#jeremiah gotham | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zjxekg · 9 months

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Jump | Jerome Valeska

english original: @crazyvaleska

Śmierć Jerome'go z jego punktu widzenia

TW: samobójstwo, krew, gore, uciążliwe myśli, myśli samobójcze, śmierć. jeśli nie chcesz nie czytaj. czytaj na swoją własną odpowiedzialność, został*ś ostrzeżon*.

Znacie te momenty, w których wszystko idzie, jak należy, ale i tak macie takie dziwne uczucie które psuje wasz dotychczasowy spokojny tryb życia. Nie wiadomo jak się tego pozbyć ani skąd przybyło. Znikąd wszystko staje się szare i uświadamiasz sobie, że całe twoje życie jest jedną wielką pustką. Twój umysł wymazuję twoje wszystkie dobre wspomnienia i zamienia je w coś, do czego nie warto wracać.

Czemu cały czas tak się dzieje? Jak duszące jest bycie zamkniętym w swoim własnym umyśle. Nie byciu danym nawet uciec od swoich własnych myśli. Byciu tak przesiąkniętym swoimi złymi wspomnieniami, że nie potrafisz sobie pomóc. Błądząc w swoich myślach jak w niekończącym się labiryncie, czekając, aż ktoś przybędzie. Uratuje cię. Ale nikt taki się nie zjawia. Nikt nie wierzy w to, że można cię uratować. Nikt nie próbuje nawet zrozumieć. Ciebie ani twoich motywów. Ponieważ w ich oczach zawsze byłeś i będziesz tylko złym człowiekiem czyniącym złe rzeczy. Ba, oni nawet już nie uważają cię za człowieka.

Wspinałem się po schodach pustego budynku. Biegłem tak szybko, że moje nogi nie wytrzymywały już ze zmęczenia. Moje buty może i są stylowe i modne, ale tak naprawdę są tak ciasne, że czuję, jak moja pięta krwawi przez pocierający o nią but, przecież te buty to jakiś koszmar.

Czemu narzekasz jak jakieś dziecko Jerome? Myślałem, że nie czujesz bólu.

Spierdalaj, daj mi spokój.

Chyba nikogo nie zdziwi jeśli powiem, że tak nie miało być. Wcale nie miałem być postrzelony i przede wszystkim nie miałem uciekać tu jak jakiś pojebany. Pierdol się Jimbo! Tyle schodów, jakby się nie kończyły. Biegnę i biegnę i biegnę, a te pierdolone myśli nie dają mi spokoju.

Nigdy nie chcą odpuścić. Pożerają mnie od środka i jeszcze chcą ode mnie chęci do działania. Ale jest dobrze, jest dobrze, jak mogło być inaczej. Wszystko jest OK Jerome, nareszcie wszedłeś na samą górę. Drzwi przede mną prawdopodobnie prowadzą na dach. Nagle, bo kurwa jak inaczej usłyszałem kroki. No ja pierdole biegnie za mną. Tak więc zero zmieniania planu.

Biegnąc przed siebie, otworzyłem drzwi. Mhm jestem na dachu tego pierdolonego zwierzyńca. Po moim lewym ramieniu płynie krew, i chociaż uciskałem ranę przez całą drogę na górę, nie dało się uciec od pokrwawienia całego rękawa. W środku rany utkwił nabój, trzeba go wyciągnąć. Chociaż w sumie czemu? Boli, ale podoba mi się to uczucie a poza tym to w sumie nic w porównaniu do tego co przeżyłem. Cały czas uciskałem ranę, plamiąc przy tym moją białą, rękawice.

Czemu to robisz? Powinieneś pozwolić sobie się wykrwawić poza tym kogo to obchodzi. No właśnie kurwa nikogo.

Może jakbym zobaczył, jak z każdej mojej żyły tryska krew, mógłbym odpocząć. Chciałbym pływać w basenie wypełnionym moją własną krwią. Chce, aby moja krew znajdowała się wszędzie gdy kroje moje własne ciało na miliony kawałków. Po pokrojeniu posadziłbym je w Ogrodzie Edena. Chce zerwać moją własną twarz, nie wytrzymuje już z tymi pierdolonymi bliznami. Swędzą w cholerę, irytują mnie. Cały czas je drapie, ale to nigdy nie jest wystarczające, abym mógł coś poczuć, nie wylatuje przez to wystarczająca ilość krwi.

Ahh chciałbym znowu poczuć ten wiatr, był on tak idealny kiedy nie miałem twarzy. To było dziwne uczucie. Jakby moja skóra była wyrywana i poobcinana na mniejsze kawałki, jakby moja skóra się topiła, a ja nie mogłem nic z tym zrobić, nie mogłem nawet warknąć z bólu, nie mogłem się śmiać, mówić ani się uśmiechać, ponieważ każdy milimetr mojej twarzy bolał. Cały czas mogłem czuć moją własną świeżą krew spływającą mi do ust. Wow nawet jak na mnie jest to jedne z najmroczniejszych i najdziwniejszych wspomnień, a jest ich naprawdę dużo. Ale i tak jest ono moim ulubionym. Zastanawiam się, czy jakbym pociągał za swoją skórę przez wystarczająco długi czas to, czy dałbym radę wyrwać moją twarz z powrotem. A co jeśli zerwał, bym z siebie całą skórę. Jezu to jest chore. Ja jestem chory. Zawsze byłem.

Zanotowane: Spróbuj oberwać się ze skóry, jak następnym razem będziesz miał atak złości.

Zadrżałem, podchodząc coraz bliżej do końca dachu. Gordon powinien pojawić się już za chwile. Spojrzałem w dół. Tylko kilka centymetrów ode mnie znajdowała się jakże długa przepaść. Jakbym zepchnął stąd Jimmy'ego nie ma szans, że by przeżył. Tak naprawdę nikt by nie przeżył.

Skocz.

Co to było?

Skocz.

Oh, przestań

Skocz.

Wróciły.

Skocz.

Nigdy mnie nie zostawią.

Skocz.

Te głosy.

Skocz.

Te myśli.

Skocz.

Przez całe moje ciało przechodzą dreszcze. Jaką głupią myślą było to, że kiedykolwiek się od nich uwolnię. Nigdy nie byłem całą osobą. Części mnie zginęły już w domu, w którym dorastałem. W tym samym domu, do którego zaprowadzają mnie sny w środku nocy. Ludzie mówią, że czas goi rany, ale u mnie za dużo nie zdziałał. Bo czas jest iluzją tak samo jak wiara. Nie ma wiary, jest tylko złudzenie. Coś w środku mnie zginęło i nie mogę już tego wskrzesić. Nie mogę być wyleczony, z czegokolwiek to gówno jest. Nie mogę być wyleczony z bycia sobą. Nic nie może mnie naprawić, bo prawda jest taka. Nie jestem popsuty, jestem sobą. Czasami czuje się, jakby w moim umyśle toczyła się wojna, krwawa wojna. Te myśli nigdy nie chcą mnie zostawić w spokoju. Czasami są nawet fajne, zapewniają mi rozrywkę, ale aktualnie tylko mnie wkurwiają. Może jeśli walne się cegłą w ryj wreszcie ucichną. Haha! To było śmieszne, powinienem dodać to do mojej listy „do zrobienia''. Prawdopodobnie pomogło, by to bardziej niż podpalenie sobie nóg.

