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"Okay," she said aloud. "You fucked up Marge. You're no better than those 'every night with a stranger' wives you despised." Alright," she challenged herself. "What are you going to do about it?"She almost laughed at holding a conversation with herself, but there was nothing funny about it. Then and there she decided."I screwed up. It was no one's fault but mine. Well, I can't undo it. I can't unfuck that guy back there. But I can damn make sure it never happens again." She paused and pounded her hand on her thigh. "What the FUCK were you thinking?"She slumped further in the kitchen chair. The cigarette she had laid in the ashtray had burned down to the filter so she stubbed it out and lit another one."Yuck." Her stomach revolted again. She crushed the cigarette out and refilled her coffee cup. She stood and crossed to the refrigerator, drinking the black coffee as she went. She rummaged through the food, pulling out eggs and bacon.The knock on the door made her jump. Nobody ever came. I moved silently in, picking steps with care to avoid stepping on books. Mostly because they would have made more noise, but also because that would have felt weird to step on books like that. We’ve already established I have different morals, is it any surprise I have other weird quirks? I rounded a particularly sturdy bookshelf that had somehow stayed standing, then retreated behind it real quickly. On the other side, maybe fifteen feet away was a student. I peeked cautiously and confirmed she had her back to me. She was dark skinned and had her hair done up in some sort of style. From what I could see she wasn’t wounded, but staring silently at something in front of her. I briefly glanced down to where she was looking and understood. The dead body of who I assumed was the librarian lay there. The girl was in shock. A fact I was more than willing to take advantage of. I creeped forward, choosing each step with even more care. And due to either my own stealth, or her inability to.
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