❝I hurt people;
especially pretty girls like you ❞
In which an innocent but broken girl foxtrots with insanity.
And the music only stops when a demented man says so.
➳
Criminal psychology student...
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The concept of names is in itself a riveting phenomenon.
Laughable really, how something you never choose for yourself, becomes the very crux of your identity; living on with you in the grave, even after the body meets the soil and history forgets your existence. Death may take your life essence away, but it can never take away your name.
Some names brought people glory, others notoriety.
Tahlia's birth name however, only brought a string of frosty memories and left a repulsive, coppery taste in her mouth.
Natalia.
Her very own name, spoken in the iciest, most skin-crawling voice took her back to the decade old clutches of venom and death.
But this night wasn't about her name.
The night truly and only belonged to one that was synonymous to the final missing piece of a jigsaw; Hidden somewhere in plain sight, yet invisible to the mundane eye.
Logan Hunt.
A name that lingered on Tahlia's mind, much longer than her sanity would like, banging on the walls of subconsciousness in attempts to escape. Not because it was, as she put it— awe-inspiringly stupid, but because it was a name Tahlia could swear she'd heard before. But where?
She almost jumped in her seat at the sound of a sudden squeaky rustling. She brought her hand to her chest, exhaling in multitudinous relief as she realized it was just her roommate Wynn stirring in sleep.
Stop psyching yourself out.
She glanced at the clock, looking plainly at the digits that spelt out a precise 3:33 AM.
It was quite late, quite odd for Tahlia Meyers to be up at this hour of night, especially with an 8 AM lecture early morning.
But she just couldn't fall asleep .
She'd tried her absolute best to take her mind off a certain blue eyed madman, closing her eyes forcibly in hopes of falling into peaceful slumber. But it wasn't until after twenty minutes of restless tossing and turning, that Tahlia understood— it was not the need to fall asleep that her body desperately yearned for.
It was the need to know.
Know exactly what had landed that young man in an asylum, branded a murderer.
Yes, it was affirmative he was a killer, and yes, she had inevitably figured out some of his psychopathic inclinations.
But before this night, her brain hadn't really laid any emphasis on what that man had actually done. She was ashamed to admit it, but she hadn't yet looked into him. It was unusual for someone like her who practically finished their projects on day one, but this time things were different. An inkling of dread was stopping her from digging into it more.