Skocz.

Sklej się.

Skocz.

A co jakbym skoczył?

Skocz.

Może urosną mi skrzydła i polecę..!

Skocz.

Polecę daleko stąd.

Skocz.

Polecę nad ptakami.

Skocz.

Nie może być przecież tak źle co nie?

Skocz.

Skoczyć..

Skocz!

Nigdzie nie czuję się bezpiecznie. Nigdy nie czułem. Wszyscy próbują mnie skrzywdzić. Zawsze czuje się obserwowany. Wszystkie oczy są zawrze skierowane na mnie. A przynajmniej oczy Gordona. Przyszedł. Przyglądam się jego każdemu ruchowi. Kiedy celuje we mnie swoim pistoletem widać, że nie żartuje. "Ręce w górę!'' powiedział. Jak ja mam to niby zrobić debilu? Strzeliłeś mi w ramie! Ten chłop ma nerwy. Nienawidzę go na, tyle że jakbym miał taką okazję, powyrywałbym mu palce, włożył je do blendera, zrobiłbym mu z nich koktajl, a następnie dałbym mu go do picia.

Przez kilka sekund, może nawet minut, ignorancja zdobyła nade mną kontrole. Nie odezwałem się do niego, tylko rozejrzałem się wokoło, trzymając moje krwawiące ramie. Wszystko jest ciche, tak ciche, że mój przyspieszony oddech i tłoczące myśli są jedynymi dźwiękami, które słyszę. Widzę całe miasto. Jego przepych, całą jego elegancje.. Ale także cały jego brud, całą arogancję, sprawia, że czuje się chory bardziej niż wcześniej. Muszę przypomnieć sobie, że to wszystko robiłem tylko i wyłącznie po to, aby stworzyć lepszą wersję tego pierdolonego miasta. Wszystko dla miasta, czy to nie jest zbyt dobre jak na mnie? Spójrzcie na to! Mój sterowiec leci tuż nade mną. Jest wypełniony gazem, moim powiedzmy magicznym gazem. Nie mogę się doczekać, jak wszyscy poczują jego zapach. Wkrótce zrozumieją, jak to jest być mną, jak nie mieć nad sobą kontroli, nad swoimi myślami czy nad swoimi czynami. Poczują smak tego jak to jest mieć totalną pewność, że się wariuje, ale nie wiedzieć jak sobie pomóc. Przeżyją najstraszniejszą część tracenia jakiejkolwiek stabilności psychicznej: akceptacje.

"Piękny czyż nie?'' odezwałem się. Upsie zapomniałem, że Jimmy tu stoi. Chłop się naprawdę zdziwił. Ani trochę się nie ruszył. Na pewno za jakiś czas strzeli. Nie ma ucieczki. Nie mogę już się zawrócić. Muszę zrobić to co planowałem.

"Daj mi chwileczkę'' powiedziałem w trakcie wybierania numeru na telefonie. Tak w ogóle to telefon nie jest mój, ukradłem jakiejś randomowej osobie. Nigdy nie miałem czasu sobie kupić. "Muszę zadzwonić do pilota, zawiadomić go, że jest już w pozycji-" BANG! Gordon strzelił mnie w dłoń, sprawiając, że upuściłem telefon. Nigdy nie myślałem, że Gordon byłby w stanie tak postąpić, ale ludzie się zmieniają co nie? "Nie miło" wymamrotałem nawet jeśli na ten temat można by było powiedzieć o wiele więcej. Ale nie ma słów, a w pewności nie ma czasu. Wciąż można usłyszeć, jak pilot próbuje się ze mną porozumieć. "Tak, Jerome? Jerome? Jerome? Jestem już w pozycji." ale gdybym odpowiedział, on by mnie nie usłyszał.

Zacząłem się śmiać, ponieważ jest to prawdopodobnie rzecz, którą robię najlepiej. To prawdopodobnie bardziej ikonowy śmiech, bo wiem dobrze, że tak naprawdę przegrywam. Ale z dziwnej przyczyny wydaje mi się, że mniej mnie to obchodzić już nie mogło. Znowu przegrywam. Co w tym nowego? Śmieje się, ponieważ sprawia to, że ludzie czują się dziwnie, za to ja czuję, że mam, kontrole nad sytuacją wiedząc, że tak naprawdę nie mam. Wyraz twarzy Jamesa sprawia, że się uśmiecham. Sam nie wiem co robie, ale on myśli, że mam jakiś plan i to mi wystarcza. Co ja mam zrobić? W ogóle, jaki jest sens w robieniu czegokolwiek? Może powinienem się poddać. Poddać się i już nic nie robić. Dalej Jerome poddaj się przecież, jesteś w tym taki dobry. Przestań próbować, przecież to nigdy nie działa. Nawet jeśli miasto nie oberwie gazem stary Jeremiah już tak. Stworzyłeś przecież specjalny gaz dla niego. Czy to nie będzie perfekcyjny rewanż? Zamienienie go w tego, kogo nienawidzi najbardziej: mnie. To jak zabicie go, ale gorzej. Bo w ten sposób zabije Jeremiah'a, którego kochała nasza matka. On przeżyje i będzie kontynuował naprawianie Gotham moimi planami i pomysłami. Będzie żył, jak potwór którego stworzył. Będzie żył, ale będzie też martwy w tym samym czasie. Więc teoretycznie zabije wtedy całą moją rodzinę oprócz jednej osoby: mnie.

Skocz.

Wciąż mogę to zrobić.

Skocz.

Mogę skoczyć.

Skocz.

Zakończyć całą historie rodziny Valeska.

Skocz.

"To już nie ma znaczenia..'' powiedziałem śmiejąc się pod nosem.

Skocz.

To jest to.

Skocz.

"..i tak już za późno''

Mięśnie na mojej tworzy się poluzowały. Właśnie uświadomiłem sobie że dzisiaj jest prawdopodobnie najważniejszy dzień w całym moim życiu. Dzień w którym umrę. Dzień w którym nastąpi mój ostatni oddech. Dzisiaj jest koniec. Koniec mojego życia, teraz muszę już tylko wybrać jak chce to zrobić. Jak chcę umrzeć. Albo sam to zrobię albo on zrobi to za mnie. Nie, nie dam mu tej satysfakcji. Nie dam mu wygrać.

Nie boje się, jestem jak najbardziej wyluzowany. Nie boje się śmierci. Już kiedyś zginąłem, ale teraz nie jest tak samo. Wtedy wiedziałem że wrócę. Niestety, lub stety ten cud mógł stać się tylko raz. Zresztą czekałem na ten moment całe moje życie. Czy może chociaż ten jeden jedyny raz wszystko ucichnie? Czy może ucichnąć już na zawsze?

Skocz.

Chyba to zrobię.

Skocz.

Chyba skocze.

Skocz.

Ale najpierw..

"Ognia!" wykrzyczałem w duchu prosząc aby pilot to usłyszał. BANG! Ten sukinsyn znowu do mnie strzelił. Tym razem nabój trafił mnie prosto w brzuch.

