To Make A Murderer

vi . a cheating boyfriend

一

S I X

一

Some days, you're the only thing I know

Ivory hated the smell of cigarettes.

"Will you please put that away?" she asked through gritted teeth, almost losing her patience as she fiddled with the key chain on her purse.

The man in front of her stared up at her, the slightly smoking stick hanging out of his lips. He hesitated, before throwing it to the ground and stomping on it. "Sorry," he muttered.

They continued to walk side by side, Ivory's shorter legs aching from having to match his pace.

Only thing that's burning when the nights grow cold.

His name was James. She first met him in college when she was nineteen and he was twenty. They had both just joined the gardening committee.

It was kind of funny, really. Everyone else in the committee was an avid lover of nature or was a quiet, mild soul. Compared to them, James and Ivory stuck out like sore thumbs.

Ivory certainly didn't have a passionate love for plants nor did she particularly like gardening anyways. But her anatomical biology teacher insisted she join, not only for extra credit but also to interact with fellow students.

James was one of those guys who hung out with the wrong crowd of people. Even at first glance, you could tell he regularly hung out in dark alleyways and quiet streets where the only sound was the soft whistle of a drunken man smoking his pipe.

The first day of the committee, their eyes met across the circle and a look of understanding and companionship passed through them. On the third day, Ivory sat down next to him as he ripped out weeds among the flowers, and asked him why he was here.

"You don't look like the type who'd fancy gardening," she had said, with a half-smile.

"Look who's talking."

"So, did a teacher ask you?"

"The president's mom is a friend of my mom's, so I was forced to come."

"Ah."

Can't look away, can't look away.

His dirty blonde hair curled around his ears, slight wisps swept across his forehead. His eyes were bright and blue, despite his rather slumped and disheveled figure. Later, Ivory decided that the thing she liked best about him were his eyes.

Feeling estranged from everyone else, the two of them spent much of their time together, even outside of the committee. Sometimes he would take her to meet his friends, and although she didn't like what they were doing, she kept quiet because she knew that she was no better.

His friends didn't say much to her, and she appreciated it. Ivory hated talkative people, and found it bothersome to make pointless conversation.

Before long, his fingers found themselves tangled in her hair and she found herself waking up aching and smelling of smoke under his linen sheets. To be honest, Ivory didn't find it surprising. From the moment they met eyes in the greenhouse, their was a certain something between them that drew them together.

Beg you to stay, beg you to stay.

It had gone well at the beginning. That's what Ivory liked to think. They were convenient to each other, and their interests matched up. Neither of them particularly liked talking, so they spoke with their bodies instead. And although it was no passionate and fiery love, they had an understanding and that was enough.