Fly High | ✅

48 | Home run

◈A D R I A N◈

The door closed with a resounding click, leaving me to stand alone at the empty hallway at the first light of morning. I turned the key clockwise before stowing away the jangling bunch in my pocket. As I walked down the aisle and stood in front of the rusty elevator doors, my heart was dead-set on one thing.

Kara must die.

That was the only thing I had in my mind on my way back after I had made sure that Logan was comfortable and wasn't in any life-threatening sleeping positions.

I'd spent hours sitting there unmoving, my eyes unable to leave his face. When the shadows on the floor started to grow darker, it was only then that I realized I needed to leave soon.

For I had a murder to commit.

As I climbed the dirty streets back to the shitty apartment, my feet slowed to a snail's pace. Logan's phone was growing heavy in my pockets, the guilt of theft seemed to pull stronger towards gravity with every step I took.

Stop!

I scolded myself while repressing that awful feeling. What I did was right. I can't have Logan interfering with my plans. Besides, this wasn't the first time I stole something.

Yeah, I did nothing wrong.

Taking a deep breath, my feet picked up the pace again after having my conscience appeased and continued my journey back home.

The house was cold and dark when I pushed the door open. Empty. As always. She had either gone out for work or didn't come home the night before.

Not that I cared, I thought as I entered my room. It was working in my favour anyway. I shrugged off my jacket and flung it across the room, the apparel landing on the bed with a soft thud. A wad of paper fell from the pockets and rolled on the ground, slowing to a halt a few inches from my feet.

Bending down, I picked up the paper and realised that it was the wedding photograph. Distaste and hatred possessed me all over again and I reached for my drawers and fumbled for the lighter. Right before I lose all of my rationality and set the photograph alight, I caught myself just in time and almost burned my thumb in careless haste.

The picture unfurled as my fingers smoothen it out, rubbing off the crinkles crisscrossing Logan's face. Carefully, I tore the picture down the middle, taking extra care not to damage his part. I laid it on the sheets and placed my pillow on top of it. As for the other torn piece, the ruthless fire consumed it within seconds.

My anger eased a little after seeing the residual ash fluttered down the bin. Having dealt with the eyesore, I knelt to the ground and dragged a storage box from under the metal bed frame.

I opened the top and a neat pile of hand-me-downs that could get me through teen years was revealed together with a couple of random stuff like an old cassette player and a tacky half mask.

I gave the mask a hard flap against the floor, sending a flurry of ancient dust up the air with my face upturned to avoid the assault. On second thoughts, I flapped it again for good measure and held it up to my clinical eyes.

The black fabric had grown pale from age with red thread embroidered into a jagged smile. Not as subtle as what I had hoped for but the red was dark enough and almost not visible unless the light hits on it.