I want to become a killer

Days turned to weeks again, and though the urge never truly disappeared, it was easier to manage, like a storm that had calmed into a light drizzle. I could handle it now. Or at least, I could almost convince myself that I could. The hunger was quieter, but it still lurked, and some nights it kept me awake, gnawing at the edges of my mind. But every time it flared, I remembered Mara's words. I held on to them as tightly as I could, as though they were the lifeline I had always needed.

One evening, while we were out walking in the park, I found myself noticing things I hadn't before. The rustle of the leaves in the trees, the soft chirp of crickets in the distance, the calm of the twilight sky. For the first time in a long while, I was truly present in the moment. There was no desire for destruction, no urge to escape. Just the simple act of walking beside Mara, our hands intertwined, feeling the warmth of her touch.

"Psychobi," she said, her voice soft but firm, breaking the comfortable silence. "I've been thinking."

I looked at her, curious. "About what?"

"You," she said. "I want you to see how far you've come. You don't give yourself enough credit. I see it, even when you don't. You've stopped hiding. You're here, with me, sharing moments like this. That's progress. Real progress."

I felt a twinge of guilt—like maybe I wasn't as far along as she thought. But instead of dismissing her words, I let them sink in. I had spent so much of my life pretending to be someone I wasn't, pretending to feel emotions I didn't truly experience. But with her, it felt different. I wasn't pretending anymore. I was just being.

"Thanks," I said softly, squeezing her hand. "It means more than you know."

We continued walking, and it was strange to feel so at peace, especially after everything I had gone through. It wasn't that I had forgotten the darkness, or that I had erased it from my memory. It was simply that I was learning how to exist with it, how to live my life without letting it define who I was.

That night, as I lay in bed, I couldn't help but think about the future. For so long, I had lived in fear of what would happen when the hunger became too much to handle, when the old instincts resurfaced. But now, for the first time, I thought about the possibility of moving forward. Not as the monster I feared I was, but as someone who could choose differently.

And yet, the hunger still crept in. There was no denying it. The thought of slipping back into the old ways, of indulging in the familiar darkness, was always there, lurking just beneath the surface. But I could fight it now. I could choose something else.

In the quiet of my room, I stared at the ceiling, contemplating. Was this the life I wanted? Could I really leave the old me behind, the person who had lived for so long in the shadows of his own mind? I didn't have all the answers, but I knew this: I wasn't alone. Mara was here. Dr. Callahan was there. I had people who believed in me, and for the first time, I believed in myself too.

It wasn't going to be perfect. There would be struggles, moments of doubt, times when I would want to give in to the old urges. But I had made it this far, and I could keep going. The hunger might never fully go away, but that didn't mean I had to give in to it. I could choose to fight it every day. I could choose to be better.

And for the first time in my life, that felt like enough.

The next morning, as I walked into the kitchen, I was met with the smell of coffee and the soft hum of the world outside. Mara was sitting at the table, a gentle smile on her face as she looked up at me.

"You look like you're in a better mood today," she said, her eyes soft with understanding.

I nodded, the weight in my chest lighter than it had been in a long time. "Yeah," I said, my voice steady. "I think I am."

And for once, I believed it.

.....

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