I want to become a killer

The weeks passed in a blur. I went through the motions of daily life—therapy sessions, walks with Mara, and moments where I tried to convince myself that everything was normal, that everything was okay. But I knew better. Beneath the surface, something was still shifting inside me, something I couldn't fully grasp. Every time I thought I had a handle on things, the darkness would stir again, reminding me of the person I used to be.

It wasn't just the hunger that haunted me. It was the deep, gnawing emptiness that seemed to stretch endlessly inside, a void I couldn't fill. Therapy helped, yes, but it felt like I was just scratching the surface. The deeper I went, the more I uncovered, and the more I realized how much I had buried over the years. I could no longer pretend that everything was fine. I had to face the fact that I was broken, that I had done unspeakable things, and that some part of me might always crave those things.

But at least I was trying.

One afternoon, while Mara and I sat in a small café, I noticed something about her. She had become quieter, more distant. Her eyes, usually warm and full of life, now seemed clouded, as if there was something weighing on her mind that she wasn't saying. I wondered if she had noticed the changes in me, the moments when I seemed lost, distant. Had she seen the cracks in my façade?

I didn't ask her, though. I never did. Because, deep down, I was afraid of the answer. I didn't want her to leave. I didn't want to push her away. But what if I was too much for her to handle? What if, despite everything, she couldn't accept the brokenness inside me?

She stirred her coffee absentmindedly, staring into the cup with a faraway expression. I watched her, unsure of what to say. I had always been good at hiding my feelings, but I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep up the act.

"Are you okay?" I asked finally, the question slipping out before I could stop it.

Mara looked up, meeting my gaze for a long moment. For a brief second, I saw a flicker of something in her eyes—something like uncertainty, or maybe fear. It was gone just as quickly, replaced by her usual calm demeanor.

"Yeah," she said, her voice soft. "I'm just... tired, I guess. It's been a lot lately."

I nodded, unsure of how to respond. I could tell that she was holding something back, but I didn't press her. Instead, I looked away, focusing on the swirl of my own thoughts. Maybe it was just me. Maybe I was projecting my own doubts onto her. But it was hard to ignore the feeling that something was shifting between us, something neither of us wanted to acknowledge.

Later that night, I found myself pacing in my apartment, the familiar restlessness gnawing at me again. I had been trying so hard to keep it together, to keep my emotions in check, but it felt like everything was starting to unravel. I hated this feeling—this sensation of being out of control, of losing myself again.

I needed to do something, anything, to push the darkness back down. But I didn't know how.

My phone buzzed on the counter, interrupting my spiraling thoughts. I grabbed it, seeing a message from Mara: "I think we need to talk."

My heart sank. I knew what this was. I had seen the signs. She was pulling away, and I had pushed her to this point.

"I'll be home soon," I typed back, the words feeling hollow as I hit send.

The next few hours felt like an eternity. I sat in the living room, staring at the clock, wondering what she was going to say. Was she going to leave? Could I blame her if she did? After everything I had done, after all the lies, the darkness that I had let fester inside me, could anyone truly stay?

When Mara finally walked through the door, she didn't say anything right away. She just closed it behind her and stood there for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. I stood up, heart pounding in my chest, bracing myself for whatever was coming next.

"I've been thinking," she began quietly, her voice trembling slightly. "About us. About everything."

I swallowed, the words caught in my throat. I had known this moment was coming, but it didn't make it any easier. The weight of the silence between us felt unbearable.

"You've been distant," she continued, her eyes searching mine. "I don't know how to help you when you shut me out. And I get it, you've been through a lot. But I can't keep pretending everything's fine when it's not. I need to know... what's going on with you, Psychobi. I need to understand."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. She was right. I had been shutting her out, keeping her at arm's length, afraid that if she saw the real me, she would run. But I couldn't keep doing this to her. I couldn't keep pretending.

I took a deep breath, my hands trembling as I spoke. "I'm not okay, Mara. I don't know if I ever will be."

Her eyes softened, but there was a sadness there now, a resignation that hadn't been there before. "I know," she whispered. "I know you're struggling. But I'm here. I want to help, but I need you to let me in."

I looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time in a long while, I let myself feel something. The fear, the shame, the guilt—it was all still there, but it didn't matter. Not now. Not with her standing in front of me, offering me a chance to be better, to be more than the monster I had become.

"I don't deserve you," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"You don't have to deserve me," she replied softly. "You just have to be willing to try. And I'll be here, every step of the way."

And in that moment, I realized that maybe, just maybe, I could fight for this. For her. For myself.

It wouldn't be easy, and I didn't know where it would lead. But for the first time in my life, I wanted to try.

.....

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