On any particular day, you could ask me what I'm passionate about and I would've listed the same three subjects I've had since I finished grad school; "Psych, Sleep, and Money."
Now as I'm straddling a gentleman, who was freckled faced, wide eyed and someone who I hadn't known for more than an hour, his rough hands gripping onto my hips and his eyes locked with mine, almost like he was panicking as I gripped onto his neck and bashed it against his beautifully aligned marble floors. The pattern reminded me of dominos and I hummed, thinking of those nights Zebadiah and I spent hours playing with tiles when ever things got bad and the only thing that seemed to keep him occupied where winning a few games. He always had a fix for only wanting to win 6 games in a row and some nights, we would stay up until he got up to six. Though I didn't understand the fixation he had with the number six, but it grew into a deeper meaning the more time I spent with him. I could recall the times I would try to mess up on purpose so he'd win but he could see right through; He could see right through me and always could read me like a book. By the time he left me, those pips on the dominoes damn near started to fade, and even though it's been months and the thought of him brought me to a fit of tears and anger, I still kept them by me.
If it wasn't for the lad in distress piercing his nails into my skin, I would've still be reminiscing of my old flame. Snapping back into reality and noticing the puddle stained the floor under us and even though he was pale from hemorrhaging, he was still trying to push me off or force me to stop, but I couldn't.
I wasn't going to, not until he was dead. It wasn't until then did I decide that above everything, and no matter how much I loved Zebadiah, the drive I had for murder and ending his life was far greater.
