CHAPTER TWELVE | WHY...CAN'T I?

Kidnap your soul and control your heart
Body disappeared you outlined in chalk

• • •

The starless night; leaden and cold with the sound of trees rustling as thin breeze blew past through the bushy leaves. Dallia sat in front of her desk, opening the metal box filled with her supplies.

Mark, on the other hand, sat on her bed with eyes dipped closed, chest heaving up and down rhythmically. Curling his fingers into a tightened fist before loosening the grip and repeating it all over again.

Dallia wasn't sure what had happened and why Mark suddenly became muted. When she walked out of the store, Mark was nowhere to be found. Expecting the reaper leaning against the lamppost like how he was when she went in, but no, he wasn't there.

Jaemin had approached her, hands tucked into his pants pocket as he seemingly looked like he was waiting for her to come out. A lopsided grin etched on his lips as he tilts his head back, "What took you so long?" She remembers him asking a while back.

Instead, Dallia had ignored him, eyebrows knitted in confusion upon the absence of the reaper. Jaemin noticed that instant and raised an eyebrow, "Is everything okay? Are you looking for someone?"

Dallia shot him a wary look, thinking that maybe Jaemin had took away one of her friends again, but she immediately crossed that thought when she remembered Mark wasn't visible to most people.

Shaking her head, she shoved away all her concerns, feigning a smile towards the blue-haired boy. "I have to go- bye." She simply said, giving him a small wave of goodbye before turning around and taking her leave.

Going back to the current time, Dallia hummed lowly to a soft melody, pulling the red thread through her skin fully.

"I smell blood- are you..." Dallia snapped her head towards Mark seeing him with slitted eyes staring at the needle she was holding. He sighed deeply, ruffling his hair before standing up, "What do you even gain from doing this? Pleasure?" He muttered, grabbing the scissors to cut the thread.

He glanced at her, deadpanning a little, "I really shouldn't be doing this." He stated, taking the loose ends of the thread and slowly pulling it, grimacing as blood stained half of it that went through her skin.

"Does it even hurt you?" He asked curiously, throwing the gore stained thread into her trash bin.

Dallia shook her head, eyeing the spot she was supposed to stitch up. "No- Doesn't hurt me at all. How can I feel when..." not bothering to finish her sentence, she crouched down to pet the cat laid by her feet.

Mark screwed his eyes shut, thinking back again to what Jaemin had said earlier.

"Besides, what do you know about Dallia? You probably barely even scratched the surface of what she's truly feeling inside."

He's right, Mark scarcely knew anything about Dallia.

"Mark, I found her first- heck I've known her ever since she got out of the hospital."

Hospital? That made Mark perplex a bit. Jaemin actually knew Dallia way back so it's obvious he knew a lot about her, but that hints something, right? Dallia always said she died from a car crash – even her father had pinpointed that accident. Mark noted that little hint.

"You don't understand her like I do." Jaemin emphasized, poking his forefinger against Mark's chest repeatedly, "Do you even care for her? As far as I remember all you ever cared about was Harin."

A low growl emitted from Mark's lips as he recalled that specific part of their conversation. The fact that Jaemin had mentioned someone's name that he forbid himself to think about – it had reopened deep scars in his heart.

Eyes slowly fluttering open, he finds Dallia with the cat cradled in her arms as she combed its black fur. Mark sighed again, running his fingers through his hair habitually. Lips pressed together, contemplating whether he should try and understand the girl better.

Though a part of him pushed him to know deeper about Chae Dallia, there's still a huge fraction of his character that shoved all of that thought away.

He's the grim reaper; someone that was always depicted as the man who stole souls. Someone people have said to be viciously cruel and ignorant. They feared him – they feared death. But despite that, some still longed to meet him, afraid or not.

The pique rising up caused him to groan inwardly. Wanting to erase all of those irrational thoughts immediately.

He stared down at her blatantly figure. Nose scrunching as he thwarts the hankering impulse to kill her.

She's supposed to be dead by now.

Supposed.

He was supposed to be killing her, showing her that even in her perspective; the perspective that she wasn't afraid to die – she's in-fact still afraid of death itself. Everyone has that little fear of death, but why doesn't she?

It annoyed him, confused him in all situations, and made him rage nonstop on his other victims instead.

Every time he went back to his own place, numerous thoughts flooded around and questions left unanswered.

He wanted to know why.

Why...can't I kill her?

• • •
hmm what should mark do :0

so far what are your thoughts on this story?
it's quite different (a bit) from what i usually write since it goes a bit darker
we'll see