Zaśmiałem się, mogłem to przewidzieć. Starałem się powstrzymać potrzebę wyplucia krwi, on nie może zobaczyć że mnie zabolało. "Śmieszne." To było śmieszne ponieważ jestem pewien że za chwilę stracę równowagę i spadnę w przepaść, i tak miałem zamiar skoczyć. Czyli nie myliłem się, od mojej śmierci dzieliło mnie już tylko kilka malutkich kroczków. Straciłem kontrolę nad swoim ciałem. Powoli przechylając się w stronę przepaści, zamknąłem oczy i wziąłem głęboki oddech tylko zatracając się w chwili, nie miałem zamiaru robić czegokolwiek. No tak me zamiaru nie miałem ale i tak coś się kuźwa zjebało. Tak więc wiszę na jakiejś różę trzymając się jej jakby mogła uratować mi życie. Śmieszne. Ale wciąż się trzymam. Dlaczego? Dlaczego nie mogę się puścić? Nie mogę już kurwa zdechnąć?! Nie chce już tego przeżywać. Nie mogę. Nic nie trwa na zawsze. Euforia i inne emocję są tylko przejściowe, powoli ustępują temu duszącemu uczuciowi pustki. Nie często coś czuję ale kiedy takie cuda już się zdarzają moje uczucia są tak strasznie tłoczące że nie mogę z nimi wytrzymać, sprawiają że robię głupie nie przemyślane rzeczy krzywdząc siebie i wszystkich dokoła.

Podnoszę wzrok tylko po to, by zobaczyć, jak patrzy na mnie z góry. On może mnie jeszcze uratować. Może uratować mnie od śmierci. Ale czy ja tego chcę? Czy potrzebuję pomocy? Nie, podjąłem decyzję, nie będę się wycofywał.

"Masz dylemat, Jim"

Tylko śmierć jest moim zbawieniem.

"Dasz mi zginąć?"

Moje ostatnie momenty życia spędzam, wkurwiając Gordona, brzmi jak plan idealny. Jest śmieszniej.

"Czy wciągniesz mnie na górę i aresztujesz? Co to będzie, co to będzie?"

Nie da mi zginąć. A ja nie dam mu się uratować.

"Człowiek prawa czy morderca?"

Nie dam rady podtrzymywać się na tym za długo. Za kilka chwil będę zmuszony się puścić. Odpuścić wszystkiemu. Jezu czy on nie jest zbyt przewidywalny? Wyciąga rękę w moją stronę.

"Ah." Moje usta opuścił bezuczuciowy śmiech. Moje ostatnie, chwilę spędzę na wkurwianiu, kogokolwiek kto jest w moim zasięgu, bo po chuj mam zagłębiać się w moje emocje? Czemu mam pozwolić mu zobaczyć mnie z tej mniej szczęśliwej strony? Po tym wszystkim i tak jestem tylko i wyłącznie człowiekiem. Nee prze pana, ja się w to nie pakuję.

"Stary dobry Pan Gordon. Zawsze gra według zasad. Dlatego zawsze cię przegonie. Dlatego to ja jestem kochany przez wszystkich, bo mam w dupie zasady." Nie za bardzo jestem pewny tego ,,kochany" może przez innych lunatyków.

Jego bezuczuciowa mimika twarzy mówi za siebie wszystko, w środku chce, abym spadł. Jakby tylko mógł najchętniej, by mnie z tond zepchnął.

"To dosyć długa droga." Naprawdę Sherlocku, to fascynujące. "Jesteś pewny, że mnie przegonisz?"

"Oh, tak jestem tego absolutnie pewien." Jeremiah się tym zajmie. "Ponieważ jestem kimś więcej niż mężczyzną. Jestem pomysłem, filozofią. Będę żył w cieniach miasta aż do końca." Za chuja nie wiem z kond ta cała gadka, ale brzmi całkiem poetycznie, plusik dla ciebie J. "Nie długo się zobaczymy. Au revoir!" To chyba koniec. Czas skończyć to gówno.

Wszystko dobrze, wszystko jest OK. Po prostu oddychaj. Oddychaj puki możesz.

Wszystko jest jak najbardziej w porządku. Tylko ty twoje myśli i twój jak najbardziej prawdziwy śmiech. Śmiech, który ciągnie się nawet kiedy całe twoje życie mija ci przed oczami. I tak było chujowe. Ale teraz to już nieważne. Po raz pierwszy czuje się szczęśliwy, umieram szczęśliwy. Nie obchodzi mnie krew na mych rękach. Nie obchodzi mnie, co zrobiłem, a czego nie zrobiłem. To odpoczynek, którego potrzebowałem.

Failing.

Floating.

Flying.

Falling.

Moje plecy uderzają o ziemie, a ja łapie mój ostatni oddech. Moja czaszka pękła, a naboje znajdujące się w moim ciele uwierają mnie jak nigdy wcześniej, moja wizja staje się zamazana. Nie zamknę oczu. Chce po raz ostatni zobaczyć niebo nade mną. Ostatnią siłą sprawiam, aby na mojej twarzy pokazał się najszczerszy uśmiech. Uśmiech, który zostanie na mej twarzy na zawsze. Słyszę ptaki śpiewające najszczęśliwsze utwory w galaktyce. Czuję wiatr na mojej twarzy ah ten piękny wiatr. Straciłem możliwość ruszania jakimkolwiek mięśniem. Wszystko nagle staje się czarne.

2396 words

witam witam dziękuję bardzo za czytanie jeśli macie jakieś porady lub po prostu chcecie wyrazić swoją opinie możecie tu śmiało komentować.

Au revoir!

#cameron monaghan #gotham #jerome #jerome gotham #jerome valeska #jeremiah #jeremiah gotham #jeremiah valeska #valeska brothers #valeska twins #valeska #tw death #suicide #blood #gore #fanfic

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crazyvaleska · 1 year

Text

Listen To Me | Jerome Valeska x GN! Reader

summary: you are jerome's psychiatrist at arkham asylum and after years of treating him he opens up about his childhood trauma

genre: angst

word count: 8479 (it's a long one folks! so get comfortable and grab ur popcorn & blanket! and tissues.)

warnings: cursing, self harm, mention of sexual assault & domestic abuse, mention of death & suicide, just a lot of angst in general. read at your own risk, you've been warned.

a/n: i started writing this back in august 2022 and finished it just now. been adding small paragraphs to this story every now&then. some paragraphs were written days apart while others were written weeks apart. i'm writing this bc i feel like there aren't many angsty stories with jerome. imo jerome isn't evil but broken. also having read his diary added up a lot to his character as it's pretty depressing. perhaps everyone has a different version of a certain character. here's my version of jerome.

also i got a tiny bit inspired by the harleen graphic novel and the joker movie for this !!

the playlist i was listening to while writing this: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5E2lk49zurRTAaHq3Nz7FQ?si=7TQxYHDsQ0ypPYkIvlLCpw&utm_source=copy-link

jerome's thoughts are written like this btw!

enjoy! (or don't.)

A huge amount of people would say it is impossible to become a psychiatrist at 18. That must mean they've never been to Gotham City. Here anything is possible. Therefore, you had just graduated medical highschool when you were offered a job at Arkham Asylum and you had no choice but to take it. You were aware of the risks of working in a place surrounded by criminally insane lunatics, but you didn't really have another option. You needed a job. Besides, taking risks never ever scared you. Though many viewed Arkham as a spooky place, to you it was interesting. Treating mentally unwell criminals was challenging because you liked helping people, no matter who they were.

