Lachlan
Am I okay? I for sure killed two people, I'm not sure about the third. I feel no guilt at all for what I did, sure they were scumbags, but they were human lives. Were they even human though, to commit such an evil thing against another is just unthinkable. But here I am, a murderer, I did something equally as bad in pure rage. I am calm, I feel good, I look at Ria and I'm thankful that she's okay. That those "people" are gone. Does that make me just as bad?
My thoughts are interrupted by a knock at my bedroom door.
"Lachlan?" My mom says through the door "Get up, you have work."
I groan, my body aches all over, but I like it, it feels good.
"I'm up." I shout as I sit up.
"Good." My mom responds as I hear her footsteps receding.
Lachlan sat there for a moment, his mind still reeling from the events that had unfolded. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow on his room. His body felt heavy, the kind of weight that was both physical and emotional. The aches in his muscles were a reminder of the chaos, the violence, but there was also something almost comforting about it. A strange, perverse satisfaction. It was as if his body and mind were numb to the horror, yet oddly at peace with the actions he had taken.
He looked over at the clock on his nightstand. It was almost time to get up. His mom's voice echoed in his ears, urging him to get to work. But how could he focus on something as mundane as a job when his world had shifted so drastically? The murder of two men, maybe three—how was he supposed to continue life as though everything was normal?
But then his thoughts returned to Ria. She was okay. She was alive. That was the only thing that seemed to matter. She was safe because of what he did, wasn't she? He'd done what needed to be done, right? They were monsters, right? He tried to convince himself of that, as though it would make everything easier to bear.
With a deep breath, Lachlan forced himself out of bed. The pain in his body shot through him, but there was a satisfaction in it, a reminder of the battle he had fought. His mind raced as he made his way to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face to try to shake off the fog.
His reflection in the mirror was a stranger's face. It was his, of course, but the eyes staring back at him seemed different. The usual gleam of confidence or frustration had been replaced by something colder, something emptier. How could he look at himself and feel this calm? How could he feel nothing but relief, instead of remorse?
He shut his eyes for a moment, letting the silence of the room settle over him. In the distance, he could hear his mom moving around downstairs, probably getting ready for her day. She didn't know what had happened, and he couldn't bring himself to tell her. What would he say? How could he explain what he'd done without losing everything?
Lachlan had always been good at hiding his emotions, at masking the darker parts of himself. But today, something felt different. The world outside his door might go on as usual, but for him, there was no going back. The calmness he felt wasn't relief; it was something more sinister. It was a blank slate, the beginning of something new. He didn't know if that made him bad, or if it was simply the cost of surviving.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him from his thoughts. It was a message from Delilah. Just a simple text: Want to meet up at the usual spot?
His fingers hovered over the keys. What could he say? Could he say no?
Sure.
He hit send and stood there for a long moment, staring at the screen, wondering if how he felt was normal—and more importantly, why it had felt so necessary.
As he walked downstairs, his mom looked up from the kitchen, offering him a smile. "You sure you're alright? You look a little out of it."
"Yeah, I'm fine," Lachlan muttered, not meeting her eyes as he grabbed a piece of toast.
She didn't press further, but Lachlan could feel the weight of her gaze on him. She would never know the truth. And maybe that was for the best.
He sat at the kitchen table, staring at the food in front of him, but his mind was elsewhere. Somewhere far away. Somewhere where he was still fighting battles—battles that didn't belong in the real world. But in his world, they were all too real.
And as the day stretched on, the question remained: Does that make me just as bad?
Today, the weather was nice. And for Michigan that was rare, it was in a weird state of limbo where spring and winter were constantly in battle, today spring had won.
I walked to the usual coffee shop that Delilah and I met at. My mind was a tornado of thoughts of the morning, but this would be a nice distraction. Our last meeting was not the best, I'm hoping I can get some answers or maybe closure.
The bell above the door chimed as I stepped inside the coffee shop, the familiar scent of roasted beans and warm pastries filling the air. It was a small, cozy place, with mismatched furniture and walls covered in local art. The kind of spot where time seemed to slow down, where people lingered over their drinks, lost in thought or conversation.
Delilah was already there, sitting at our usual table by the window. She had her back to me, but I could tell it was her — the way her hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, the way she always seemed to be lost in her own little world. I hesitated for a moment before walking over, my heart pounding in my chest. What was I even going to say? Hey, remember when we almost ruined everything? Yeah, let's talk about that.
