There are a few things you can do after you murder someone.

1. You can repent.

2. You can turn yourself in.

3. You can wash your hands of their blood and scrub your clothes until they’re clean.

Jonas chose the latter. He locked himself in the bathroom and forced himself to come to terms with what he had just done.

_Murder._

The word didn’t seem to accurately describe it.

He took a life. With no sympathy, no hesitation. He believed he had the right; he deemed himself worthy of choosing who got to live and who didn’t, and he was damn sure everyone would agree. And if they didn’t?

_Murder._

Does it sound any better when you repeat it a few times?

Jonas then burned his clothes as well as his victim’s, hoping to rid of his sins as well. If there’s no evidence, has a crime really taken place? If you move on… are you truly guilty?

He buried the body in his backyard.

It was like planting a seed, except he never watered it and made sure it got no sun. He was heartless, unwavering. By the time I had regained consciousness, he had already found his next victim.

_Revenge._

The word left a sour taste on my tongue. It made me hungry, starved.

When a person is hungry, all they know is that they need to eat. They seek food; they invent it. They yearn for it.

It took me a while to claw my way out of the grave he dug for me, but the second I saw him, I couldn’t resist the angry persuasion of vengeance. I don’t think he saw it coming, and by the time he did, my teeth were already lodged in his neck.

_Murder._

Is it really that bad if the person deserved it? If they killed you first?

That word alone doesn’t do enough justice.

It was _perfect._

The life drained from his body as mine slowly came back with every sip. The word might be sour, but the actual act is sweet, addicting. I knew that I needed more, and there was nothing that could stop me from getting it.