SEX WITH MY BEST FRIEND'S FIANCÉ-Chapter 180

- OWEN -

I hum a tune. A familiar one my mother used to sing. Something original and passed down for generations till it got to me according to her.

It’s calming yet there’s something violent and murderous about it that makes it so thrilling. I guess that’s the kind of tune that’ll be catchy for me, my very own lullaby.

I walk around my room enjoying the breeze blowing in through the large, open windows. It’s a window as large as a double door. It somewhat leads to the balcony, but if someone wants to be safer, using an actual door which leads to the balcony will do. At least, it’ll help against having to walk through the pillars and wall edges when using the window.

I stand in front of the window, right where the moon casts its glistening light, and spread my hands wide, letting it hang freely in the air on both sides then take a deep inhale. My chest heaves due to the impact of my inhalation. I close my eyes, maintaining the wide smile on my face then I let out an exhale out my mouth. It’s a beautiful full moon and there’s nothing a psych doctor loves more than the dark. The only thing missing is blood. Human blood.

My insane self is addicted to the sight of blood as well as sharp syringe needles and surgical tools. After all, when someone is faced with death in the most gruesome way, it can do so much to twist the person’s brain to become unhinged. I forced my body to not quit. I’ve cut and stitched and reopened wounds and restitched them countless times on my own body. I could count as a plastic surgeon because my body still remains flawless regardless of my self induced injuries. Most of my body, at least. Some scars painfully never go away, the huge one drawing from my chest down to my abs and my back is a gentle reminder.

I don’t find scars ugly, quite the contrary, I find them beautiful. I love the way scars deform the skin and gives it its very own beauty. I also love giving people scars, both mentally and physically although this didn’t make me a serial killer. I detest people who kill for no reason. It just made me a little bit different from normal people and I’m fine with it because I hate being normal, I enjoy the thrill of having my brain be wired differently as ‘normal’ people would term it.

If any person has been through what I have since birth, they would also be wired differently. I was born into a laboratory as a test subject. That’s the crazy part of my life story.

My father was a crazy scientist and my mother was a nurse. When I was born, he lied about my death to my mother just so I could become test subject A. That’s messed up, isn’t it?

A child being nurtured by his own father till the age of four before becoming a lab experiment. And take it from me, scientists we tag as saviours and normal are nothing but dangerous people with a title. As long as they produce a stable reaction to their observations, they do not care what species they use to accomplish that nor how it would ruin the species in question and yes, humans are no exception.

It wasn’t till age nine that I was free from the torture. I and so many other kids you don’t want to know how they were lured in to such a life. How did I escape, you may wonder? Because someone set the lab on fire.

Hidden on the mountains, far from human civilisation and surveillance systems was the lab that birth most of us into what we knew as existence. A lot of us escaped, yet, most of us died. That’s to inform you of how many we were. Some were killed by the guards meant to protect us to avoid word getting out, while some were attacked by beasts on the journey to freedom. Some of us died due to starvation.

And the lucky ones, like me, made it despite the struggle. In a world where everyone seems to care about each other, when you’re a nobody, you’ll realise that it’s all pretence. People stan being there for one another only when they don’t see you as filthy or a burden. Only when the only kind of filthy you are is filthy rich.

My wrists curve, twisting in both directions as I point out my index finger of both hands, swinging it like I’m directing an orchestra of musicians. The tune I’m humming fills my head with the perfect rhythm to match this synergy.

How I managed to survive was solely on me. I always ensured to be in charitable places to feed. Never an orphanage though. The last thing I wanted was a foster family out of fear that everyone was the same as my father. I wanted to know who I was outside that laboratory. What I was outside being test subject A. And if I had any other relatives who were different and would take me in aside from my father. I wanted to know more about myself. Where I was born, who my mother was, if I indeed had a mother. Father never mentioned a word about her to me. We experiments were not intellectually smart or taught basic things humans are supposed to at that age because the last thing those scientists wanted was the nightmare that befell them when the lab was set on fire. They didn’t want us to have the sense to interact normally with people and did the best they could to make our minds imbecilic. But that only backfired. When raised in a place filled with brilliant minds, it’s only natural to pick up on a thing or two no matter how complex those things are. No matter how little we were allowed to enjoy the taste of normality.

