The Murderer Who Wasn't a Monster

Ch 9

This was part of what drove me to kill- being with Angel, having to be her taxi driver, having to answer her texts, her calls, having to pay for everything...

It wasn't just that my dad was an asshole; it was that I had to save myself from getting killed by Diana's father. Did it spoil my reputation? Yes. Did I care or do I even truly give a fuck now?

No.

No, I don't. And I never did.

I just needed Diana to have a reason to live, someone to love her, someone to give her hope. Call it codependency, call it unhealthy, but I don't care. I need her, and she needs me. Let's just be real.

I knew at one point I'd snap when it came to Angel. I'd snap and blow my disguise. And I couldn't do that to Diana. Especially when she knew deep down inside that I didn't truly cheat on her.

I never could do that, and she knows my commitment level is 100%.

The week before I killed my dad, I stalked him everyday. Everyday, I'd become more and more vigilant on catching in the act of killing.

Unfortunately, I never did because he was one sneaky little bastard who knows how to act good when someone's watching.

So, on a Friday, I walked into a Bank of America and shot him several times all over his body. The screams around me seemed faint, but his pain didn't.

While I couldn't smile, I felt relief.

Relief that he was gone and that I was going to be in a safer place than the free world.

Now, on top of my murderer label, I'm a rapist and a cheater.

But I know all is true is that I killed a man with no regrets. Everyone grieves my father's death over what will be mine one day.

Guess they can't understand that a manipulative, calculated son of a bitch like him could be the bad guy while I, who fools no one, can be a good guy.

Sad.

And it doesn't end here.