𝔟𝔢𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥
𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔨𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔯Shit
I'm about to think of something dense with a dead guy beside my feet. I should probably feel guilty or so but dude was about to murder my inspiration and I wasn't going to let Doc's training go to waste.
Anyway, back to my dense thinking, you know that feeling of standing under the bleak, cold and completely dark night that's quiet and somber and really fucking sexual because the moon is surrounded by so many stars and I have a feeling they're all married to him. Wonder if he fucks all of them at the same time. It would probably be called couple orgy.
My eyes drew down from the stars and I used my bloody arms to obstruct the glare of Ruan's headlights. He got out of his truck, not turning off his headlights so he could get a clear view of the dead guy.
I felt very exposed considering I was alone, with a dead guy, in a dark corner of an empty street which is really weird because this is fucking Manhattan, not that I'm judging, in a fucking tight short dress with blood all over me, with a guy I'm going to fuck in-
"All that blood looks good on you, brings out your eyes." he joked and I gave him the "are you fucking serious?" look which he cleared his throat to.
"Right. I shouldn't play with murder, it isn't civil." he came closer and wrapped his huge jacket around me, giving me nervous chills.
"Did he really have to die?" I sighed a few awkward minutes after we were staring at his body and observing my art.
"I guess." he looked up at me, "are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Are you sure? Because you look like you're gonna faint any second."
"Yeah, you might wanna catch me." I snorted and he tore his fingers through his hair while I gulped at how sexy he looked in his pajamas. Damnit Mitch! You just killed someone.
"I know how you feel." he sighed.
"You've ever killed someone?" I asked which was a honest mistake because he had this look in his eyes that made me wonder just how many people he has killed.
And this grin that made me realize, he has probably lost count.
"I'm living with a murderer." I nodded.
"Takes one to know one." he retorted and my eyes fell on my palms that shook like an old lady having an orgasm. The reality dawned on me, I committed a crime.
My first kill.
I bet Ted Bundy felt this way when he had his first kill, certainly not Michael Myers.
Chewing on my lips, tears tickled my face as I realized the kind of superhero I was. Robin. He killed bag guys with no remorse. Yup, the tears were happy tears. I could finally prove to Doc that I don't need protection, especially hers.
YOU ARE READING
The Mess Of Being A Different Kind|✓
Ficțiune adolescenți🥇🥇Winner of the Indian legion awards "With great power comes suicide attempts, social anxiety, and the itch to live as a normal black teenager." Mitch Palmer started college as an attempt to live a normal life but that mistake brought back secret...