But instead, I just smiled and took a seat across from her. She glanced up, a faint hint of surprise crossing her face before she quickly masked it with her usual cool expression.
"Hey," I said, my voice a little softer than I intended.
"Hey," she replied, her smile small but genuine. It was the kind of smile that told me she was trying, but maybe not sure how to be.
The barista brought over our drinks — a cappuccino for me, a chai latte for her — and set them down before quietly leaving us to our own devices. There was a moment of silence, the kind that felt like it had weight, before Delilah spoke.
"I know we've got a lot to talk about," she began, her gaze fixed on the steam rising from her cup. "I've been... thinking a lot, too."
I nodded, trying to keep my breathing steady. This wasn't just about what happened between us; it was about everything that had led up to that point. The mistakes. The silence.
"Do you want to start?" she asked, looking up at me, her eyes searching mine.
I took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. The truth, maybe? Or just the first step toward it. "Yeah," I said quietly. "I think I do."
I cleared my throat, trying to steady my nerves, but the words felt heavy. "I think we need to talk about what happened previously. I don't know... I just feel like—"
She interrupted, her tone cold, almost flat. "I don't know what you're expecting from this conversation, but I'm not going to apologize for anything." Her eyes didn't meet mine as she spoke; instead, she stirred her drink absently, clearly not in any hurry to engage.
The air between us thickened, and I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. The familiar warmth I once felt when we were together was replaced by something colder now. Something distant.
"I'm not asking for an apology," I said, forcing my voice to stay calm. "I just... I don't understand. You just used me, and it felt like—"
"Like what?" she shot back, her eyes finally meeting mine. Her gaze was sharp, almost challenging, as though she was daring me to push further. "Like I owed you something?"
Her words hit harder than I expected. I blinked, caught off guard by the bite in her voice. I wasn't ready for this version of Delilah — the one who had always been warm and understanding.
"Look, I didn't want it to be like this either," I said, trying to keep my tone steady. "I just wanted to know what happened. What changed?"
She took a long sip of her latte, setting it down with a clink. Her eyes narrowed, the coldness only deepening. "Nothing changed. You were always just a friend, I have and still do enjoy our time together though.
Her words stung, but I couldn't look away. "So, there was never any chance?"
She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest, almost as if she was trying to physically distance herself from me. "Never,' okay? You've got this idealized version of what our relationship was, you were always just a friend."
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words caught in my throat. Maybe there was some truth in that — maybe I knew the whole time, scared of the truth of it
"Why did you even ask me to meet, then?" I said quietly.
She exhaled sharply, her eyes flicking to the window before she met my gaze again. "I thought maybe we could talk. I wanted to invite you to this party that Samson is throwing."
I was in awe, she really just invited me to party with her new boyfriend. I don't think I can actually say no though, a chance at more is gone, but her friendship is something I still value.
"Okay, sure. Text me the details." I said with a fake smile.
"Really! That means a lot of Lach." She said excitedly, "I'll see you later then."
Delilah got up and left, leaving me with a bill for both of our drinks. I felt odd, not quite sad but something else.
That Night
I made my way to the address that Delilah sent me, I rounded the corner and there it was, Sterling Tower, only the ultra rich could live there. No was they let me in. I walked to the front door that was guarded by a giant.
"Name?" the guard grunted.
"Lachlan Smith" I responded.
"Come on. He's going to the penthouse." The guard told the liftman.
I rode the elevator up looking over the city, you could see the stains of what President Sterling did, there was a fine line of wealth and poverty now, there was no middle ground.
I stepped out of the elevator and immediately offered a glass of champagne. I declined. I spotted Delilah and made my way over to her.
"Lach! You made it!." She screamed into my ear.
"Well I was invited." I said rearing back. "You're very drunk."
"Yes, and you are not, let's change that." She said, trying to hand me a drink.
"No, I'm alright, I'm not drinking for a bit." I said plainly.
"Boooo. Oh I see Samson, come on." She said as she grabbed my hand pulling me along. "Babe! You remember Lachlan."
"It's good to see you again, I hope you're enjoying yourself." Samson said smugly.
"Thanks for the invite, it's a nice place." I responded.
Samson nodded, it seemed like he did not like me there. I broke away from Delliah and Samson, I talked to a few people, but I felt out of place. It was like everyone there knew I didn't belong. I stepped out of the deck to catch my breath. As I stared into the penthouse I saw someone familiar. Someone that made my blood boil.