What you didn't know was that one of the patients you would have to treat was none other than the infamous Jerome Valeska himself, probably one of the most demented and wicked being Gotham City had ever know.

Yet, you thought his character was rather fascinating. After all, you had known Jerome for years.

Jerome Valeska. How do you even begin to explain Jerome Valeska?

You first met him right after he killed his mother, the first time he was in prison. Before he died. Before he was an infamous murderer. And you had to admit, he did become more intimidating as years passed by.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about him at first, same old story about the son committing matricide. Though, he never told you the entire story. You noticed he was uncomfortable and you didn't want to push, everybody had their boundaries and you respected that.

If you had to describe in one word the way he was acting in his firsts therapy sessions, you would use the word "flirty". Sort of. A mix of charisma and inappropriate jokes.

He told you he didn't plan on killing anyone else, claiming that the murdering of his mother was something personal. For some reason, you chose to believe him. Until Theo Galavan happened. It was like the Jerome you once knew had completely vanished. He was the same and a different person at the same time. You almost felt sorry for him. But then again, you weren't supposed to get attached to your patients. Jerome was charming and all, but he probably didn't feel the same way you did. He was just a kid after all, and so were you. Both 18. The only difference was, you were trying to cure insanity while he was trying to spread it.

A few days later he died. Actually, was murdered. Poor thing, you thought. You wished you had more time to know him. You wished you could've helped him. You knew small parts about him but not his entire story.

You had hoped you would forget him as time flew by, but you didn't. His evil crackle never left your dreams. It was always there. You could hear it all the time, as if he was trying to reach you. It was torturing you. Yet pleasant at the same time. You missed him, truth be told. But you knew he was in a better place now. Or so you thought.

That was until he was resurrected. Being honest, you weren't exactly surprised. This was Gotham City, after all. Everything was possible in Gotham. The actual shock was seeing him faceless and unconscious. You wondered how much strength does one require in order to be able to staple their face without passing out. Jerome's pain tolerance was so high, it concerned you.

By the time the ginger maniac was sent back to the Asylum, his face had been attached back to its place. He was hideously scarred now, wearing a permanent disturbingly bright smile. Although, to you he looked fine. Somehow attractive. You weren't sure why. Maybe it was simply your questionable taste in men. At the same time, he was much more intimidating now, much more grown. And as a result to him dying by being stabbed in the throat, his voice had also changed. It sounded more threatening now.

"It's good to have you back, Jerome!" you said in his first therapy appointment of the year, a warm, kind smile on painted on your lips.

His reply came out natural, "Well, at least someone missed me." but his face was expressionless and emotionless, and his voice numb, as if he had lost his spark.

To most, he was simply just out of his mind, a low-life criminal, but you felt there was more than that. You desperately wanted to know what made him the way he was, what made him turn to a life of crime, because you knew no one was born evil, not even in a city like Gotham (though he wasn't born in Gotham) it was usually the environment that could cause one's insanity. And you could see it in his eyes: he wasn't born bad. He was shaped evil, but not born evil. But then again, anyone could go insane with just one bad day.

Jerome was very charismatic, he could get anyone do whatever he wanted. Nevertheless, he was an amazing liar, you couldn't ever tell when he was speaking the truth and when he wasn't. He didn't seem to care about the way others felt and showed lack of remorse, he was impulsive and manipulative, deceitful and reckless. He was extremely narcissistic and showed lack of empathy towards others, and you had diagnosed him with Psychopathy Cluster B Personality Disorders and Schizophrenia. The ginger was on different medications. Sometimes he didn't take them, other times he did and not only his, but others' as well . You had told him multiple times how that was no good for him, but he never listened.

The thing about Jerome was, you never knew what he would be like in your therapy sessions. Sometimes you felt like you knew Jerome, but did you really? Oftentimes his behavior was passive aggressive, other times he would crack up jokes and you actually enjoyed his company, getting lost into his mesmerizing hazel eyes, as if you two were actually friends. Most of the times he just stayed quiet though, especially if you mentioned his family. Sure, he had no problem talking about killing innocents but once you switched the subject to the murdering of his mom, for example, he would tilt his head and pretend he didn't hear you or just say the same old story about her being mean, but you suspected it wasn't just that, you could see it in his eyes that part of him was still... hurt? His eyes spoke volumes. Although he always tried to hide it by pretending to be a God, deep down he hated himself. But of course he didn't want anyone else to know that, he didn't want to be seen as weak. Not anymore. He knew better than that. You noticed this thing about Jerome, he tried to act unbothered all the time but he always did this head tilting thing whenever he felt uncomfortable. Sure, Jerome was always surrounded by people, mostly his followers, but being around people doesn't mean you actually trust them. And you couldn't blame him for having trust issues considering he was stabbed to death by the only person he ever trusted. You could only imagine the feeling of betrayal he felt. That must have been traumatizing, but he had never ever addressed it.

One rainy Thursday the young Valeska told you he was upset because there wasn't any pudding left at the cafeteria. So the following day, Friday, you came up with an idea that could get you killed, but it was worth a try.

It was getting dark, your shift was over and you were supposed to go home. But instead of heading towards the Asylum's exit you found yourself walking towards its core, towards one certain inmate's cell, inmate E-146's cell: Jerome's cell. You would be lying if you said you weren't nervous, because you were. You didn't have anything to defend yourself on you. If anything, you were aware you were walking towards something that could be mean your sudden death.

You did have to pay bribe to the prison wardens that guarded his cell. They warned you about the homicidal redhead, but you liked to believe you weren't scared of him. To you, Jerome wasn't scary-looking. What really scared you was his mind. You had read his criminal record thus you knew what he was capable of. Even though you tried to tell yourself he won't hurt you, truth was you had no idea what he'd do or say, he was unpredictable.

First time you stepped foot in his cell was an experience you weren't going to forget anytime soon. The room was smaller than you though it would be. Not that you were expecting any kind of luxury. But this was worse than anything you had ever imagined. The first thing you noticed was the extremely low temperature, it was bone-chilling. No wonder why Jerome sounded sick all the time. Four gray walls and a dark ceiling that looked like it could collapse over you at any given moment. A bed for one person that was placed next to a prison porthole and near it a small, cheap table with an old chair in front of it. The smell wasn't very welcoming either, you thought rats were the only thing missing from the picture.

Jerome didn't notice you initially, he was busy writing in something that appeared to be a notebook. You cleared your throat loudly, which made him jump. You caught him off guard, quite literally. He looked equally shocked and confused to see you.

"Whatcha doing here, doc?" the redhead asked as he sat up. He placed the pencil down and closed his book, then took small steps closer to you. Only now that you were both standing up at the same time you noticed how tall he actually was. In the therapy room, his arms were always folded together in a shinny white straightjacket that prevented him from harming the doctor before him. You had actually never seen Jerome with his arms free so close to you before. He was wearing his stripped prison uniform instead of that tight straightjacket and you could tell he was way more muscular than you thought, his hands were enormous, he could knock you out in a second. His looks should've alarmed you but for some reason they didn't. Actually, you were happy to see his body looked healthy. Everybody said he looked like a nightmare, but to you he was the opposite. You shook your head quickly trying not to think of that or anything potentially inappropriate.

