I sit watching Dan sleep in a crumpled mess. His bloody back is now dried and scabbed.
I wonder what I should do next, lighting my cigarette. It's a habit I picked up, but I don't smoke much, maybe a pack in a week. It relieves stress but sometimes I find it's more of the novelty that I'm killing myself slowly. At times I even self harm, burning the joint into my skin.
Suddenly I realize my cigarette is just as good as any other weapon.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
With Aaron's death I lost everything: my boyfriend, my job, my will to live. Our apartment, with all my keepsakes from both Cara's and Arron's lives, was confiscated and my belongings auctioned to the highest bidder.
I went to Aaron's girlfriend for help and she put me up but a couple of months later she had me institutionalized. I knew she was trying to help. My depression, anxiety, and anger were medically treated and temporarily allayed. But even in this time I couldn't rid myself of my thoughts and I felt like it would have been better to have let Dan die in that wreck.
I was released but nearly a year after, I stopped taking my meds and I could feel the change. I still had not gotten over neither Cara or Arron and now my rage had become untamed.
That's when I realized the only way to be completely free of my turmoil was to kill myself... but the old saying, "If I'm going to hell, I'm taking you with me," haunted me and I became determined to kill a man who has never even seen my face.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
I move closer to Dan's sleeping, exhausted body and enjoy a deep drag before pressing the burning tip of the cigarette into his shoulder. He jerks away, startled, and yelps.
I look to the almost full pack of cigarettes lying where I was. It was like they were there begging to be used just to torture Dan.
With each burn, I thrived on Dan's agony.