Occam’s Razor tells me that I had to have done it. Everything thing else is screaming no.Standing over the mutilated body of my now ex-boyfriend causes me to shiver. I hear a faint humming in the back of my mind; it takes me a few minutes to figure out that it’s me. A bubble of hysteria interrupts my continuous scream. Blood drips down my hands and throat, spattering into a crimson puddle at my feet. Why was I so eager to embrace this? To welcome this damnation. To invite the hell on Earth that has become my life? He tried to warm me, my brother. I didn’t listen. Why didn’t I listen? A sharp realization shocks me out of my trance. Cold and hard, a hand firmly grasps my own yanks me out of the shadowy back alley just as faint red and blue lights appear on the bloodstained walls. Too numb to be scared or surprised, I simply stumble after my abductor. It felt like I was wading through honey; each of my steps were slow and sticky, like I was entangled in an invisible trap. I should have listened. Why didn’t I listen?