You hitched your breath nervously as you took a few steps back. "I told you already, you can call me Y/N... Uh, yesterday you said there wasn't any pudding left for you so I thought I would...um ... I... well," you stuttered while searching for something in your bag. The man raised an eyebrow but stayed silent. You reached your hand out, holding a bowl of chocolate pudding, "I-I... I made it myself! And I paid the guards to leave..." you said in a low murmur.

The unsurety in your voice didn't go unnoticed and it made Jerome grin. He walked even closer to you and crossed his arms while nodding, "That's so brave of you, Y/N! But you do realize I could poke your eyeballs out and squash you like a bug right about.... now!" he hissed. The next thing you felt was your chin being lifted up by his gloved hand, holding it in a tight grip, forcing you to face him. You avoided looking directly into his eyes so you just stared at his hand. Unfortunately for you, that seemed to bother him, "My eyes are up here," he used his free hand to point at his eyes.

The fabric of his white glove was soft but his touch was aggressive and harsh, the clutch on your chin was hard, "... I just... I just came here to give you this, nothing more." At first, Jerome was very sceptical, not believing any of it. He even thought the pudding was poisoned and insisted on you having a try before he did. The rest was history.

That happened approximately one year prior. You had spent the last 12 months seeing Jerome 2 times a week: one time during his therapy appointments every Thursday, the other time every Friday night, when most of the Asylum's staff had gone home. You had stolen they keys to his prison cell and no one knew about your late at night meetings with the clown prince.

The first times everything was pretty awkward, Jerome used to search your bag and pockets for any sharp objects that you could potentially use against him. But with time he stopped doing that. Approximately after 6 months.

You mostly brought him food, especially sweets, Jerome loved candies but he wasn't allowed to eat those in prison. Sometimes you even played cards with him and he would win every game, the boy knew how to play the jokers, that's certain. He did make inappropriate jokes from time to time, but nothing that made you too uncomfortable. He never touched you or anything like that. Everything stayed platonic.

One time you attached a colorful self-made bracelet to his wrist. You had a similar one on yours. Jerome pretend he didn't like it, telling you that friendship jewels were a waste, but truth be told, he liked it, he wore it all the time, he liked playing with it beads. Of course, he made sure it stayed hidden underneath his sleeve. He didn't want anyone else to see him like that. He had a reputation to uphold. Thus sometimes he would threaten your life in a playful manner just because he was Jerome Valeska.

You had also noticed the ginger was great at arts and crafts so you brought him crayons. Lots of them. The previous week you even brought him a scissors after he had begged you to for weeks. He promised he wasn't going to hurt other prisoners with it. He was using those to draw and decorate his diary. You knew he had a personal journal that he had never showed you. But you were cool with that. Though you wished he could open up to you, you didn't want to push, you wanted him to talk to you because he wanted to, not because he had to. All you knew was that you desperately wanted to help him get better. You didn't feel that way about other patients. Obviously, you wanted to help them too, but with Jerome it was different. Not that you would ever admit it out loud, but you had grown some sort of crush on the maniac. You knew how wrong that was, but you couldn't help the way he made you feel everytime his eyes met yours or when he smiled at you. You came to the realization that Jerome wasn't half as bad unless he was surrounded by other loonies or by people he despised. He was quite chill aside from his maniacally laughter.

Although Jerome didn't own a watch, he simply knew what time you were supposed to show up. In fact, he had actually grown to like your little visits. At first he found all of this annoying and irritating, but with time he changed his mind. You weren't so bad after all. Actually, he was waiting impatiently each of your visits. You were nice to him. Not a lot of people were nice to him. Nobody, actually. Just you.

Therefore you being late one certain night didn't go unnoticed. Strange, Jerome thought at first. You had never been late before. Was this all? Did you spend all that time with him only to leave him like that? Did you replace him with another patient? Did you get bored of him? Did something bad happen to you, perhaps?

Jerome shook his head. He didn't like to picture you dead. Why was that? He loved everything about death and killing, blood and gore. Why did it bother him now? He promised himself he wouldn't get attached. No, no, Jerome Valeska didn't give a shit about anyone. He was heartless. A monster. Everybody said so, so then it must be true. So what if you died? Who cared? Not him, that's for sure. Yeah.

But then, why had he been walking circles in his small cell for minutes? Why was he breathing heavier and why did he have an awful gut feeling? And now how did he find himself in this position again? Sitting on his bed, facing the wall with teary eyes, clinching his fists anxiously and twiddling his trembling thumbs. There were drops of dark red blood on his already dirty mattress. Drops of blood between the beads of his bracelet. When did that happen? He could vividly remember when he started pressing the scissors down his wrist. It all happened so fast. He didn't even apply much pressure and yet he had managed to draw enough blood to cover his fingertips. How did he end up like this? Like a sobbing mess. Why did you do this to him? Why did you give him hope? He should've known better. Humans are deceitful beings. They lie and they never keep their promises. One day they love you, the next they don't need you anymore. So he really didn't learn anything from trusting Theo Galavan after all. He remembered it as clear as day. He thought he could finally be happy when Theo came along, gave him a proper bed and proper clothes. He was like the father he never had. But then his life flashed before his eyes as he dropped dead by the hand of the one man he thought was trustworthy.

Oh, dear ol' Jerome. Getting attached to the first person to treat him like a normal human being again. So all those times you took care of him were all on act. Of course. Why was he so stupid? Stupid enough to think anyone would ever care about him. Of course it was all a lie. He hated you. This was pathetic. Everyone was pathetic. Crying was pathetic. Crying was for the weak. Jerome wasn't weak. Not anymore. But what if, perhaps, you weren't even real? What if he had been imagining you the whole time? After all, it was all too good to be true. But maybe that's just the way life is: it hits you harder than a train truck, then you feel good for a while because you start doing things that distract you from how you truly feel, killings in his case. But then you realize you weren't ever really happy, just delusional and that makes you depressed again. It's like a never ending loop.

The boy shivered at his own thoughts. So many questions at the same time. His mind was suffocating him. But he liked it, didn't he? Or maybe did he just trick himself into thinking he liked it? He liked being sick, right? Who was he without his sickness? Pills. He needed more pills. The pills were never enough. If only he had enough pills to...

His train of thoughts was interrupted by the very familiar sound of his creaky door being unlocked then opened. Jerome knew this could mean one thing. He quickly wiped his teary eyes with his knuckles then clothed his fingers with his gloves. He cleared his throat, "Where were you?" he asked, his voice harsher than ever. He didn't want you to see him vulnerable. He tried to hide it. He didn't want to admit not even to himself he was somewhat worried. But, in fact, he had grown very fond of you. He wasn't sure why, he wasn't sure what he felt towards you. There's a very thin line between love and obsession. All in all, part of him was relieved once he heard your voice.

"I'm sorry, Jerome. I had some things to take care of. Things that involve you, actually," you closed the door behind you and took a few steps forward.

The last sentence got Jerome's attention so naturally he turned his head around to look at you. His stare was so intense it seemed like he was staring directly into your soul. His hazel eyes were so beautiful yet so terrifying, you couldn't stare at them for too long. The dark circles under his eyes were darker than ever and you wondered if he ever slept. It was your job to help him get better but it seemed that he was getting worse everyday, like he was losing himself therefore you were failing. But you had to pull him out of his misery. You had to.

