Another Knife In My Hand
Stay Out of the Light
Gerard’s POV
I sit with my head in my hands at my desk, in front of the computer with matches to hundreds of Frank Ieros. I do already know who it is, and I could even type in his middle name to make finding him easier if I wanted to, but I don’t. I want to drag this out, the researching of him. Pretend this isn’t happening; beg that it’s another Frank even though I know that’s not possible. Frankie always wanted to get that mow hawk; I’d heard him talk about it to his friends. Every part of the description matched. I just didn’t want to believe it was true. It had been a week since I’d been charged with him, a painful week full of sleepless nights and aching.
I stared at the blank page in front of me, the emptiness of it frustrating my already agitated mind. I would normally have gotten all the information I needed, and it would be printed neatly on a sheet for me to reference. I would have begun stalking the target by this point, depending on their schedule that part took a few days to a week. Then I’d go for the kill, succeed as always, and move on. But I couldn’t. It was painful just to think I’d agreed to kill Frank, that I’d done it without even considering it. I had used my programmed response, and now I was suffering for it.
I had chosen this career because I had finally found something I was good at, and-as horrible as it sounds- something I enjoyed. But now I’ve even screwed this one up, all because of a stupid little high school crush.
But it would have to be more than a crush, wouldn’t it? For it to have lasted this long? I guess this must be just the last bits of affection, the last strings of it. Or… maybe it’s still here. I mean, I still get butterflies when I hear his name. It could be that I’m just the average weirdo (or I guess above average), or maybe there’s still something there. I don’t know. I’ve never really experienced love. My profession does allow for much romance, for if I were to break up with anyone I would be forced to kill them to keep my identity and job a secret. Not exactly the nicest break up.
Have I ever considered that I might possibly want a partner, or even a family? Yes. But that won’t happen, not with my social skills. And my job. That’s just a small factor. Small.
Oh well, right? I’m stuck with this life. Permanently.
I sit with my head in my hands at my desk, in front of the computer with matches to hundreds of Frank Ieros. I do already know who it is, and I could even type in his middle name to make finding him easier if I wanted to, but I don’t. I want to drag this out, the researching of him. Pretend this isn’t happening; beg that it’s another Frank even though I know that’s not possible. Frankie always wanted to get that mow hawk; I’d heard him talk about it to his friends. Every part of the description matched. I just didn’t want to believe it was true. It had been a week since I’d been charged with him, a painful week full of sleepless nights and aching.
I stared at the blank page in front of me, the emptiness of it frustrating my already agitated mind. I would normally have gotten all the information I needed, and it would be printed neatly on a sheet for me to reference. I would have begun stalking the target by this point, depending on their schedule that part took a few days to a week. Then I’d go for the kill, succeed as always, and move on. But I couldn’t. It was painful just to think I’d agreed to kill Frank, that I’d done it without even considering it. I had used my programmed response, and now I was suffering for it.
I had chosen this career because I had finally found something I was good at, and-as horrible as it sounds- something I enjoyed. But now I’ve even screwed this one up, all because of a stupid little high school crush.
But it would have to be more than a crush, wouldn’t it? For it to have lasted this long? I guess this must be just the last bits of affection, the last strings of it. Or… maybe it’s still here. I mean, I still get butterflies when I hear his name. It could be that I’m just the average weirdo (or I guess above average), or maybe there’s still something there. I don’t know. I’ve never really experienced love. My profession does allow for much romance, for if I were to break up with anyone I would be forced to kill them to keep my identity and job a secret. Not exactly the nicest break up.
Have I ever considered that I might possibly want a partner, or even a family? Yes. But that won’t happen, not with my social skills. And my job. That’s just a small factor. Small.
Oh well, right? I’m stuck with this life. Permanently.
update?
9/2/16