Chapter Twelve

Today they begged me to take the medication. They wanted me to take this seriously. They wanted me to not screw it up. They said my focus is priority. They said if I lose focus, it'll all go to shit.

Maybe I wanted to screw it up. I hate being serious. Maybe I should take this seriously. I hate priorities. I like doing things well.

It's not like she was going to take it seriously. She doesn't even want to marry me.

But then again, the world would be watching.

I paced the room, my mind whirling with thought after thought -as it always does. One minute I find myself thinking about how much I have to do because there are always, always things to do. The next I could be wondering if God really does exist.

Does he?

The woman going through my wardrobe held up a suit, "Here it is." She spoke proudly of the outfit in her hands, "I had it professionally made, hand stitched with the finest threads and materials. I picked the colors so they'd match the wedding theme-"

"That is repulsive, I don't like it."

The smile fell from her face, "What?"

"I. don't. like. It." I waved my hand, "Find something else, something dazzling, something vibrant, something that is not that."

"Sir I don't know how-" I stopped paying attention, my eyes drifted to the window and I wondered if I'd live if I jumped from this level. I thought about paying someone to try it. Maybe they'd do it. Maybe they'd die.

I didn't realize I was smiling until her voice broke me from my thoughts again, "Sir?"

I turned to her, "What?"

"We have no time to find a better suit."

"Then make time."

She stared at me for a long moment. I knew she hated me. I knew she wanted me to die by my own cleaver.

I wonder what that is like; to die on television. Is it humiliating, or are you too scared to care?

Am I scared of death? I can't decide. What is it like to die?

I realized I was zoning off again. I shook my head, frustrated. I was frustrated at myself. I was frustrated at them or being right. Mirea was right, and it was irritating. Everything I do is irritating. I should take the medication. I hate taking it.

I should though. Will I? I think I will.

"Change of plans." I tell the woman, taking the hideous suit from her and throwing it aside, "Go fetch me the medication." The medication, not my medication. I made sure to emphasize the fact that I will never claim ownership to such a disgusting toxicity.

Her eyes widened then, and I realized I was just as shocked as her. I never take the medication, I never let that poison in my body. It was a rare endeavor.

It makes me feel numb. I remember the feeling, because it wasn't a feeling at all. I felt nothing, I could barely even think because nothing mattered at all.

I'd rather think too much than feel nothing at all.

And what is it I should be feeling? I'm getting married shouldn't I feel every emotion today? Shouldn't I be happy and sad and angry at myself all at once?

The woman rushed out of the room, and I bit back the words that tried to crawl up my throat, "Don't." I wanted to say, "I don't want that poison anywhere near me."

But I didn't say it, and maybe I would have if I hadn't noticed the suit I had thrown on the floor.

Right. I need to deal with that.

I picked up the atrocity and cringed in disgust. It is vibrantly ugly. I wanted nothing more than to watch it be ripped to shreds.

It took all my mental strength to turn my focus on the rack of clothes in the room. I began to look through each item, every suit, shirt, jacket, coat. It was all the same. None of it stood out. All of it was boring wedding attire. I hate wedding attire, and I hate being bored.

The woman came rushing back with two white capsules in her hand. My heart felt odd when my gaze landed on them, I couldn't describe it other than absolute dread.

I thought back to when I was a child, my mother unable to handle me due to my persistent hyper activity. The doctor claimed I had a demanding case of ADHD. My mother wouldn't have it, she couldn't stand to think her son had something wrong with him. She sent me to eleven different doctors, as if they would tell her what she wanted to hear, and not the truth.

She thought I was a lost cause. She thought I'd lose my right to be the Bone Cutter. She thought I was mess because mental health was something she just couldn't grasp.

And yet I grasped it, and I knew it well. I spent seven years of my childhood taking those fucking pills. Having swallowed them, slowly feeling each emotion of mine wither away like they never existed. For seven years I was a child of grey. I had no color to my soul, and it bruised me. Everyday, feeling emotions felt like a punch -because that's what I did. I would pay the other kids in my class to punch me behind the school. In private. Their skinny child-like arms hadn't much muscle, but I felt it. Afterall, I was only a small child myself.

I hated the pain. But the fear and rage I felt was so very real.

And then the principal caught us. My mother cried out when she forced me to take my shirt off, revealing bruise after bruise after bruise.

But seeing her so terrified and angry did something to me. For the first time in a long time, I caught myself smiling. It was all just so wonderful and ridiculous. Every bit, every emotion I watched her feel, I could almost reach out and feel them myself.

So, that day, I said enough. I embraced my hyper activity, and because of that, I am now Inanis Messor; The Bone Cutter. They were going to take my birthright from me, but little did they know I wouldn't be America's slaughterer if it weren't for my starving need to feel the fear of the crowd when I cut a victim. That fear, that awe, it's reflected in me. I feel it back. Fear of myself, and awe of what I can do.

What I do because I have no restraints.

I don't like to kill. I remember my first kill ever had tormented me for months. The look on his face, the blood that was sticky and warm on my hand. I hadn't eaten days after that. Still to this day I have trouble feeling worthy enough for the food on my plate. Maybe it's my guilt resurfacing, or maybe it's because deep down I know I'm not any more innocent than the men and women I kill.

