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“That fight is at the end of the week and that’s when we make our biggest play. Will is ready,” Kyle said.

“Then I’m ready too.”

40

Storie

I’m so glad that I wrote my real father when I had the chance. I was only doing so as a precaution, but now that I see Justice is taking that bitch’s side, all bets are off. He should’ve chosen me. I’m the one he’s known the longest. I’m the one who really loves him. But he’s dumb.

He wants that baby killer Melody. After all that lying she did, he chose to put me in the looney bin! And now I have to pretend to act as normal as possible and be repentant for my crimes. If I don’t, they might not release me. Or they may tell him that I need to be medicated.

I have to make the doctors and nurses see that I only killed Midnite because I was jealous of Dream. When in reality, I’m sometimes just curious about death.

When my mother was dying, I often wondered what it would be like to see her take her last breath. Could I see the exact moment? Would it look any different from all the other breaths her worthless ass had taken throughout the years?

I never paid much attention to her chest rising and lowering. But when she was sick in bed, I’d watch hoping to catch the moment when it would stop. The bitch kept breathing though. It was never ending.

Up, down, up, down. Her chest would continue to go. The day I found her letter to Justice, something shifted in me. I needed to take her out of her own misery. And then I’d be able to see her chest finally stop going up and down.

Chemotherapy, malnutrition and surgery had weakened her severely. I recalled coming into her room, and seeing her struggling to breathe. I approached her and said, “Monica?”

Her eyes shot open. It was the most action she’d made in a week. The quickness in her eyes. All her other movements had been so slow and sluggish. If she moved any slower she would be moving in reverse.

I’d never called her Monica out loud before. Something about saying her name made her alert.

“Who’s my father?” I asked. His name was there but I wanted to see if she would admit it on her deathbed.

“Justice,” she whispered.

“Monica. Stop lying. Who is my father?” I asked again. By then I was clutching the pillow. I’d already decided today was the day she’d stop breathing. I was sick of waiting for it to happen. I wanted to know what it was like so bad.

I needed to know what it was like to be the reason something stopped breathing. She began to cough as she cleared her throat. She struggled to get up, but I pushed her back down.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was ugly and groggy by then. I hated the sound of it.

“Just tell me,” I said again.

“Justice,” she lied once more. The letter was in my bedroom. Why lie to me now? Justice was going to find out.

“If you don’t tell me, I’m going to put this pillow over your face,” I announced.

“You wouldn’t…” she whispered.

“Who is he?”

“I’m sorry, Storie. His name is Tavares Mitchell and he’s in prison.”

That’s all I wanted. I could figure out the rest because I’m a smart girl. I placed the pillow on her face and with all my might I pushed and pushed. She fought back if that’s what you can call it.

She struggled but it made no difference. Her fingers tried to grab me but I was strong enough to keep the pillow on her face and swat her hands away. It was like a game of whack-a-mole. It was exhilarating.

Watching her struggle against the pillow made me laugh. And finally she stopped. When I removed the pillow her chest was no longer moving. I had succeeded in seeing her take her last breath. I’d killed my mother. But it was way too easy. I knew one day I would like a better challenge. But this would do for now.

If I wanted to get more kills out of this life, I had to slow my roll. They had to be few and far between. Otherwise I’d get caught.

I sank to the floor and began to cry. I’d taught myself to cry on cue when I was around four years old. It was so fun to manipulate adults with tears, especially men. Men hate to see females cry, especially little girls.

The waterworks were on like a free flowing faucet. Justice would be home soon and I could tell him I saw her take her last breath. She was gone. And he would hold me and would always feel guilty about leaving me alone.