Hit List

~prologue~

"Won't explain,
Or say I'm sorry.
I'm unashamed,
I'm gonna show my scars."
- My Chemical Romance
________________
Noa

I clenched my fist, beads of crimson blood dripping from my knuckles. My breaths we short, quick, ragged. I squeezed my eyes shut - they were threatening to spill tears, but I knew that now wasn't the time to weep. There'd be time for mourning later.

First I'd have to do something about the room. Clear it up, make it look normal again. I wiped my clammy palms on my jeans and tied my short-cropped purple hair into a tight knot, rolling my sleeves up. My hands were shaking, my legs were threatening to give in. I was a mess, and all I wanted to do was cry, sob for days and days, because I couldn't believe what I'd done.

I'd murdered a man.

It was all a spur of the moment, I had no time to think, to dwell over any other possible actions. All I knew was that I had to act, and fast. And so I did. There was a shard of glass lying by my feet, a broken chair leg, a frayed wire. So my mind, like it always did, began to work, like a clockwork machine with its cogs spinning and turning, thinking up an ingenious way to dispose of the intruder.

And I killed him.

I pushed my thoughts aside, and drew a broom out from a cupboard, brushing away the dirt and dust and blood. It was disgusting, in any other normal circumstance I would have puked. But this wasn't a normal circumstance, far from it in fact.

I just needed to work, to move, to do something, anything, to divert my thoughts and attention from what I'd done. I couldn't think straight, I was complete mess.

And I think that's what made me pick up the phone and call Ezra.