A chuckle leaves my lips. I am not interested in diving too deep into my back story, it’s not important. And back to mother, long story short, I found out about her later, but that’s only because the owner of the charity organisation I usually visited found interest in me and decided to adopt me. Not as a child because I never was interested in that, but as a servant. A child figure servant. You may think that’s where I had it going all good but that was me at the age of thirteen. My whole life till I was an early teen was stolen from me all because of a man wanted to bloom in his career.

What made my supposed good life worse? I found that the man who adopted me was involved in the crime that destroyed me my whole life. Terror struck me. His family were oblivious to what a monster he was but I knew because I had lived through it. I had been there in the flesh to know what that life was like and it destroyed me to know my very own foster parent, the one who took me in as one of his, was partly behind my childhood peril. freёweɓnovel.com

I didn’t want to believe that, obviously. I searched for files and risked my life sneaking in and out of his safe, which was a huge room he kept every vital information he didn’t want anyone to know, just to have the benefit of the doubt. That safe had all the top security you can imagine but I was a talented experimented kid who trained so hard and acquired every possible knowledge both advanced and not as a child, from age nine to thirteen, just so I won’t be used again.

When I finally saw what I was looking for, I wasn’t thrilled. Not one bit. He knew who I was. He had documented all of it along with other kids who were with me. That’s when I lost it and knew he had to go down. I wasn’t as smart as I thought I was because I was caught, but I was smart enough to wipe them all out while acquiring most of his wealth. You can say Asami and I are very much similar in that aspect, but while she did hers in a very extravagant way, I did mine subtly.

With poison. One that wouldn’t be traced even with an autopsy. Once a child crosses a certain level of abuse, it’s hard to want to imagine to go back to it. That’s why I did what I did. How everything else was willed to me however? Is something that’ll be kept to myself no matter what. Till I’m ready to say a word about it.

I used those files to find my mother. I used that crook’s wealth to give her a better life. I knew I had to distance myself from her to keep her safe because I wouldn’t be the child she would’ve wanted me to be. I was a killer and nothing would change that.

Mother accepted me regardless of all I had done. By the time I had found her, I was nineteen. I still hate my father for the pain he caused me. For separating me from my own mother but I thank him for it though, because his stupid ways made me strong. It moulded me to be better than most men my age. It also taught me to be kind, because no matter how shrewd I lived, I didn’t want that experience passed down to someone else through me and through people I was and am closely acquainted to.

I take a deep breath humming the tune over and over again.

My mother is still alive. She knows I’m alive too and I still interact with her every now and then, but I don’t see her as often as I should. Just to keep her safe. And she’s okay with it. She’s okay with the man I have become. So yes, unlike Killian, Asami and I were never born free. We didn’t have the option to choose what we wanted to be and when the time finally came, we did what we needed to do to survive not caring about how it turned out because life was cruel to us too.

But here’s the catch. Unlike Asami, I’m not bound to someone to work under. I’m a free man with the urge for revenge burning in my veins. When and how I met Killian and Asami does not matter but they both became my solace at some point in my life and I will forever cherish that, but right now, Killian is an opposing player in my chess board and although I won’t kill him for what he did to me, I’ll do something just as bad.

And that is why I’m working with S. S saved me that day when Killian left me to die. It was from that moment I became a surgeon and practiced surgery on my own skin multiple times to build an endurance to pain most people couldn’t handle.

A vibration catches my attention, making me to stop humming. I drop both my arms down and walk to the couch where my phone is. The caller ID displayed on the screen makes the smile on my face disappear.

Thinking of the devil. I pick up.

“It’s unlike you to call me at this hour, S.” I say on the line. Yes, I know who S is along with every single identity regarding They. But the fun is pretending that I don’t, and boy does it make my whole mission more interesting.