Calm Before the Storm

The warm water fogged the bathroom mirrors, lifting off my bare skin in pools of steam. I sighed in relief, happy to feel the warmth once again. I scrubbed the dirt from underneath my nails and every crease of my body and watched it swirl down the drain like a brown ghost. Remains of dark, dried blood also swished gracefully from my shivering body like a tragic reminder of my inescapable fate.

Oliver loves blood. When he kills me, it's never with mercy. He loves the sight of the dark liquid coating his hands and my body. He loves to watch my eyes widen in horror as my skin is painted pale compared to the maroon under my flesh. As I said before, Oliver can be hard to love, and there are times when he scares me.

Oliver Villin had not always been the psycho I live with now- or if he was, he never showed it. I had first met him through a mutual friend, who we've long since moved a few states away from. Oliver had been shy and quiet; a complete contradictory to who he really was. It took many attempts at lame conversation starters before he began to open up.

After getting to know him, Oliver was more outgoing than he seemed. He often cracked a sly joke, or boasted a sarcastic remark when the opportunity arrived. Oliver was more than the cold-blooded killer he was now.

I turned off the water and towel-dried myself before getting dressed. The smell of dinner wafted through the closed door, making my stomach rumble.

I made my way to the kitchen, my hair still soaked and dripping down my shirt. Oliver smiles and set two plates on the table, gesturing for me to take my seat.

Though I was starving, I was still weary; The Game wasn't over yet. I took my seat where he sat the plate down, but I didn't begin eating right away. I waited patiently until he took a bite of his food. I know this is ridiculous; if Oliver was trying to kill me, he wouldn't use poison. That's not satisfying enough for him. But still, I watched him chew and swallow his first bite before taking one of my own.

The food was delicious as always; Oliver learned to cook from his mother- or so he says. I was thirsty, but I waited patiently for him to take a drink before taking one of my own. Again ridiculous; I know full well that he could have poisoned mine and not his own. However, it just gave me comfort to watch him go first.

After dinner we put away the food and cleaned the dishes. The air surrounding us was tense and thick. It was my turn to hunt him, but I knew he would hunt me first when given the chance. Oliver doesn't like to lose.

Once the kitchen was cleaned, we sat in front of the television on the couch. Oliver was engaged in the show, snickering at the comic reliefs and staring intently at the screen, but I was watching with glass eyes.

I knew that after tonight, I either kill or be killed. I know I come back to life every time, but fting is never pleasant. For once, I just want to avoid that fate.

I looked over at Oliver who was enjoying his movie. I loved him too much to watch him die. But I'm sick of clawing myself from my own grave.