[ WP ] Two psychopaths meets by chance as children and fall in love . When they are separated , they vow to find one another when they are older , by any means necessary .

The voices used to be all I heard. When I was a baby, I couldn ’ t hear myself crying. I couldn ’ t understand what they were saying, of course, but it was terrifying all the same. By kindergarten, I had learned to talk to them. It was never small talk. “ Hannibal, kill this. Hannibal, smother that. ” One day during nap time, I couldn ’ t take it. They got too loud, too strong, and I refused to let them keep talking while I was trying to sleep, so at the top of my lungs, I yelled, “ SHUT THE HELL UP! ” I didn ’ t know what that meant, but it seemed to work. A girl turned to face me and said, “ You can talk to them in your head, you know. ” It was Summer, a girl with long, black hair who would stab everyone ’ s juice boxes with a plastic knife. 
 “ You should use real steel if you really want to break those boxes. ” She smiled- i ’ d never seen her do that before- and for the first time in my life, I smiled back. 
 We hit it off from there. By six, we were killing mice. By eight, it was dogs. I ’ d never met someone quite like me- except for Summer. She got me. 
 We talked a lot. Every time we could, considering we were both put in special classes, in a special school, on strict schedules, under strict supervision. Yet, after years together, she never talked about home. Who her mother was, her father. Siblings, pets, grandparents; every time I brought it up, she shied away, and went to go smash another mailbox. 
 So I stopped bringing it up. The only thing I wanted for Summer was for her to be happy, and her family didn ’ t seem to make her happy. Years passed. In middle school, we saw the Twin Towers come down together, thinking it was a comedy. By high school, we had me masters of our craft: terror. Wherever we went, panic and fear followed. Those were our glory years. 
 And yet, something felt wrong. Every time we weren ’ t together, I was counting the seconds until we were. This wasn ’ t supposed to happen. Emotions weren ’ t something I felt in a long time. Emotions brought back the voices. But I realized I would much rather deal with the voices than lose Summer. Near senior year, I realized I loved Summer. I loved her more than I loved myself, and if I was near her for much longer, the voices might get me to do something I didn ’ t want to. So I left. Didn ’ t tell her. Didn ’ t tell anyone. Could n't bear to see her face. The last thing she would see of me was a note. It ’ s funny, actually. If I just told her, it might have not turned out the way it did. “ I ’ ll come back when the voices leave. ” Silly me. 
 Years went by. I met people, tried to blend in. I experimented in the dating world. It was terrible. None of them were like Summer. Too nice, too accepting, never had any real thoughts of their own. Not like Summer. Summer was real. I tried to talk to the voices every time she crossed my mind. It never worked. They had been saying the same thing for 20 years now. Summer. They wanted her, same way I wanted her. I realized it was inevitable. No matter where I went, how far I got away from her, she would always work her way back into my mind. So I stopped avoiding it. I already knew where she was. As hard as she tried to get me to believe otherwise, Summer was a homely type. That ’ s okay. I always wanted to go back. So I did. Back to the place where I killed my first mouse. Where I met my first love. My only love. 
 The town was n't how it used to be. Everyone else moved away. Shops and houses were abandoned. It was eerily silent. That was good. Silent was better for what I had to do. I found Summer back at the old school, in the kindergarten classroom. Ironic. She saw me, and her eyes instantly lit up. “ Daddy? ” 
 I stopped in my tracks. I had to come up with something quick. “ Yes, Summer. It ’ s me. ” 
 “ But… but you left. In kindergarten. Don ’ t you remember? ” 
 That ’ s why she never talked about her family. “ It's okay Summer. I ’ m back now. ” I walked toward her, my eyes welling up with tears. I knew what had to be done, but I wasn ’ t sure if I could do it. I kneeled down behind her. 
 “ Everything will be alright now, Summer. Everything will be alright. Everything. ” And without giving myself time to hesitate, I plunged the knife in my pocket through Summer ’ s fourth and fifth rib- and through my own. And the voices were the last thing I heard. 
 
 

