A neighbours confession.

Part 1.

Before I confess, I need you to understand: this is far beyond revenge. This has become a game that these characters forced me into.

I always knew that something was “wrong” with me. I never minded it, though I hated being corrected, never grasping why my thoughts were supposedly broken. I’ve always considered myself hyper-self-aware. It took longer to realize people were never really people to me. They were pawns, puzzle pieces, toys — objects I could use and discard. Some had temporary value. However, it’s difficult not to admit how others are unimaginably useless and simply in the way. The irritation they caused in whatever hollow space I have for a soul made it obvious how necessary it was to remove them for any sense of peace. This plan had been brewing in the back of my mind for nearly two years. I always knew I was capable. I just never thought I’d actually do it. But let’s be honest, fantasies can only bring so much thrill.

My novelties were two unremarkable figures: the dickhead, a scrawny 5'3" sack of skin and bones with a boyish face, around twenty-six, so skinny that he looked like a gust of wind could clear him at any moment, and his bitch, an inch taller and older, around twenty-eight, her disgustingly misshapen body a grotesque insult that made Frankenstein’s monster look normal by comparison.

I’ve been turning the idea over and over in my head, and last night the pressure finally broke. I just couldn’t hold it in anymore. In that moment, everything went red. That familiar vibrating numbness took over. I was on the verge of grabbing the kitchen knife and marching in feverish triumph up to the fucking pair, stabbing the blade deep into their soft disgusting bodies, twisting it until I felt the hot rush of blood spilling over my hands, slashing their throats wide open so their screams would gurgle out in wet, choking sprays of crimson, gouging out their eyes with nothing less than a grin and a childlike glint in my eyes, splitting their chests open with every force I could muster, and pulling out their beating hearts, still attached to their carcass, and taking a hungry mouthful bite out of it.

But of course, that’s all just fantasy. The real world required calculation and control. And staying true to my principles, I refuse to be ruled by emotions I barely understand. My planning relied on a precise strategy built through networking. Most people use it for careers. I used it through sex. I view it as a way to have the upper hand. It’s one of the many parts of my life where my superiority complex has bled into, something I only recognized through the people I used for release. I try to hide it, but when you’re fucking someone that raw, the mask drops. So far I’ve only used it to extract information beyond the physical part. In this city the grapevine is tight, and having the right people on the inside helps more than you’d think. It’s like keeping little trinkets in your pockets; you’ll never know when you’ll need them.

The foundation formed at the university where I’m doing my nursing degree. In all honesty, I entered the program with every wrong intent possible. But that’s a story for another day. The plan started a few weeks back when I swiped the key to the veterinary clinic’s narcotic box from the useless, horny lab supervisor while he was choking on my cock. To his credit, that helped move things forward. The next step came during practicals in the campus lab — one of the few places I actually like being. It feels full of possibilities for making the kind of substances people both crave and destroy themselves with.

It was a Friday afternoon when we did our practicals at a veterinary clinic tucked behind the campus. We were there because the lab upstairs was closed due to a chemical spill, and the ones available were all already occupied. So here we were, the students tired out of their wits, the instructors distracted, with tension so palpable it’s genuinely hilarious how easily a room packed with forty-plus chaotic young adults, all between eighteen and twenty-three, can completely obliterate the instructor’s attention span. By now I’ve learned to blend into the background of my peers’ noise and exploit the access I curated. In this instance, that distraction was all I needed. Slipping away unnoticed, I used a cabinet key I’d swiped, unlocked the secure sedative cabinet, and pocketed the vials.