A/N: Warnings - graphic, character death, language and all the rest.

So I wrote a story last week. The fact that I don't yet cringe at the mention of it, even after a week, speaks mountains. It was about a boy whose words and actions resulted in the death of his best friend. Not in the 'butterfly effect' kind of way, but directly. It wasn't an accident. He felt sad after he did it, somewhat, because the boy was a friend to him. His best friend. But he felt no guilt, no regret. Just a tinge of sadness. There was no motive for the killing of his best friend, for his best friend was a delightful young man. There was no end result or reward for his deed. No appeal to higher loyalties, and no excuses. The boy just killed him.

I wanted to write a murder story. I wanted it to be a difficult, gruelling detective-style novella with a moral message and a purpose. And then I realised I wanted to write something realistic, too. I didn't want to write a story about a poor unfortunate hero's grim choice between the lesser of two great evils, or his inner turmoil after the act. I don't know how often that happens. I wouldn't assume it happened often. With my words, I wanted to paint a picture of a human, a normal human being who made a stupid decision one day and found it didn't even bother him. It was three and a half pages long written out. Not glamorous, elaborate or even a tad bit psychologically insightful. The humour was non-existent, the dialogue bland; every bit of realism I could whip up. Despite its short length, it felt so real to me that I was depressed by it.

But that's just a fictional story I wrote. Here's my story. Of ordinary human beings in a bad, bad situation.

I had been in a relationship with a man for quite a while. We were very intimate, and I think I truly loved him at one point. To the extent that I would do anything for him, anything. Well, more than once. And I am so ashamed of the things it made me do, that love. But love him I did. And no one could blame me. Everybody loved Jin, and everybody was jealous of plain old Julia who hung on his arm.

He said he loved me back. He didn't. He just used the brains I was so famous for and… left me alone.

I got a call in the middle of the night. "Sorry if I woke you Julia," his voice was low and controlled. I think I just mumbled something in reply. "But I need you right now. Okay? I need your help because—SHUT UP!" I heard a metallic clunk and the unmistakable cry of agony of a second male. My brain switched on fully and I sat upright, fumbling for my glasses on the bedside table. I switched on my lamp.

"Jin?" I whispered after a moment of silence had passed.

"Yeah just… one second." Some scraping and a muffled whimper from the other person. "I'm gonna call you back in five minutes. I want you to get changed and be outside of the house by then. Can you do that? Five minutes." And he hung up.

Fuck.

I was about to think about what had just happened, but decided it was best to do so when I had the time. I got dressed and threw my phone and my purse into the nearest bag. As I crept downstairs I could hear mum's new boyfriend drunkenly ranting as usual from the living room: "Always knew you were a fucking whore, 'Chelle, always, since I found out that guy was talking to you the day you went shopping, shopping, is that what you call it now, you whore…" I cringed as I heard mum's feeble replies but the gods know I've tried to help enough times, and if she doesn't make the first step towards getting help…

I walked to the end of the street once out of the house, and Jin called as soon as I stopped walking. "Jin, what the fuck is going on?" I heard perhaps a hint of desperation in the tone of his reply.

"I need you to go to one of those twenty-four hour stores, you know, and pick up some huge plastic bin bags for me. Can you do that? Then go to the community garden in our area and take an axe, no one will be around so don't worry about getting caught –"

"An axe!"

"Actually you're right. A saw then, something inconspicuous –"

"Oh my god!" I actually choked a bit at this point. "Are you listening to yourself – a saw – Jin who was that I could hear in the background?"

"Julia, please," there was certainly desperation in his voice now, "I need you to do this. And I need you to stay calm. Bring some bleach cleaner and towels, I'm at the library that got closed down last year. You remember where it is right?"

"What the fuck have you done, Jin?" I cried, my voice shaking. "What have you done?"

"I haven't done anything. At least I don't remember having done anything." There was a pause, during which nothing could be heard but my dry, racking sobs. "I'll be waiting. Be quick, Julia. I'm counting on you." The line went dead once more.

I cried a bit. I pulled myself together. I got what he wanted and made my way to the abandoned building. My watch said 01:40. It felt like nightmare-o'clock.

Jin met me at the door and embraced me, more passionately than he has for a long time. Still silent, he took the bags from my hands and rushed them inside. Blood was on his arms and smeared across his face. My heart grew faint and I followed him.

"I've done what you wanted," I said once we halted in the entrance hall, fighting to keep my voice calm, "now I want you to tell me why you asked for all that," I pointed at the bags he had just placed on the floor. "And what the hell you did. And what was that voice?" My voice betrayed me and broke at the last question. "I'm not stupid Jin, I've watched horror films."

He moved his hands over his face as if washing it in cool water on a hot day. Eyes shut, he began his reply. "I know what it looks like." He inhaled deeply, and opened his eyes. They bore into my own, and I couldn't read them at all. "Okay. In reverse order. That voice was Hwoarang's." I let out a choked noise. "I think… I think I killed him. Well he's definitely dead, and all the evidence points towards me, but I don't remember doing anything. I don't even remember coming in here. And I need you and the stuff you brought so we can… get rid of – no Julia, don't look at me like that," he pleaded, taking a step towards me, "please believe me. I didn't do it. I don't remember it."

I stepped back, dazed. My world was spinning and it was standing stock still at the very same instant. After a moment of staring at each other I walked straight past him and into the next room. I stood there and took in the scene for a minute or so. My mind was blank; my throat, constricted. Then I stumbled out, fell on top of Jin who had moved to stand right behind me, and unsurprisingly something wicked came over me. I screamed at Jin. I beat his chest and screamed absurdities at him and he took it all, just standing there with that curiously blank expression. I stopped eventually. Plodding over to the bags I dragged them to the next room and called for Jin to follow. I was to be calm now. Unemotional. I was already too far in to turn back.

"Just think of it as an experiment Julia, like the ones you do in college that you tell me about –"

"Rip his clothes into strips and tie them above the joints of his arms and legs. Tie a plastic bag over his head. Don't fucking talk unless you need to."

It took a few hours.

We took the bags round the back of the building, and Jin was to drive them into the river as soon as he could. My job as the biology student was done. Jin knew I wouldn't say a word, especially not now. I slumped down against the outer wall of the library, and sobbed. I don't know for how long, but at some point Jin shook me and told me I needed to return home. Have a shower, get rid of my clothes. Scrub my hands and free my mind of this mess. I thought it the right thing to do. The only thing to do, rather.

All that happened quite a few weeks ago… I'm sure it's been a couple of months since. Right now I'm in a cell. Needless to say, we got caught. Jin, rather than take the rap himself, committed suicide. I was left, the sole monster in this gruesome tale, and I couldn't even bring myself to commit suicide for the shame I felt. I deserve worse. I deserve much worse. Jin, dead as he was, got it easy. I was left with an intense fear of the colour red. The red of his hair. The red of his insides. The red of the bags. The red of my hands.

It's the biggest waste of life and effort and time I can imagine for a couple of city folk like us. It serves no purpose, nothing to be learnt, not for me or for my ex with the multiple personalities. Just us.

In a bad, bad situation.

Review! :)