost consciousness. I unclenched my fists and her body crumpled onto the floor in a pool of her own blood, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. She looks beautiful, I thought, eyeing her form for a second before stepping back. But she knew too much.

~

“I like hurting people. I mean, not physically,” I lied, “like- mentally. Psychologically. I don't know why, but I just- do. Y'know?" I glanced up, watching her reaction, but not fully understanding it.

“What?” she breathed, looking stunned. I didn’t understand why. “No, Oliver, I don’t know.” She said finally, looking at me as if I had just told her that her mother was dead.

“You’re a Psychologist- Therapist- whatever, you should know.” I answered, tilting my head slightly.

“Oliver, I deal with people who have depression, anxiety, eating disorders, etcetera, not psychopaths” 

I hesitated, taking a moment to process her words, before realizing she was just straight-out calling me a psychopath.

“I’m not a psychopath, if that’s what you’re implying.” I snapped, my patience evaporating in a mili-second.

“Oliver, you display common traits of psychopathy, all im saying is that-”
I cut her off, watching her choke on her own words with an odd satisfaction as I pressed her back against the wall, towering over her. 

“I’m not a psychopath. Full stop. End of story.” I choked out, my hands pressed around her neck in a desperate attempt to shut her up. Shut up shut up shut up.

“Oliver-” She rasped, clawing at my hands like a baby bird to its mother.

“I’m not a psychopath!”

“OLIVER!” she screeched.

Her pleading echoed through the small room, and I loosened my grip just a bit. She stared at me, a look of terror plastered on her face. I dropped her, and she crumpled to the ground, clutching her throat. 

“Uhm, yeah, bye.” I muttered, shoving the door open with my shoulder without looking back.

~

Pushing the open door of my small, one-bedroom apartment, I dropped my bag on the floor. The heavy slam of the door behind me made me flinch, as I let my weight fall against the door and crumpled, head in my knees, like a pathetic ball of self-loathing teenager. With a heavy breath, I let my head rest against the door. My body felt heavy, my arms laying motionless by my sides. Oh well, I mused to myself, suppose I should go to bed, then. 

~

Eyes suddenly blinded by the light flitting through the blinds, I groaned and reluctantly pushed the covers aside, having to hold back a wince as the cold hard tiles met my bare feet. I trudged over to the kitchen counter, filling the kettle and flicking it on, attempting to ignore the irritating hissing noise it made as I fished out a mug and spoon from my cupboard. Two spoons of coffee, instant, black, no sugar. Same routine as the last 7 years. Maybe, I pondered,  just maybe, if I do this for any longer, I might not be here next year. I hesitated, still waiting for the kettle to end it’s raucous screeching before the neighbours made a noise complaint. I wonder how long it would take to die if I jumped out the window? Would it be instant? Or would I bleed out slowly on the cold pavement, last minute regret seeping into my bones as the reaper waited patiently for my soul? Breaking my train of thought, the kettle made a click , signalling the completion of it’s job and  finally ceasing it’s unbearable hissing. Sighing slightly, I wrapped my fingers around the sleek handle, pouring the boiling water into the metal cup on my bench, the steam curling around the top of the kettle before finally dissolving into the air a few  metres above the bench. Placing the kettle back on it’s base, I hesitantly stirred the cup, the tinking sounds made by metal against ceramic grated in my ears. I took a sip, taking great satisfaction as the hot liquid trickled down my throat. Groaning reluctantly, I placed the cup back on the bench and spun on the spot, staring blankly at the glass front door. Dragging my feet, I stumbled over to the door.  Pushing it open and stepping outside, the cool breeze stung my face. Maybe a walk will help?

After about an hour of walking (or maybe 2 minutes. Who knows?), a familiar clack of stilettos against pavement stopped me in my tracks. 

“Oliver? What are you doing out here at this hour?” She questioned, hands resting on her hips as she tilted her head at me.

“Just going for a walk. Clear the head, Y’kow?” I muttered, turning to face her. She was standing on the asphalt road, her clean, sleek outfit combatting the ugliness of the rough surface. 

“Yeah, true, I was just about to g-”

Bam.

Well, that standing position probably wasn't the best idea, was it now?

The truck’s brakes skidded to stop moments too late, blood coating the bumper bar like a toddler’s paint job. Huh. I remarked, eyeing the scene curiously. The way her intestines had splayed out almost looked like a scythe. Weird. Turning on my heels, I headed back the way I came, letting the horrible scream of the driver fade into the background as if it was never there in the first place.

Maybe it really was never there? Just a cruel trick formed by my consciousness as punishment for my actions? Maybe this is all in my head. Maybe I'm in my head. Just a cog in the machine. Part of a greater crime. Maybe, just maybe, I need more coffee.

Yeah, that seems right.

Nodding to myself, I belined toward the local cafe, only a two minute walk from where I was.

“And what can I get for you today, sir?”

“Large cappuccino, black, no sugar please.” The cashier nodded, scribbling it down on a pad on the counter.

“Alright, seven fifty, sir.”

“Got it” Fishing the change out of my pocket, I placed it on the counter, turning to find a table. There was a cozy lounge seat in the far corner, with no-one around. Perfect.  

