I want to become a killer

The next morning, I woke to the sound of my phone buzzing on the nightstand. I groggily reached for it, squinting at the bright screen. The message was from Mara: "Are you still planning on coming over tonight? I've got something I need to talk to you about."

I rubbed my eyes, still feeling the heaviness of the night before. The walk had given me some clarity, but it hadn't solved everything. It never did. I wasn't sure what she wanted to talk about, but I felt the familiar sense of unease creep up my spine. Whatever it was, it didn't seem like something I could avoid.

"I'll be there," I typed back, the words more mechanical than I intended. I didn't want to seem distant, but at the same time, I didn't want to dive too deep into whatever conversation she was planning. I had enough to process on my own.

I got up, feeling the weight of the day ahead pressing down on me. I tried to shake off the grogginess, but it lingered. I made coffee, the bitter scent filling the apartment as I stared out the window at the still streets below.

The stillness of it all was almost suffocating. How had I gotten so caught up in the web of my own thoughts? So focused on the things I couldn't change that I had missed everything else?

I caught my reflection in the window, my eyes sunken, my skin pale. I didn't like the look of myself. It wasn't just the exhaustion, though that was a part of it. There was something else there, something deeper, something darker that I couldn't shake. It had always been there, lurking under the surface, and no matter how hard I tried to bury it, it refused to stay hidden.

I finished my coffee and went about my day, trying to keep my mind occupied. But thoughts of Mara's message kept nagging at the back of my mind. What could she want to talk about? And why was I so hesitant to find out?

When the time finally came, I found myself standing in front of her apartment, my hand hovering over the doorbell. I hesitated, feeling an odd sense of dread. I didn't know why I felt this way. I'd been to her place a hundred times before, and I had never felt this off-balance.

I took a deep breath, rang the bell, and waited.

A few seconds later, the door opened, and there she was, standing in the doorway with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. It was strange how much I noticed about her expression, the little things—the way her shoulders were tense, how her fingers were nervously tapping the doorframe.

"Hey," she said, her voice light, but there was something underneath it that I couldn't quite place. "Come on in."

I stepped inside, trying to push away the growing sense of unease. Something was different today, and I couldn't put my finger on it. I followed her to the kitchen, where she had set out two cups of tea on the table, the steam rising in gentle spirals.

She gestured for me to sit, and I did, taking the seat across from her. For a moment, neither of us spoke. I could feel the weight of the silence hanging in the air, and I tried not to let it make me uncomfortable.

Finally, she spoke, her voice soft but firm. "Psychobi, I've been thinking about everything that's been going on with you lately. And I think we need to talk about it. About... you."

I stiffened at the mention of my name, a knot forming in my stomach. She was right; something was off. It was in her eyes, in the way she was sitting, so carefully, as if weighing every word she was about to say.

"What about me?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant, though I could feel my heartbeat picking up speed.

She took a deep breath, her hands shaking slightly as she clasped them together on the table. "I know you've been struggling. I know things haven't been easy for you. And I know I'm not always the best at understanding what you're going through, but I care about you. I want to help."

I blinked at her, surprised by the intensity in her words. "I don't need help," I replied, more sharply than I intended. "I'm fine."

But I wasn't. Not really. I hadn't been fine for a long time. The hunger, the darkness—it was always there, hovering just beneath the surface. And she could see it. She always had.

"Psychobi, you don't have to do this alone," she said softly, her voice a little quieter now. "You don't have to hide from me. I'm here for you, no matter what."

I swallowed hard, trying to steady the emotions that threatened to rise. "I don't want to burden you," I said, my voice lower now. "You deserve better than that."

She reached across the table, her hand resting gently over mine. "You're not a burden. You're my friend. My... more than that. And I want you to know that I'm not going anywhere."

The words hit me harder than I expected, a sudden flood of emotions I had kept hidden for so long rushing to the surface. But I fought to keep them back, to keep myself composed. I couldn't let her see the truth of who I really was. The things I had done, the things I was capable of—it was too much for anyone to handle.

"I just don't know what I'm doing anymore," I said quietly, my voice cracking slightly.

She squeezed my hand, her eyes filled with understanding. "You're trying. That's what matters. You don't have to have it all figured out right now. We can figure it out together."

But could we? Could she truly handle what I was? Could anyone?

I didn't have the answer, and for the first time, I realized that maybe, just maybe, I didn't need to have all the answers. Maybe it was enough to just take things one step at a time.

But as I sat there with Mara, her hand in mine, I couldn't shake the feeling that the darkness wasn't done with me yet. It still lingered in the shadows, waiting for its moment. And no matter how hard I tried to escape it, I knew it would always be there.

But maybe, just maybe, I could learn how to live with it.

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