There’s something I hate more than cheating. And that’s not being able to get what I want despite coming so close to achieving it.
I watched her get off the airport, I watched her throughout the journey till she arrived at her destination. I don’t know what happened after then because I have no internal access into his home anymore but hell has not broken lose so I can only assume one thing.
They managed to swing the situation I worked so hard to achieve around and I have to admit it is aggravatingly infuriating but that only leaves me to settle on my newest plan for judgement.
One I dwelled on during these few days of retirement while anticipating the return of a not-so-dumb brunette called Kate. I let out a sharp exhale.
Maybe I held her in higher regards. She ended up being useless and dumb after all. I groan, running madder each second.
I may not be able to lift a finger on Hazel, but that doesn’t mean no one else can’t. That doesn’t mean accidents don’t happen and that doesn’t mean bad irreversible things don’t happen during accidents.
Sometimes, they’re fatal.
And other times, they just lead to death.
But whichever the outcome, hopefully and gladly the latter, I’d be sure to drink my wine satisfied that every ripped part of my body has acquired justice by punishing the cause of it all.
My nails dig into my skin, clawing my neck as I scratch it downwards till it lands just at the start of my collar bone. I’ve been doing this all day and despite my neck being sore, I haven’t stopped. I have an itch that doesn’t seem to be satisfied. Every second I’m aware of that wench living peacefully while I suffer, the itch deteriorates, becoming worse. I let out an exhale.
What I’m about to do will risk me getting into a lot of mess, not just with Killian but with S. It will risk me having to disappear but only for what may be a short while. A very dire and dreadful while, but I’ve calculated my risks and they’re one I’m willing to bear.
If this in fact goes according to plan. . . I gulp, my throat burns as my saliva runs down, like my inner throat is laced with sores, then I’d suffer in exile a satisfied woman.
My body falls forward on my desk and my head rests on the table. I let my fingers recline backwards, away from my neck, while staring into empty space.
Tomorrow is the d day to exercise my plan. Since plan A was futile, plan B has to come to light. The ends of my lips curves into a half grin. No one would have even the slightest idea of what hit them and why. The best part? It won’t be traceable to me even if pros are involved in an investigation.
The thrill of starting an unquenchable fire without needing gasoline sounds fulfilling. And boy does my toes curl and blood rush with excitement by just thinking about it.