It didn’t take long for the barista to finish the coffee, thanks to the lack of customers at 4:00am in the morning. Retrieving my coffee, I swiftly exited, thanking the cashier as I left.

Chapter Text

I collected the watering can from the desk in the corner of my room, filling it with coppery tap water. Should I be watering my plants with tap water? Shoving that thought aside, I sighed and dragged my feet over to the large ceramic bowl that was my plant’s home. Tipping the can, I watched blankly as the luke-warm liquid turned the cheap, $5 store-bought plant soil a dark – almost black – brown. For a split-second, the plant almost responded. Out of the corner of my eye I could swear I saw the leaves immediately perk up and grow more vibrant.

Jesus christ, im going insane, aren't I? I shook my head at myself, wondering how in the world my life got to this.

Hell, I had a real life. A family. Kids. A wife. Friends. Well that fucking worked out well didn’t it?

I felt a liquid trickling down my palms, paired with a faint sting. I soon realized that liquid was blood, and that sting was my nails digging so far into my flesh I had sliced open my palms. The blood was leaking slowly out of the semi-circle shaped slices, becoming rather irritating.

“Shit.”

 For some reason, at that exact moment, I suddenly snapped. Like a rubber band that had been stretched just a bit too far and finally gave in. I threw the plastic watering can as far as I could across the room, not really caring what damage the water would do when it landed.
“ I want my wife back! ” I screamed, swiping my arm across the bench and toppling a few glasses and appliances to the ground and smashing them.

“I want my kids back!” I added, hands reaching for the nearest breakable object, which happened to be an old lamp, and threw it. It landed in the same general direction as the recently forgotten watering can, still leaking a steady flow of water into a growing pool on the floor.

“ I WANT MY FUCKING LIFE BACK! ” I cried, voice cracking as my lungs gave out, finally succumbing to the abuse they suffered from my plant-induced rage. I fell to my knees, the hard wooden floor creaking in protest at the sudden shift of weight. Thanks to my rather weak lungs, I felt breathless, like I had just run a marathon while holding my breath the whole time. I felt trapped, like a scared animal being cornered by a wolf, but at the same time, I felt like I was the wolf, closing in and waiting for the right time to pounce. I was torn between being prey or predator. Dying or killing. Screaming, or screaming.

I HAVE NO MOUTH BUT I MUST SCREAM.

In that moment, the discarded and shattered lamp decided now was the time to roll into the puddle of water left by the watering can, causing a sudden poof of flames. 

No, not a poof. More like a screech. A cry of a million voices calling for a savior, for freedom. All given in to immense pain and suffering.
The flames narrowly missed me, snapping at my face like a chained dog. I fell backwards, scrambling to my feet and stumbling hurriedly away from the fire. The flames were like tongues of a dragon, pretty-much instantly engulfing half my wooden unit in heat. I managed to make it to the door, almost tumbling down the steps as I made my escape from the mess I had caused. I ran, seemingly for miles, up a hill and collapsed against the nearest tree. I watched from afar as the trucks raced down the highway, lights and sirens blaring as they approached the burning remains of the apartment complex. Shit shit shit shit shit.

~

“So, you were watering your plant, suddenly had a fit of rage, trashed your unit, and then set it on fire by accident? ”

“Exactly!”

“Mr. Rowe, sir, you are not making any sense”

“No, you see, I'm making perfect sense, you just don't understand! You weren't there, you didn’t feel what I felt!”

“Sir, you need to calm down.”

“I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD IF YOU CALL ME ‘SIR’ ONE MORE TIME, I AM GONNA-”

One of the detectives decided enough was enough, and fired a few rounds of her 9mm into the carpeted floor, startling everyone into silence. 

“Look, I honestly couldn't care less if you believe me, but you can't charge me based on a hunch . You don't have any evidence, and mainly because it wasn't my fault.” I ventured, attempting to calm my nerves even slightly.

“Okay,  so let me get this straight,” The detective spoke in a calm, monotone voice, directly defying her previous frustration. She was still talking, but all her words sounded blurred to my ears. My head was pounding and my ears started ringing, the lights in the room suddenly blinding.
“Wait.”
“And then you- what?” The detective paused, observing me. My voice was slightly shaky, focus elsewhere.
“How did I get here?”

“I'm sorry, sir?”
“I remember sitting against a tree watching the fire, and then I was here, talking to you. What happened in between?” I questioned, head lifting slightly as I began to think I was losing my mind.

“Sir?”

There was a momentary pause, the officer staring at me with a questioning tilt to her head. I shook my head, as if trying to summon the memories back. Nothing.

That doesn't make sense. Did I black out? Breaking me out of my thoughts, the officer continued.

“if we could just get back to the topic at hand, then-”
I ignored her, placing my head in my hands. I need more coffee.

Yeah, that sounds about right.

“I can go, right? Because I'm not under arrest, so…”
“Well, yes, sir, but this will only take-”

Before she could finish, I was on my feet and pushing my chair in. The metal screech made the officer wince slightly.
“Goodbye!” There was a smug smile plastered on my face when I walked out.