Lonely isn't the night tonight, it would seem. No, of course not. Not when you have an alley, a broke college boy coming down off whatever club drugs were slipped into his water bottle at the rave across the street from said alley, five hundred dollars cash that you've dangled in front of college boy's face, and a fresh faced yuppie vomiting in the corner of the alley. Oh, and it doesn't hurt that said puking oaf is the same person who your best friend had an affair with and is currently being harassed by. I clear my throat loudly, which gets Philippe (yes that actually is his name; apparently she has a taste for Frenchmen) to look up from the pile of half digested food on the ground in front of him and over at me.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"I ask myself that question at least once a day. Still haven't come up with an answer."

College Boy's eyes widen with either surprise, or revelation at the fact that he's no longer in the presence of strobe lights but either way he shrugs off Philippe's question and goes right back to staring down at the ground. So, I jab an elbow into his ribcage to keep him keen to the situation and he jolts to the left to get out of reach. Philippe, not amused by my answer, spits at the puke stained ground which I assume is somehow supposed to make me feel intimidated or something. Instead, I cross my arms and smile at him.

"But I guess I can give you some information; you're making one of my friends real uncomfortable."

"Oh, is that so? Care to give me a name, or are you just gonna keep spinning riddles there?"

"Now now, let's not get ahead of ourselves."

I smile over at College Boy and reach into my back pocket, where I've kept the $500. Pulling the wad of money out, I wave it at him for a brief second before sliding it back behind my back.

"You wanna earn this money?"

He nods. Perfect. I already know what he's gonna spend it on. Anything to keep his fading high from running out entirely. That was his decision, and if I were to lecture him on how bad of an idea that'd be, I'd be a pretty big hypocrite now wouldn't I? Yes I would, me. Man, I really need to stop talking to myself. It's kind of weird. Philippe, who had previously turned his attention back to puking up what's left of his guts shoots his head back to us and laughs.

"Money? I didn't know we were talking about money!"

"Shut it, Philippe."

"How do you know my name?"

"I guess that's a pretty good question. Bravo Philippe, I didn't know you had it in you. Then again, you've been making my friend's life Hell so I guess you're smarter than you look, eh? Well to answer your question, let me restate why I'm here: you're making my friend uncomfortable. Obviously I know your name. She never shuts up about you and between you, me, and my other friend who's more likely to be in space than to be actually following this conversation, it's getting pretty fucking annoying."

"So, what are you going to do about it?" he asks, continuing to laugh that odd, croaking laugh that's a result of stomach acid ruining the lining of his esophagus. That makes sense in my head at least so I'll go with it. No way Kara willingly went after someone with a natural laugh like that. Or, maybe she did and that's one more thing to give her hell for when I tell her the good news.

"Hey you," I say to College Boy just to make sure I have his full, undivided attention. It doesn't help matters much because I'm pretty sure he's still staring right through me and into space. Oh well, close enough. "Break his fucking legs."

"What?" both men ask in unison.

"Both of you heard me. You," I point to College Boy, "break his fucking legs."

"Why?"

"Because that's what I'm paying you for."

Something vaguely reminiscent of a look of contemplation crosses his face for a few brief moments, which keeps Philippe where he is. For some reason he's so sure College Boy will turn this down. Seems like he's never had an addiction in his life if he thinks that'll happen. Oh well, can't fault him there I guess, as much as I want to. College Boy turns and looks hard at me and out the corner of my eye I see Philippe smiling. That is until, just like expected, College Boy takes off in a full on sprint and tackles him to the ground. The pair roll around in the wide puddle of vomit as they jockey for position. Though, all it takes for the advantage to be swung back in College Boy's favor is one well placed kick to the ribs, courtesy of yours truly. Philippe rolls off of my employee and onto the ground beside him. While he's busy trying compose himself, College Boy gets back up to his feet and kicks him in the head.

"Come on, I said to break his fucking legs, not to put him in a coma!"