"You threatened Oswald Cobblepot," Jerome couldn't help but snicker proudly at your remark before you could continue your sentence "And you also took his medicine. How many times have I told you that taking meds you don't need only makes things worse?" you paused but the boy didn't reply. He knew it was bad, he just couldn't help himself. You sighed "They want to change your therapist, Jerome. They don't think I'm doing a good job with you."

Jerome's face dropped, "As in you'll be replaced?" he asked and you nodded. No, this wasn't possible. You were lying, you had to be. First you're late, now this. The redhead jumped out of his bed and walked up to you, "You're lying."

"Jerome-" you started but he didn't let you finish.

"Don't you dare to Jerome me. You're an hour late and now you're telling me you wanna get rid of me?" his tone went from numb to mad in a matter of seconds.

"I'm so sorry for the waiting, I'll try my best to keep you. I promise! Cross my heart and hope to die."

That only made Jerome crackle in an ironic manner "Oh please, Y/N. Don't make promises you know you can't keep. Empty promises. You're growing tired of me. It's funny, actually. I think this may be just my luck! Jeremiah promised he wouldn't leave too, but he did anyhow. And now you."

"Who's Jeremiah? I don't know what you're talking abo..." you felt like you couldn't breathe as panick took control over your body, "...why is there blood on your gloves?"

Shit, Jerome thought. "It's paint," he smiled but you knew he was lying the moment he tried to change the subject "Jeremiah's an old acquaintance, if you will."

"I never brought you paint..." you murmured. Then you remembered what you did bring him. The scissors. "You promised you won't hurt anyone with it..." you whispered.

Jerome shrugged, "I promised I wouldn't other inmates. I never promised I wouldn't hurt... myself...!"

Your eyes opened widely at the sudden realization. You covered your mouth with your fingers and your heart was beating impossibly fast while tears were filling your eyes. It was only now that you noticed his slightly puffy eyes too, "I'm so sorry... Jerome... oh God..." you muttered. He didn't look at you until he felt your hand on his.

Jerome hesitated to speak at first, "Oh, y'know... the scissors just slipped. I'm fine, really. No need to worry about me. If anything, I like bleeding out."

You knew that wasn't true. "I'm gonna get the doctor... we need to get it patched up."

"Then they'll know you're here."

"I don't care. I'll probably lose my job anyway. You hurt yourself, Jerome. You could get an infection. Fuck, I was supposed to help you get better but I didn't do shit! Now you're bleeding and it's all because of me-" you were cut off by Jerome's gloved hand covering your mouth.

"Shh. I'm fine, Y/N. It's not that serious. It's just... I don't feel safe when my scars are healed. I need to bleed to calm myself. It's like a part of me. It's my biggest comfort."

You tried to mumble something underneath his hand which made him frown, "I don't need your pity, Y/N. You're trying to weaken me, it won't work," he moved his hand, giving you the chance to speak.

"Please, Jerome. I care about you! I won't let you hurt yourself any longer!" you cried out. It was true. You would've done anything for him and it hurt you knowing he was harming himself. He thought he had it all under control but clearly he didn't. You were scared of what he could do to himself next. You couldn't just watch him destroying himself knowing you could've helped him.

Jerome shook his head repeatedly and covered his ears with his plams while circling around the room, mumbling things to himself. Eventually, his voice got louder and louder, "NO NO NO NO NO! No, you don't, stop saying that! Cut the bullshit, Y/N! You don't care about me, no one does! Jerome has no one, Jerome's all alone! It's how it's always been. It's how it's always gonna be. What the fuck do you want from me? Look at me! I have wanted to die for as long as I can remember. And guess what? When I finally did some jerks thought it'd be funny to bring me back to this shitty life! You think you understand me, but you don't! You can't save me, you can't fix me! What have you done to me? You cracked me! Just leave me alone! Leave me alone! LEAVE. ME. ALONE!!!" he yelled as he shed a single tear.

His face turned red from all the rage and you could swear he was gonna kill you at that very moment, but he didn't. Instead, his body collapsed on the ground. He was hugging his knees while staring at the floor, with his back pressed against the cold wall. You had no clue what just happened but he looked defenseless, practically harmless right now. You knew this was risky, but you kneeled next to him then reached out your hand and caressed his shoulders which caused him to look at you. You didn't see a psychopath in his eyes anymore, just a frightened child. That wasn't the ginger maniac everybody feared. That was a poor boy stuck in his traumatic past.

"Let it out, Jerome. This is why I came here, so we could talk like 2 human beings. Help me understand you. I know I can't take your pain away, but you can talk to me," you whispered.

"I'm not a human being. I'm a monster, can't you see? Everybody fears me. I'm the monster parents tell their children about," he muttered quietly. Usually he said that proudly, but now it sounded as if he was ashamed, which was very out of character. What he felt at that very moment was confusion.

"You're not a monster, Jerome. I have this feeling that... you're misunderstood, like no one ever listened to what you had to say. I am here to listen and I promise I won't laugh or judge. But if you hold everything inside you it's only gonna get worse... Let it all out, please." you spoke in a soft murmur.

"I don't even know.... what I am supposed to say," Jerome sobbed.

"Anything that comes to mind, that upsets you, that you wanna get off your chest. What is that one thought that won't let you get rest at night? The things you always wanted to say but nobody ever listened to. The things you always tried to forget because it all hurt too much. I can see the depth and complicity of your character, Jerome. You're not evil. Your past is haunting you, isn't it? I can see it in your face, it was rough. So please, I just want to help you. And I won't tell anyone, you have my word."

The ginger glanced at you with furrowed brows, trying to keep track of his thoughts. He felt something he hadn't felt in a very, very long time. He felt helpless and he didn't know why. He didn't know why he suddenly no longer felt in control. Was it because you were the first person to actually look at his wounds concerned instead of laughing? Because you were willing to actually listen to what he had to say? No one had ever told him that before. Except for you. But he couldn't bring himself to entirely believe anyone could actually care about him. His chest was hurting and his heart was aching. He was tired of hiding.

"... okay, I'll tell you everything," he nodded his head eventually, "but I'll never tell this story again so you better be all ears."

You nodded while caressing his once-so-soft-cheek slowly. Initially he shuddered, then he closed his eyes and leaned in your touch, giving you permission to carry on. Tracing your fingers on his cold pale skin made you feel his every scar, but his scars didn't scare you, they never did. You could tell he wasn't used to this kind of stuff. He wasn't used to people treating him like a normal human being. He wasn't used to being touched unless the touch was meant to harm him. He hadn't even started talking but you just knew something terrible was about to come out of his mouth.

The man took a deep breath. He knew that once he started speaking he wouldn't be able to stop. He had been holding all in for so long, it all came out like word vomit.

