Mayhem: Match Made in Madness

I always wish I was dead. Dead and forgotten. Yet I wish to be alive, maybe alive and not noticed. I've always hated love, yet I longed for it. I am twenty-seven, and have been in five different relationships, but they all left me for the same reason: I was weird. But that was who i truly was. They just found me weird. I was someone who hated the rain. Yes, I've always hated the rain. The annoying sound it makes , and noise irritates me. Why does rain exist in the first place? I hate the atmosphere after raining - the earthy smell, the lingering cold that eats up my flesh like thousands of needles pressing and piercing through it. The wind banging against my window, or is it the drops of water that tend to escape through holes i have no idea of... Ah, I hate the rain. I never hated the rain just as much as i hated roses. In fact, I hated all kinds of flowers - the smell, the colours, the beauty. How could something be so pretty?. Let's not talk about my hate for it today. **** It was just like every other day. No, it was a special day. I was brewing coffee to those who had placed their orders when he appeared before me. I looked at him, but my eyes weren't actually on him. I was in a different realm. But there he was. I heard his voice, so cold yet piercing. "Can I have a cup of drip coffee?" he asked. I looked up at him. "Drip coffee?" "Yes." he replied. "Are you having it here sir?" I asked. "No, I'll be taking it with me" He was wearing a nose mask, which he then removed, along with his sunglasses, which had blocked me from seeing his eyes. I never believed in love at first sight. I couldn't say this was even love at first sight. It was more like curiosity. Then in a minute, it became obsession. He wasn't a handsome, godly figure, but yes, he was hot. He had dark circles, very deep dark circles under his eyes that didn't match his fair, stain free skin. He had his black hair slipped onto the left side of his face no different from his all-black cooperate outfit. "Hello, are you still here?" I was lost in thought. How could a man be so perfect yet imperfect? No, he was imperfect yet so perfect. "Okay, I'll make your order now, sir," I said to him, smiling. "Okay." I could feel my hands trembling. Was he... did he... what is this feeling I had lingering around my heart? It was so different, especially from other feelings I'd had. His eyes was as deep as that of an abyss aa if a murderer was before me, but of course, one wouldn't fall in love with something disgusting. And of course, how could I know someone was... unusual at first glance? I'll just say I kind of have a feeling whenever I see one, and I love unusual people. That would sound weird, of course. Yes, I am weird. His fingers, his hand, was so... clean. No, his hand was callous free . If it were, I could have said he was more of a... knife wielder, but his hand was very clean. It looked soft, in fact, more like that of a model who never missed a hand care routine. It was like the sun had entered my deserted life. When he left, I could feel my soul leaving with him, but then was stopped by closed door I went back to what I was doing. "Oh God, who was that guy?" I knew I wouldn't be seeing him again, or so I thought. He was back again the next day, and the day after, and the day after, and the day after, and the week after, and the week after. "Is he interested in me?" "Am I his next victim?" " Does he love me?" "Or do he wish to have my blood staining his hands?" I would love that. I would love to know more about him. And then the next day, after he left, I set out to follow him without anyone noticing. I followed him and followed him and followed him. The next day, after I followed him, I decided to stop, but it was unstoppable. I couldn't stop. He was hot, attractive, and was also a murderer. I love him. No, I want him. No, I want him to kill me. No, I want to kill with him. No, I want to kill for him. No, I want him. He is mine, and he will forever be mine. "Yes, he is mine," i laughed out in a sinister tone. "Of course, who else could have him? He has been coming here, so of course, he is interested in me. If not for love, maybe to please his killing pleasure." "I want him to... I don't mind him taking my life." I continued following him without anybody noticing, sometimes I was nice and sometimes I was done. And so, a year and a half passed. I was very sure of the information I had on him, but he never killed. Is he really a murderer? I'm not sure anymore. Maybe he's just a normal guy or probably a bookstore owner, since he does nothing more than visit his bookstore, then come back, go out for lunch, then go back in, then head home for dinner, sleep, and continue the routine the next day. It was as if I was stalking a shadow. I didn't know much about him. Ah, I should stop. I will stop stalking him now. I think I'm not much curious since he isn't a murderer, and he isn't... and he has nothing that piques my interest. I will probably stop stalking him tomorrow. Yes, I will stop. ***** It was a lovely morning. The strong aroma of baked coffee wafted through the air, enticing the noses of people seated around the round table. Some had a cup of iced coffee before them, while others sipped on bobas or hot coffee. I caught my own eye in the reflection of the display case - my brown-tan skin glittered, complemented by my long, oily black hair. My bright, sharp brown eyes sparkled like wine sand. I wore old, round black glasses perched on the edge of my nose and an apron over my short, flowing gown. However, my lips told a different story - dry, chapped, and painted a deep red as I arranged the chocolates in the display case. A van pulled over outside the coffee shop. A police vehicle. A group of fully uniformed officers stepped out and approached me. "Good morning, miss," one of the police officers said. "Are you Miss...?" I looked up at them with my big, brown, innocent eyes that seemed like an abyss. "Yes, I am," I replied. "We have a warrant for your arrest," the officer continued. "You were reported for stalking." My eyes clouded for a moment before I looked up, steady. "I didn't stalk anyone," I said. "Yes, my boss never once left the shop for anything, "Now you say she's a stalker? What kind of officer are you?" one of my co-workers’ protested. "I guess you don't mind leaving with her," the officer said. My co-worker paused, trying to find the right words. "Don't worry, I'll be fine," I said, as I stretched my hand forward, allowing them to handcuff me. "Please follow us," the officer instructed.