“I have to go home”, you said. “I have to.”
“Shall I walk you home?”
“Maybe that’s a good idea”, you lisped.
“Come one then”, I urged. “Where do you live?”
One thing I love about nights is the darkness. No on can see you clearly when it’s dark. It’s a veil for you and for everything you do. I need a veil to cover myself up. You could have seen my face, my urge to get it over and done with, if only the sun had been shining. But I’m smart and the sun wasn’t there.
We walked side by side, I was keeping you upright. You tried to walk straight, but you failed.
“That woman”, you started talking again, ” she was abused by my friend.”
Anger is like a fire that licks our fingers and ends up eating your heart and brain.
“You knew it?”
“Why hadn’t you done something?”
“I wanted to”, you defended yourself. “I wanted to tell her she should accuse him.”
Talking was obviously taking a lot of your energy, but you insisted on telling me this. I slowed down to let you talk. I needed to hear how cruel humanity is. You know, if you turned out to be worth killing, it would be much easier for me to hurt you.
“You have waited too long”, I blamed him.
“I only found out that day”, you sighed. “That night, at the cafe. I was planning on telling her that I knew it and that she should do something about it, she should accuse him. He was my friend but no longer after I had found out and-”
“Calm down”, I commanded.
“He had made me swear I would not tell anyone, but I wanted to help her and I wanted to tell her she should accuse him.”
“Why haven’t you done it?”
“Because”, you sighed, “she left and walked to the railway station.”
We walked on, in silence. I thought about that woman and felt her pain, and his pain. He wanted to help her. But she died.
“I just want to start this over”, you murmured. “Where are we going?”
“Trust me”, I said. I felt like I was all ice inside. For the first time that evening, I felt mercy and even remorse. This time though, I could no longer mold my future. I saw the empty street, lit by a few lanterns, and it hurt me as it seemed to be life: empty and impossible to escape.
I should not have drunk so much.
There’s a shadow just behind me and it’s shrouding every step I take. When we arrived at his apartment, I concluded that he wasn’t worth killing. There was no other reason for it than taking away his regret of not having saved her. He didn’t even ask me in nor did he attempt to force something. With an unstable hug we said goodbye.
“Take care”, I mumbled and I left, walking the hoar streets alone as usually.
The easiest way of killing someone is by paying their poisoned drinks. The easiest way to kill regret is by preventing the heart to beat.