"Jeremiah is my twin brother. He was always mother's favorite. Mother. Can I even call her that? No, she was never my mom. Lila Valeska never loved me. She never treated me like her son, not even when I was a baby. She had only one son and that was Jeremiah. I was just... there. Like a nephew she had to take care of or something. But not a son, no. She always said I ruined her life. Yeah, like it's my fault she had unprotected sex. But I could never understand why she praised Jeremiah all the time. What was so special about him? What was he doing so much better than me to get that kind of appreciation from mama when we were just 5 years old? I can only remember he was into maths and puzzles and that kind of shits from a young age. He pissed the hell out of me. But I didn't hate him. I mean, at the end of the day he was still my brother. And sometimes he would hold me while that whore was busy banging clowns the next room, assuring me that everything would be alright and that mother didn't actually hate me, promising me that one day we'll get out of the circus and live our best lives. What a dirty little liar...! And to think I actually used to believe his empty promises... Until he turned his back on me."

Jerome paused. His eyes were now filled with anger, you could tell he didn't like his brother much. Then he continued.

"It happened once we turned 7. Lila had hit me multiple times and I don't even remember what was the reason, but then again, it's not like she ever needed a reason to hurt me. Before this it was usually just slaps, but this time it was a proper beating. The sadness mixed with anger I felt at the time were too much to handle for a little boy. I had to somehow let it out, y'know? So... I started mutilating small animals. Soon I grew an interest in murdering them. And it felt... therapeutic. I know I should feel ashamed of this, but I don't. I never did. Hell, I even pretended they were her because I knew I wasn't strong enough to actually hurt her back. How fucked up I must've been to behave this way at 7, right? But things got complicated when Jeremiah found out. He said," Jerome talked in two different thin voices the next parts:

"... ' I understand your anger, 'Romie! I think it's quite interesting, really! '

I actually believed him and replied happily ' You think so, 'Miah? But please don't tell 'ma, she'll get really mad at me! My cheek still hurts from the last slap she gave me! '

' I would never! She hits me too sometimes, you know. But I don't know why she's so mean to you all the time! '..."

Jerome cleared his throat and went back to his usual tone "Well, he kept his promise, kinda. He didn't tell our mother but he told uncle Zach ―and let me tell you this― he was the WORST. Such cruelness in one man. He used to cook food for the other circus members, but he was an ex prisoner, spent years in jail for robbery and rape. Yeah, that's my fucked up uncle. He was a cook and yet I was always left to starve. Mind you but I used to be underweight 'cause of that.

Anyway ...! Dear ol' Zach thought I had gone psychopathic when little 'Miah showed him the dead animals' corpses, so he made sure he worked me over. And, of course, Lila made sure of that as well. And as if those injuries weren't enough, Jeremiah saw this as a perfect opportunity to leave the circus. He started spreading rumors about me kickin' and punching him, feeding my mom and uncle with funny stories about me threatening his life, when the truth is I never touched a hair of his. For him, those were the stories that were gonna get him out of that damned place we so called home. For me, those were the stories that were gonna ruin my life. Even though I tried to defend myself they never believed me, because after all I was the animal abuser while he was the perfect innocent son, with his little nerdy hamster glasses and fancy books and puzzles. And let's just say, it didn't end well for me when he would randomly bring up something that didn't even happen. He had totally brainwashed them and I was lucky if I could get away with just a slap or two. But they didn't abuse me just physically... verbally as well. The amount of times I heard them planning my murdering were countless. And maybe they should have done it. Maybe they should have murdered me. Instead, they used to remind me every single day that I was such a heartless psycho monster who's gonna cause nothing but disaster. Well, I guess they weren't exactly wrong with that one. I mean, just look at me now..." he narrowed his eyes.

"Nobody ever stood up for me. Nobody cared. Nobody. They always managed to cover it all up, they always told me to smile once they were done. I was known as Haly's Circus little sociopath. And Jeremiah? They'd always make sure he was treated right, that he got the best stuff, while I could be freezing at night and they wouldn't even notice.

On our 9th birthday our uncle decided to take Jeremiah to the city away from me so he could celebrate his birthday properly and left me with my mom and her partner at the time. The got drunk and had sex all day, not caring that I was in the same room, beating the shit out of me afterwards. And when I had finally managed to get out of that hell of a trailer, my father ―I didn't know he was my father back then, but he knew I was his son― didn't even try to comfort me, he simply told me to suck it up because nobody cared. And he was right. This world indeed doesn't care about me or anyone else. But for a child? Damn, that hurt. And I suppose it's even sadder now knowing he was my dad...

Moving on, by the time we were almost 10 his lies got worse and worse, and so were the beatings. According to him I had tried to poison him and to light his bed on fire. One time he injured his knee when he fell on the ground, but later lied about me pushing him down the stairs. But the last straw was when he lied about me holding a cake knife to his throat on our 10th birthday. My uncle almost broke my ribs for that and my mom repeatedly kicked my stomach with her legs. Honestly, I can't really remember that day. All I know is that they decided it would be the best if uncle Zach took Jeremiah away while I was asleep. And I'm not gonna lie, I was pleased when I saw they both left, but little did I know that it was only gonna get worse for me.

Haly's Circus is a nightmare dressed like a daydream. A lot of fucked up things happened there. I hated that place. And with Jeremiah gone, she started drinking more and more, and got more aggressive. She got pissed at every little thing I did and made sure I received punishment. Did I forget to do that dishes? She'd kick me. Forgot to take out the trash? She'd slap me across the face. Didn't feed her snake? She'd punch me. Was breathing too heavily for her liking or my existence simply bothered her? She'd beat me till my vision was blurry or till I coughed in my own blood. I did try to get help from the cops, but guess what! They didn't give 2 shits! Ya see, the system is so corrupt they don't care unless someone's been murdered. They made fun of me and I understood no one could ever save me, I was the only one that could free myself from the pain."

You stood quiet when Jerome removed his gloves. You hadn't seen his hands unclothed in a very, very long time. Last time you saw his bare fingers was before he died. His veins were more noticeable now, among with multiple half healed blueish bruises he had probably given himself. Seeing Jerome without his gloves felt like him breaking a wall between the two of you. Like he trusted you. Like he trusted you enough for you to see him at his lowest. He needed to trust you enough to tell you everything. The scarred man was silent for a brief moment, trying to find the right words to describe the next part of his story that made you feel like throwing up.

"On my 14th birthday one of Lila's hookers...how do I say this... one of her hookers touched me, Y/N. Like, parts he shouldn't have touched... And... she was there, watching. She didn't do anything to stop him, she didn't even try. I was crying and screaming and begging her to make him stop. She just laughed. Her awful witch-like laugh followed by her favorite line: ' shut up! boys don't cry! '. And afterwards she just left with him for the night and before that she told me to smile. Smile. I felt so embarrassed and ashamed. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I couldn't feel my body. The only thing I could feel were his hands all over my body... To put it into words, I felt worthless and helpless. Smile," Jerome smiled weakly through the tears as he repeated his mother's words, hugging his own body, "Smile. I was smiling that night. I was smiling when I tried to kill myself. It was all too much, I couldn't handle it. My life was a living Hell I started to believe Hell itself couldn't be that bad. So... I just took a bunch of her pills and I thought that was it, I thought I was finally gonna die. I smiled because I thought everything was finally going to end. Sadly, I survived. After taking the pills I dropped down to my knees and then... I don't know. I can't really remember anything except the fact I woke up with a terrible headache. Did she notice? Nope. Did those pills have had an effect on me? Absolutely.

