Chapter One
Coming back to my senses I realise that I am strapped to a chair. It feels as though I had been wearing a blindfold but now it has been removed. I look around and find that the walls, floor and ceiling are all black and white checkered. Creepy. I'm wearing my white cargo pants and black baggy t-shirt from the morning before… morning? What time of day is it even. My name is Kristian and I'm 17. This morning, I was in my small apartment when I felt a sharp pain in my arm and then everything went dark as I lost consciousness. I have short blond hair that is kind of longer at the front, and I have a star necklace that I always wear. I'm not doing great at school, and I have no friends. My parents are also dead. Looking down I mutter
"Fuck…" I see a guy sitting cross legged on the floor, he looks straight out a horror movie. He has a shoulder length black/dark grey shaggy cut covering his eyes with two longer strands of hair at the front tied into two plates. He has very pale skin and red stiches on his arms, face and neck. He is wearing a white tank top and black sweatpants. He rolls his head backwards a little and looks at me, his eyes still hidden. He's very… pretty. No, I tell myself. He has kidnapped me.
"Heh, your awake," he smirks, "little Masochist."
…
I stand in my high-rise apartment bathroom in front of the mirror with a sharp sewing needle with red thread attached to it in my right hand. My name is Damon; I am 21 years old and live by myself. I never met my parents and was raised in foster homes until I was old enough to move out. I never stayed in one foster home for too long, they deemed me too scary to be around. I never went to school, but I can read, write and speak multiple languages. I taught myself to play the guitar and how to make music. When I was little, I would cut my toys up and sew them back together with the wrong parts. Letting my thoughts wonder the needle slips out of my hand and into the sink, bringing me back to the stupid world. I put the needle and thread away. I was done anyway. I barely noticed the pain I just inflicted against myself while sewing the new patterns stitched on my arms, neck, face and who knows where else. Leaving the bathroom, I get my backpack with my supplies. I have a target to hunt down today… the boy I've had a stupid fantasy over since they were 13. I smirk to myself.
"Time to hunt a masochist."