'How I Met Your Mother' ♡

                                    

                                          



(Word Count: 958)
                          
TRIGGER WARNING: knives, blood, and some weird shit.
                          
Y/N
                          
"Make sure your door is locked, and your window is shut okay?"
                          
"Mom, I'll be fine."
                          
I had just moved into my first apartment, and my worried mother is afraid I'll be killed. There's a murderer on the loose, dead bodies not being found too far from my place in Los Angeles. 
                          
"Promise?" my mom asked, clutching the straps of her purse.
                          
"I promise."
                          
I gave her a sympathetic look, as she engulfed me into a tight hug. Before turning away to walk back to her car, she held onto my shoulders, planting a kiss on my forehead.
                          
I sighed, and watched her quickly walk out to her car. It was night out, around nine p.m.
                          
"All of Hollywood City will start lock down at 10:00 p.m until 6:00 a.m. Get home quickly, lock the doors and make sure windows are closed. Stay safe." 
                          
I shut the front door, and walk over to the living room. My mom had been watching the news while she was over. I rolled my eyes, turning the T.V. off. 
                          
I went around the apartment, locking windows, shutting blinds, and turning off every light except for the one in my bedroom.
                          
Before I shut my door, I thought for a second.
                          
"Be safe."
                          
I quickly ran through the dark hallway into the kitchen, taking a knife from the drawer. I sprinted back into my bedroom to shut the door, that didn't have a lock. 
                          
I hummed to break the silence that filled the room, as I got ready for bed. 
                          
After turning the light switch off, I walked over to my full size bed, my kitchen knife in hand. It was the kind of knife you'd use to cut a watermelon.
                          
I've secretly held the urge to stab something. It's a weird feeling, but lately I've been curious as to what the feeling was... 
                          
Stabbing someone. 
                          
So many bodies being found, but why? Why would someone do such a thing. Kill so many people for no reason. I just wonder. I wonder what it feels like. 
                          
My heavy comforter warmed up my exposed shoulders. I wore a silk pajama set, a black top and shorts, with a black lacing.
                          
Suddenly I heard the sound of wind. All the windows were closed, so how could've the wind got in? 
                          
Shit.
                          
My bathroom window.
                          
My bedroom had it's own bathroom, with a huge window above the bath tub. Even worse, I was on the first floor. 
                          
The sound of tapping footsteps came closer to the closed door. It creaked open. My body froze, not so much in fear, but in shock. 
                          
"What the fuck am I supposed to do?" I mentally asked myself.
                          
The voices in my head that gave me that one feeling, that one urge that told me to, "Stab them."
                          
The footsteps quietly came to the end of my my bed, and I felt eyes on me. My eyes stayed shut, pretending to be asleep. 
                          
Why is this person just standing there? Watching me?
                          
This sudden urge to do something made my body jult up, but my knife wasn't in hand. I was suddenly pushed back onto the bed, my hands over my head. 
                          
"Get off of me!" I screamed in anger, constantly squirming. 
                          
I could barely see the person clearly, since it was still so dark. 
                          
My anger built up, and I was able to turn our bodies over. Myself being the one on top, my hands pinning the others arms to the mattress.
                          
My hand slid under the pillow, grabbing the knife. I held it above the persons neck, as they restrained my arm away. My other arm let go from pinning them down to turn on my lamp. Right as I let go, the persons arms freed, turning us back around. 
                          
The person turned the light on, exposing their face. 
                          
A boy. He looked young. We stared at each other for what felt like forever, his hands still holding me down. Our breathing became heavy, and my heart rate became faster.
                          
"I, will fucking kill you," I spoke through gritted teeth. 
                          
The boy shook his head.
                          
"No you won't. Neither of us will die. You're not gonna kill me, and I'm not gonna kill y-"
                          
I head budded him, his hand let go of me and I pushed him backwards. His head was now on the end of my bed.
                          
I crawled above him, my knife in hand. His nose bled, the blood trickling down to his teeth as he smiled. He smiled?
                          
"I fucking dare you," said the boy.
                          
My legs were on either side of his waist, my left hand holding his chest down, my other holding the knife over his neck. 
                          
He continued, "I fucking dare you to kill me."
                          
"Do. It."
                          
I didn't move for a hot minute, taking in his looks. He caught me staring.
                          
"You won't kill me," the boy instructed.
                          
I was speechless, but he kept talking.
                          
"...And I won't kill you."
                          
My hand began to shake, and I let go of the knife. Unaware that it would fall onto his neck. 
                          
"Fuck," the boy winced.
                          
He began to bleed, but not too much.
                          
I instantly got off of him, running into the bathroom. I locked myself in there.
                          
"What do you want from me?" I yelled, as I set against the door to hold it shut. 
                          
I ran my fingers through my hair.
                          
The boy suddenly spoke, "A band-aid?" 



                          
FINN
                          
"And that, kids, is how I met your mother."

                          
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A/N
                          
(I'M NOT A PSYCHO I SWEAR. Anyways, this chapter is basically where they're both insane teenage murderers. Hope you enjoyed. Don't forget to vote and comment ur thoughts.)