I didn't have anyone to comfort me anymore. Not that Jeremiah was ever a great comfort, but it was better than nothing. I didn't have any friends, 'cause who would wanna befriend the freak who tried to murder his twin and massacred tons of pets? And if anyone tried to get close to me I would push them away. Literally. Push them. Because what was the point in denying my violent urges? Everybody thought I was the villain already anyway."

Jerome paused to blow his nose into a handkerchief you handed him. You were at loss of words. This was a lot to process and Jerome's voice was now shaky. It was painful to hear his life story, it was painful to look at him now, to stare at the helplessness in his eyes. Tough people always have the most heartbreaking pasts.

"I used to cry myself to sleep every night, but I barely managed to fall asleep knowing that she could strangulate me when her snake in my sleep, and I low-key hoped she would so my suffering could end already. But when I did manage to fall asleep I ended up getting a... What was that called? Oh yeah, sleep paralysis. She was the demon suffocating me. Even now... I can't ever properly fall asleep. I'm always half awake. Actually forget I said that... Stupid! stupid...." he cried while gripping on his ginger hairs, scratching his thin pale skin with his sharp nails.

"Jerome," you whispered and took his hands in yours, "it's not stupid. Your emotions are valid. Please, carry on."

The boy nodded and did as you said, "At some point I just stopped talking because my body was hurting so much. I started isolating myself from everything and everyone. Because you see, people like me, we're put in this world for one thing: to suffer. The only thing that made the pain go away for a while was the thought of torturing her, cutting her open and feeding her snake with her organs then bathing in a pool of her blood and maybe sending her bones to Jeremiah. All I know is that I was so sick and tired of her calling me names and spitting on my face, beating me up till I bled, abusing me, banging my head against the wall, ripping my hairs off, punching me with her cold fists, slapping and pinching my skin, throwing empty alcohol bottles at me and kicking my bones. And when she was done with beating me, she'd always call over one of her sex partners to have some fun. I was tired of having to hear her moans as she was getting railed the next room. But I knew better than disturbing her, because if I did she'd invite her lovers to beat me too... or worse. I just had to keep quiet because if I behaved she'd leave me alone for a day or two.

But in time I got used to it. The beatings and all. It didn't even hurt that much anymore. The psychical wounds healed eventually, but the emotionally ones were always there. She didn't even need to get physical, her words were enough to torture me, they were like poisson. Her words cut deeper than a knife. When she wasn't the one hurting me I was hurting myself. That's so messed up, I know. But what isn't messed up about me or my life? I just couldn't help it. I had grown addicted to watching myself bleed. It's like... that was my only comfort. My sadness, my pain... Bugs. There were bugs on my skin, crawling on it. One second they were there, the next they weren't. I had to peel some of my skin off just to make sure. But I liked it. I think. It looked pretty. Such a pretty shade of red...! I could've stared at it for hours. Don't know if I was high or if I just had lost touch with reality. Or maybe both.

I just wished she would just kill me already and be done with it, 'cause it was better to be dead than to be alive and suffering. I just wished that everything would go quiet once and for all. My mind was like a prison I could not escape. My mind was the darkest place. The negative thoughts, they were always there. The voices telling me to do horrible things to myself. People screaming. A thousand voices howling in my head all the time. Dead people. I saw dead people everywhere. I couldn't control it.

Nobody cared about me, so who would've noticed if one day I just disappeared from this world? If one day I just stopped breathing? Definitely not her. If anything, she'd beat my corpse. I mean, she didn't even notice my first attempt.

That's what I told myself as I tried to slash my veins. But then I heard it," his face suddenly lit up, "That voice. The voice. The only comfort I ever had was that voice in the back of my head. That voice that grew louder as the years passed by. That voice that was giving me hope saying ' your day will come, your revenge will come, you just have to be patient '. And I had done my waiting. All the suffering, all the abuse I was forced to endure were about the end. I wasn't gonna let her win. Little did that whore know her beatings gave me strength and a high pain tolerance. Suddenly, all the fear I ever felt towards her turned into hatred and anger. She was going to pay for everything she had ever made me go through. People call me insane but they don't know my insanity gave me strength to save myself from that Hell I used to call home.

So, by the time I was 16 I had already started planning her murdering. I started working out and made better meals for myself so I'd be sure I was stronger than she was. I wanted to no longer be skinny. I had also made the perfect plan to kill her and get away with it.

So on my 18th birthday, like a birthday gift for myself, if you will, I grabbed an axe and chopped her off, hitting her repeatedly with it, digging it up and down into her skin. The first stab was the hardest one, but once I saw blood drawing out I just couldn't stop. I laughed as I did. Seeing her like that, lifeless and all covered in blood made me shiver in a good way. It was like feeling a brand new emotion. I was...happy? Entertained? I had finally given in that voice, I was finally free! That day I promised myself that I would come after my brother and uncle too, they also needed to pay for the way they'd treated me. And after that I'd be finally free to kill myself... I know how fucked up that sounds, but now that you know what they put me through, I hope you understand why I had to do it. There was no other way. One of us had to go. I killed her because she deserved it, self defense really. You get it, right? Tell me you get it, please."

You nodded while massaging his thumbs. His eyes were red and so were yours. You were both crying. Jerome couldn't believe he just told you all of that. He had never told anyone about any of that before. Did he say too much? Did you not want to be near him anymore?

"Jerome, I don't even know where to begin... you are such a strong person, really. You didn't deserve what happened to you. It wasn't your fault. You were just a child, none of this was your fault. No one ever treated you like a human being. No one ever gave you a chance. It's like you were forced to be evil, you didn't have a choice. They made you evil. They turned you into the villain. Of course you snapped eventually. I can't blame you. I would've done the same if I were in your shoes. No one ever gave you the chance to tell the full story. I wish I could take it away. All the pain, all the suffering... Oh, Jerome... I can't even begin to describe how bad I feel for you. Your heart has endured way too much at a way too young age. It's not you who is the monster. It's them. You had and have every right to kill them, I'll even help you. Jerome... I'm so proud of you for staying alive. Jerome, please remember that you matter. You matter to me. I see you, Jerome. I see you for who you are. Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are? You are a very, very handsome boy."

"Even with the scars?"Jerome smiled, his eyes puffy from crying. Not a threatening or disturbing smile. A genuine smile that made you smile too.

"Absolutely. Your scars just show how strong you are. Your scars make you prettier. I myself ain't a strong person but... I won't let anyone hurt you anymore, you've been through enough. And I won't let you hurt yourself either. Because I care. And you can trust me with anything, Jerome. Let me be the one person that makes you feel like home. Please." you got lost in his gaze. Words weren't enough to express what you felt. So you just hugged him. A gentle, loving hug. Jerome wasn't a touchy person in general, but he gave in and hurled himself into your warm embrace. Soon he was holding you so close to him like he was never going to let you go. Then he cried more. And louder. He cried on your shoulder and you patted his back. This was all new to him, he was still confused by the way he was acting. But it just felt right. He felt safe at last. He wondered if you were an angel sent from Heaven to rescue him. You scooped him up in your arms. Yours arms were tight around him, his head on your chest. He needed this. He needed to feel okay. He needed feel loved and accepted. You held each other for so long you could feel each other's breathing, and you weren't going to let go of each other anytime soon.

"Thank you for listening."

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