Fatal Attractions

LVI

I woke up to the smell of death.

The stench of blood and sweat and urine, creeped into my senses and suffocated my entire being. If I didn't know any better, I would think they are from me.

Pain shot through my eyes as I tried to open them and I groaned as a bright white streak crossed my vision like a flourescent light.

I tried to push myself up with my weak arms, finding something soft and heavy sitting on my chest.

I looked down in horror at the body lying face down on the ground beside my head, a thick pool of stagnant blood encircling the head in a maroon halo.

I gasped as my trembling arms tried to throw him off of me, but he was like a sandbag. I cried out in anguish as my chest started to crush from his weight.

A foot came flying out of nowhere and aggressively kicked him off of me. Blake's startling blue eyes stared back at me, so sharp they made me worry that they were going to blink then get up and kill me.

Then I remembered, he was dead.

I had killed him.

I actually did it. From vowing never to kill, to devoting myself to murdering him, and all of the ups and downs after that, it was done.

He was dead.

I felt like I should feel more happy, more relieved, but I just felt sick, whether it was from the stench, or the guilt, or the fact I haven't eaten in awhile. All I know is that it's over. The running, the fear, the confinement, and that didn't feel so bad.

I almost didn't know what to do now. I didn't have to fight it anymore. I don't have any goal in the near future. It was over.

It was all over.

"Dammit."

I snapped my head to the side, looking over at the old janitor staring at the body.

"You had to kill him?" He asked. "On my carpet? Do you know how long that is going to take to get out?"

"Why are you even here?" I asked.

He sighed, nudging the body with his toe. "Somebody has to clean up, and it looks like that somebody is me."

"Go home." I said hoarsely. "Get out of here."

He shook his head, pulling a mop from his cart. "If I go home, I'll have to walk through those streets, and I'm not quite ready for that yet."

I took a deep breath, remembering that I myself would have to walk through those streets soon.

I tried to stand, my whole body feeling like it had just been through a washing machine lined with spikes, but my legs gave out and I smacked back onto the ground.

I whimpered in pain looking down at the bullet sticking out of my ankle.

"Here." The man said, throwing me a short broom. "Good luck, sweetheart."

I smiled at him weakly, using the broom as a walking stick as I stood and started to hobble out. I didn't even know how I could walk I was so weak. This broom would snap under the pressure.

"Hey," He said. "I know this is going to sound crazy, especially since I consider myself a person with high moral standards, but thank you for killing him. You've done a service to this city."

I swallowed a dry lump in my throat, feeling far from heroic.

I opened the door and was enveloped in heat, the last embers of the fire cracking away on dry furniture.