Mr and Mrs Nemesis✔️

Chapter One - The Monday Morning Paradigm

I like a fruit smoothie on a Monday morning. Particularly refreshing, the perfect way to boost your mood and get a healthy kickstart to the day. I'd go so far as to say I love fruit smoothies.

Not so much when it's hurled from a car window, covering me head to toe with an obnoxious, self-satisfied laugh to accompany. That is not how I want my five a day.

Even if I didn't have the registration plate recorded to memory, I'd still know of the culprit of said attack. There is only one person brave enough to pull a stunt like that, repercussions not considered. So, with that in mind, I'm quite positive that today will be the day I actually get charged with homicide.

I'm going to kill him.

The strange looks I receive as the minced fruit leaves a rather noticeable trail behind me go ignored. I have one thing on my mind. His murder. The crowd parts for me like the ocean did for Moses, a few whispers and laughs in between, though I shoot them a warning glare, scaring them into retreat. They know not to mess with me, more so when I'm covered in a cold, slushy beverage, right through to the bone.

Of course, it's becoming a regularly occurring thing – not the smoothie shower, just the field of blazing red in my vision. Either my tolerance is quick depleting, or he's just becoming more insufferable with each day that passes. This Monday certainly tops.

I barge into the cafeteria and as the crowd falls silent, my sight zones in on one people in particular. The tall, arrogance, smirk wearing bastard that's stood with his friends among the crowd. "You." I seethe, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction, my voice reverberating against the white walls. His smirk quickly falters as his eyes land on me, clearly recognising that today, I do not plan on showing any mercy, no matter how much he begs for it. I begin stalking towards him, my hands curled into ready fists because believe me, I'm swinging. "I am going to castrate you with my bare hands." He takes a step back, looking to shield himself behind his friends, but even they don't want to be on my war path today. "I'm going to wear your balls as earrings," I continue.

"Look, Osborne –" He begins.

"I'm not finished!" His face pales. "I'm going to pull out all of your insides and I'm going to strangle you with your intestines."

"Osborne it's really not –" He tries.

I stop, toe to toe, looking up slightly to meet his emerald eyes that swim with fear, offering me a twisted sense of satisfaction. He gulps visibly and my hands itch to throttle him. "I am cold. I am wet. I am going to kill you." He flashes me a nervous half smile and spins, prepared to take off running, but this situation is becoming all too familiar. I tackle him before he's even taken a step forward and then we're on the floor, grappling like a set of children, screaming and shouting over the chaos of the crowd, all of which have their mobile phones out, a sea of cameras battling for the perfect capture of this chaos, their chants of encouragement like those that once sat audience in the coliseum.

There are no rules in our fights. Elijah hits me, I hit him back. I bite Elijah, he pulls my hair. Only today, I'm like a rabid animal; he can hardly get a hit in edgeways. I'm punching, clawing, splashing smoothie everywhere as I flail wildly, scrambling to straddle him so I can get a sweet clean shot of my fist pummelling his face. Only, before I'm granted the sweet relief of justice, I'm grabbed by my waist and being torn away from my victim.

Even restrained, I struggle to get out of the clutches of my capture, spurred further by the mumbling of Elijah, the word 'psycho' ringing in my ears. "I'll show you fucking psycho!" I scream out at him, shrill like a banshee. He scrambles to his feet, raising a tender hand to the pink claw marks across his cheek that glisten with the promise of blood. He and his group of friends watch me with wide eyes. Maybe, when I've finally calmed down, I'll admit that currently, I look insane.