But it was the reaction I got, that makes me do it again. The cheering that the crowd makes, the excitement was a gorgeous thing. I wanted to feel like they did. Maybe one day, I will feel like them. I will be happy, I will be carefree, I will feel something for a long, long time, and not get sidetracked by something else.

I'm just so bored. I'm bored of everything.

All because my brain is such a wild thing. A wild thing that I still don't know if I love or not. Sometimes I think it is beautiful, and other times I just think too much.

It makes me angry, and that's okay, because at least I'm feeling the anger, and not just thinking about it.

I hesitantly reached out and took the pills from her hand. I reminded myself it was only for one day. This wedding must be perfect or else America won't believe it, and if they don't believe in our love then everything will fall apart.

I will take them, because today, I will not let myself get on Mirea's nerves. She deserves a Bone Cutter for a husband, not a fucking child.

It's only one day.

I took the pills, swallowing them before I could throw them away.

I felt the sudden need to shove my fingers down my throat and heave them back up. I didn't, but I wanted to.

God how I want to.

I thought of Mirea, she was probably almost ready by now. Maybe she would feel like I would. She was such a complicated person, but her emotions were always worn on her face. I could tell her mood from across the room, and it was such a delicious trait of hers.

I love watching her hate me. Her hate was fueled with such passion, and that itself was what made my decision to make her my wife.

Sometimes, I admit, I wondered what it'd be like if her passion was directed towards liking me. Loving me, even. I have spent a great deal thinking about it. Thinking about her hands on my body.

What would it feel like? To have her want to touch me?

Would it feel good? Would she be disgusted of the scars I paid my classmates to put on my body?

I had told her before that love was a childish thing. That I had no desire to get romantic with her. I was telling the truth then, of course. I really had no desire to get anywhere close to her like that.

But then came the moment when I pushed her into the swampy creek. She looked absolutely disgusting, and not to mention she smelled appalling. When she drug herself out, and attacked me with such ferocity.

Those few seconds of her on top of me, all I wanted was to feel her lips on mine.

It was weird, I admit. To spend days wondering how I could get under her skin in the pettiest of ways -and then to suddenly be plagued with the thought of wanted to taste her skin.

Do I like her? No. At times she does bore me, just like anyone else. I told myself I'd never get married because marriage was so fucking boring. I would look at couples, and cringe with the boredom that surrounded them.

So naturally, I chose Mirea and her abundance of hatred to entertain me. Love was out of the question.

And then came the night of our wedding announcement at the White House. I felt her go stiff beside me on the platform, after I had announced everything to the world. I knew she would pass out on me if I didn't get her out of the spotlight immediately.

When we were alone in the room -when her legs gave out and I managed to hold her close to me for a small pocket of time.

I felt relieved.

Relieved that I had caught her, relieved that I was the one there with her. My mind hadn't drifted off at that moment, it had stayed wholly on her.

She looked pitiful that night, she sounded defeated, and normally that would annoy me, but even then, she still managed to insult me a few times, and for that, I hadn't the guts within myself to force her back out into the spotlight. Not yet.

My careless heart wasn't so careless at that moment.

I remember hating myself as I stood up and left the room. She called my name, confused as to why I would leave her.

Why did I leave her?

I found her father, told him of his daughter's whereabouts, and stayed away from her while she and her father had their moment together.

Why did I do that? I don't know. Maybe it was because she was repulsed by me, and for once that managed to burn.

The drive home from the White House was my own mistake. I should have taken the medication that day. I was meeting with the president, I was in front of the cameras.

I should have been an adult and done what an adult would fucking do.

But no, I was childish. Mirea couldn't have said it better. During the dinner, I could barely keep my focus on anything. Sometimes I can keep my attention for a long enough period, but other times, my mind stayed elsewhere. The dinner was one of those times.

I can't sit still, another ridiculous childish quality that I can't control. ADHD isn't much a problem with kids because most of the time hyper activity is expected in them, but when you're an adult, people have no pity for you. If you can't keep your attention, it's because you're arrogant. If you can't sit still it's because you're immature.

And so, naturally, to Mirea, that is what I am.

I don't blame her, not this time.

Maybe it is because I'm weak. Maybe I am just not trying hard enough to focus. Or maybe I should start taking the medication daily again.

My heart clenched at the thought.

Minutes passed, and I could feel my mind calming itself. The pills were working too soon.

My heart began to race as I realized this had been a mistake. I didn't want them to work. I shouldn't have taken them.

Fuck fuck fuck.

I sat down, my hands were shaking, and I hadn't even realized. My irrational fear of the medication was yet another childish thing about me.

So fucking childish.

I am a child.

I cleared my throat and picked up the ugly suit once more. Realizing at this moment that I didn't care about how putrid it was, only proved that the pills were working.

I put the suit on.

I gazed at myself in the mirror and felt nothing. I found it so strange that I could hear people talking in the other rooms and actually be able to focus on what they were saying without my attention wandering off somewhere else.

I felt nothing. My emotions were burning out.

It tugged on the collar of my suit and took multiple breaths.

Today I'm going to get married. Today I need to focus, because nothing else matters.

I grabbed the jacket that went along with my suit, swung it over my shoulder, and walked out.