Almost as if he'd heard the Word of God, College Boy stops dead in his tracks and glances back at me. Without saying anything more, I gesture at him to get back to what he was doing, though hopefully this time he does it right.

I watch on with a smile as his eyes lock on Philippe's legs. I should be concerned about Philippe's screaming. I'm not, but I really, really, should be. No, instead I'm watching intently as he begins to mercilessly stomp on the downed man's patella. Over and over again, all on my command. My eyes widen with delight? Glee? It's kind of a surreal situation I'm in, I start to realize as I give more thought to it. I'm watching a guy cause grievous bodily harm to another man with whom he's never even met, let alone had an issue with, all because I paid him a meager sum to do it. And I'm loving every second of watching it go down. As Philippe's screams get louder and more anguished, I feel the smile on my face growing wider and wider. In this moment, I am all powerful. Nothing can even touch me.

Crack!

Ooh, and there goes Philippe's right knee! I laugh, and applaud. College Boy turns around, obviously confused and even just a little bit terrified of the person with whom he agreed to hurt someone for. Really, he should've been afraid when I told him the job but oh well. Whatever floats his boat. Philippe's screams reach their peak; in both volume and pain. I lick my lips and walk closer to the pair, shoving College Boy aside and reach into my other back pocket, where I pull out the pair of gloves Kara gave me the time we went car smashing. Who knew they'd be so useful now? I kneel down beside the grounded man, which of course causes him to scream the only question in the world that makes any kinda sense.

"What the fuck?"

"I don't really take kindly to people fucking with my friends. Let this be a lesson you learned, all too late."

I don't think. I just do the first thing that comes to mind. That being, grabbing Philippe by his stupid fucking French head, and slamming the back of said head into the concrete as hard as I can. Five times. Blood pools around the puke puddle that his head landed it, leaking fast enough to almost stain my pants. However, College Boy doesn't seem to see this and walks right through the quickly expanding blood puddle to stand in front of me and gesture for his money. I backpedal to get away from the coming crimson tide and toss the wad over to him. He snatches it and makes his way out of the alley. I follow him, before taking a left once we're back on the sidewalk and make my way over to my car.

It isn't until I slide the key into the ignition and turn it that I realize what just went down.

I killed someone.

And I don't feel bad about it at all. In fact, I almost feel, kinda good.


"What the hell?" I gasp as I lurch into a seated position, a pool of cold sweat dripping down the side of my face. When I realize there's no real danger to me right now, I fall back into laying on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. No shape shifting demon monstrosities to force me back into the world of slumber, right? And that was all a really odd dream, sure it's something I want to do but it didn't happen. Of course it didn't. There's no way I'd get away with murder. I have some kind of moral compass. Totally.

Wait, what was the thing my hallucination said? Something I needed to see? Gah, I can't believe I actually thought about taking the ramblings of my sleep deprived consciousness seriously. Of course, it was all just a ploy by myself to trick myself into going to sleep and the fact that that wild dream came about was a coincidence or something. Times like this make me wish I studied that stuff more because now I'm really, really interested in it.

I think this now, I'll probably forget all about it by the time I decide to leave this house.

I feel a vibrating in my skirt. Thank you, whoever decided to text me, for getting my mind off this silly train of thought. I reach into the inside pocket of my skirt and pull out my phone, flipping it open and scanning the message itself. Kara, of course.

Just saw on the news that asshole Philippe is dead. Good riddance.

Gulp!

With sweaty, fumbling fingers I shoot out a text back.

Wt happndd

Oh, the wait. The seconds feel like hours stretched out and prolonged for effect. Each passing hour/second presses more and more weight onto my chest and soon I find myself completely unable to breathe. I gasp and gulp for air but nothing. Then, the phone vibrates. I close my eyes as I flip open the phone and only open my eyes after a few seconds of darkness because if the answer is what I think it is...

Someone bashed his fucking head. Wait, are you drunk?

Oh.

"Shit."