Bleeding Hearts

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P.O.V. Admirer

How did I ever get so lucky?

I was able to find the girl of my dreams, my other half.

One look at her and I knew she was the one for me. The first time I saw her it was like the world vanished around me and she was all I could focus on.

She had been working a pretty long shift at the cafe that particular day.

Her reddish-brown curls were placed in a bun on top of her head. A few wisps managed to escape and framed nicely around her sparkling green eyes. A smile was stretched out upon her plump pink lips, showcasing her bright white teeth as she walked around the cafe talking to customers.

Not once did her smile disappear, if anything, it continued to grow. It didn’t matter if she was dealing with an especially rude customer or if she had to clean up a mess off the floor.

All I could do was stare at her through the wide framed windows of the restaurant. It felt like hours before I finally made my way back home but even though I couldn’t get her off my mind.

I had to see her again. We had to see her again.

It’s like whenever I’m in her presence her beauty becomes even more radiant. If I had a choice I would lock her in my room and never let her go.

I feel a small nudge in the back of my subconscious mind.

Calm down bud. It says. Remember our plan? Stick to the plan.

I groan and rub my calloused hands over my face.“You’re just an annoying voice in the back of my head. Your input means nothing to me.”

It lets out a dark chuckle. You weren’t saying that when I helped you get inside Dani’s apartment the other day.

It had a point. Learning she had been hiding my notes away in a drawer had broken me in a way I didn’t think was possible.

We had put in so much time and effort into those cards, trying to portray our love in a way we hoped wouldn’t freak her out as it wasn’t the right time for us to take her yet. I thought she liked them. I thought she was just storing them in a spot for later so if she wanted to read them again she wouldn’t forget where she placed them.

It, the voice in the back of my mind, thought differently.

It was angry. It thought she wasn’t appreciative of all we were doing and was taking us for granted.

And It wanted her to know that she would never be safe. Not at home, not with Claire, not ever.

So when I snuck into her house a few days prior and saw in person all my cards that were lazily combined with her undergarments I didn’t realize how much rage and hatred I had towards the love of my life until that moment.

I loved her, we loved her, and she had the audacity to treat our gifts and affection like it was fucking dirt beneath her foot!

So that night we watched her sleep. And the night after that. And the night after that.

We would lay right next to her in bed, caressing her cheeks and whispering deadly things we wanted to do with her body. Deadly things that would make her beg for the sweet relief of death that she would never have the happiness of getting.

However, just the thought of her as a dead rotting corpse fills my veins with raw, inextinguishable, excitement.

I can imagine her milky clouded eyes staring blankly into mine as I tell her I love her. Her cold decaying fingers gently wrapped in mine as we lay in our warm bed together. Combing through her dry straw-like auburn hair that was matted together in old sticky blood.

A strangled moan leaves my lips. She would be perfect even after death.

We need her alive dumb ass. It hisses. What’s the whole point of going through all this just to kill her in the end?

I roll my eyes. “I’m not going to kill her. You should know me better than that.”

Yea, well, your track record says differently, my friend.

My eyes narrow and I growl. “I know what I’m doing.”

You’re getting sloppy.

“Everything is under control-”

What happens when you get caught, ungur? No one will be able to save you, not even me, and then you’ll be really alone. (young one)

“Just shut up!” I yell, spittle flying from my lips.

I’m not getting sloppy. I have everything under control.

My eyes zip around the room trying to find an exit. The dark walls surrounding me feel like their closing in as Its taunting words continue to play on repeat.

I can’t breathe.

I stagger to the door and throw it open, not caring that it left a reasonable dent in the plaster as I rush out. My fingers find their way into my hair and tug, wanting to relieve some of the pressure from my brain.

You’re losing control.

I stumble and steady myself against the wall.

I’m not going to slip up. Everything is going to be fine.

Just let me take over.

I sluggishly shake my head as I tumble into the living room. It feels like a cobra is constricting its way around my lungs, steadily depleting me of oxygen.

I’m not getting sloppy. I have everything under control.

You’re growing weak on me strákur. You disgust me. (boy)

A deep growl combined with a wheeze resonates through my chest.

I’m not going to slip up. Everything is going to be fine.

My feet lead me to the attached kitchen and my vision blurs. I grab onto the refrigerator handles next to me and rest my head upon it. I need cold air.

Do you know what they’ll do to you when you’re finally caught? It says in a mocking manner, trying to rile me up.

I’m not getting sloppy. I have everything under control.

I pull open the refrigerator doors and greedily inhale its cold moist air to help soothe my burning lungs.

A rancid smell invades my senses catching me off guard.

I look up.

Chopped up body parts lay frozenly wrapped in plastic bindings. Legs, arms, torsos, fingers, all of different thickness and all of different colors.

Þeir munu slátra þér eins og svínið sem þú ert, It whispers before chuckling. (They will slaughter you like the pig you are.)

All is silent except for my harsh breathing.

I. Will not. Slip up.

I stick my hand into the pocket of my jeans and search for the small zip lock bag I had stored in there earlier this morning. My finger grazes along the top of the material and I quickly pull it out.

My trembling fingers pry open the bag and shake out the object onto my palm.

A thick lock of auburn hair.

Bringing it up to my nostrils I inhale its jasmine and honey scent.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t lose control.

She’s going to die and it’s all your fault.


My vision begins to tunnel and the last thing I remember is the sound of chilled body parts hitting the floor as I lunge at the refrigerator.



Here’s a new chapter written from the point of view of the Admirer. How do you guys feel about him? How do you guys feel about It, the voice inside his head? Do you feel sorry for the Admirer or does he creep you out even more?

If you want more chapters written from a different point of view such as Alex’s or Claire’s please let me know in the comments and make sure to like the chapter, I would love to hear your inputs.

Hope you enjoyed your stay in Joker’s Basement

Catch ya next chapter!

- Meraki_Kalon


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