"Our fatigue is often caused not by work, but by worry, frustration and resentment." - Dale Carnegie
Date: April 13, 2023
Time: 8:45 PM, 4 hours and 51 minutes before the murder.
Location: Your Apartment, bedroom.
As your phone buzzed, interrupting the solitude of the room, annoyance washed over you. The weight of the argument still hung heavy in the air, and you felt ill-prepared to engage in another conversation. Glancing at the screen, you saw your boss's name flashing across it, and a frustrated thought escaped your lips.
"Damn, why now?" you muttered, the irritation evident in your voice.
A mix of emotions surged within you—resentment at the timing of the call, weariness from the recent argument, and a desire for a moment of respite. The pack of cigarettes on the nearby table beckoned to you, tempting you with the promise of a temporary escape.
For a brief moment, you entertained the idea of ignoring the call, seeking solace in the familiar routine of lighting a cigarette to release some stress. But then, a nagging feeling of responsibility tugged at your conscience. You knew that addressing the call, despite your annoyance, was the responsible course of action.
With a resigned sigh, you reluctantly answered the call, preparing to engage in a conversation you felt ill-prepared for.
"Hello," you answered, your voice reflecting a mix of irritation and fatigue. "What can I do for you?"
To your dismay, your boss's voice crackled through the phone line, carrying an air of rude disregard for common courtesy and professionalism.
"I hope you're not slacking off," your boss barked, lacking any semblance of manners. "That programming project I assigned you? It's due in just two days. Don't even think about screwing it up."
Their words struck with the force of a verbal slap, intensifying the annoyance that had already been building within you. It was clear that your boss had no regard for basic respect or the challenging circumstances you were facing.
Suppressing your frustration, you took a deep breath and responded, "Yes, I'm fully aware of the project. Rest assured; I will meet the deadline."
Your boss's rudeness persisted as they continued, displaying a complete lack of professionalism. "I don't have time for any excuses or incompetence. Just get it done, and get it done right. Is that too much to ask?"
The irritation within you threatened to boil over, but you knew that engaging in a futile argument would only exacerbate the situation. With a forced calmness, you replied, "I understand the importance of the project, and I assure you, I will give it my utmost attention and dedication."
There was a brief, contempt-filled pause on the other end of the line, and your boss's tone remained curt as they said, "You better not disappoint me. I don't tolerate failure."
As the conversation drew to a close, you hung up the phone, feeling a mix of frustration, resentment, and a touch of defiance. The pack of cigarettes on the table beckoned once again, tempting you with the promise of a momentary escape.
You reached for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand, a familiar ritual that offered a temporary respite from the stresses of the day. Lighting one up, you took a long, deep drag, allowing the smoke to fill your lungs as you exhale slowly, the tension dissipating with each breath.
With the cigarette in hand, you settled onto your bed, finding comfort in its familiar embrace. The softness of the sheets and the gentle creaking of the mattress provided a sanctuary away from the demands of work. You closed your eyes, allowing your mind to drift, finding a momentary escape from the pressures surrounding you.
"Fuck, I'll work on that dumb project tomorrow," you groaned, the words a release of pent-up frustration. The overwhelming nature of the task seemed to suffocate you at that moment.
As you let out a sigh, the distant rumbling of thunder outside caught your attention. Glancing out the window, you noticed the dark clouds gathering in the sky, a clear sign that rain was imminent. "Oh, it's gonna rain," you thought, a tinge of resignation lacing your internal monologue.
Despite the lingering frustration from your recent argument with Vex, a feeling of concern tugged at your heartstrings. Unable to suppress your caring nature, you texted him, urging him to stay safe in the impending rain. It was a small gesture, a flicker of empathy that revealed the depth of your emotions, even in the midst of being upset.
"Heard the weather is gonna be pouring bad tonight. Be careful out there, idiot." - Y/N @ 8:47 PM.
After sending the text to Vex, urging him to stay safe in the upcoming rain, conflicting emotions swirl within you. A mixture of frustration, concern, and lingering affection unsettles you. Despite the argument that transpired between the two of you, your caring nature remains undeniable.
As you toss your phone aside onto the bed, a wave of self-doubt washes over you. "Gosh, what am I, a mom? So stupid," you mutter, berating yourself for showing vulnerability and concern. You attempt to dismiss your emotions as if caring for someone could be seen as a weakness.
Needing a break from the emotional whirlwind, you decide to take a moment for yourself. Feeling the weariness in your bones, you find refuge in the idea of a nap. You long for the tranquility that sleep can bring, a temporary escape from the weight of your thoughts and emotions.
You close your eyes, seeking refuge from the storm outside and within. The sound of rain intensifies its rhythmic patter against the window, creating a soothing backdrop for your thoughts.
As you surrender to the embrace of sleep, your mind gradually quiets. The conflicts and frustrations slowly fade, replaced by a temporary reprieve.
_____________________________________
Date: April 13, 2023
Time: 8:50 PM, 4 hours and 46 minutes before the murder.
Location: EZ-Go Mart, 275 East 32nd Street.
As Vex entered the convenience store, a subtle aura of detachment surrounded him, contrasting with the bustling environment. The sights and sounds of the store barely registered as his mind remained consumed by the recent argument with his girlfriend.
With an air of nonchalance, Vex found himself drawn to the jerky display. He perused the options, intelligently calculating each choice and weighing the merits of different flavors. The vibrant packaging and variety of textures held little interest in his emotionless facade.
As he reached for a package of jerky, his phone buzzed with a notification. Retrieving it from his hoodie pocket, he glanced at the message from his girlfriend—a simple warning about the stormy weather. A flicker of possessiveness and a touch of psychotic intrigue danced in his eyes, but his outward expression remained calm and detached.
With a carefree disregard for the complexities of their argument, Vex swiftly typed a concise response,
"Yeah. Thanks." - Vex @ 8:52 PM.
He sent the message without a hint of emotion as if the exchange held little significance to him. Placing his phone back in his pocket, he resumed his search for the perfect distraction.
Approaching the counter with the jerky in hand, Vex's detached facade remained intact. The cashier barely registered in his consciousness as he completed the transaction, his mind preoccupied with darker thoughts that lurked beneath the surface.
As the two shady individuals walked into the convenience store, their appearances exuded an air of danger and unpredictability. One of them had a shaved head adorned with intricate tattoos that snaked up his neck and disappeared beneath the collar of his leather jacket. The other had a scruffy beard, a scar across his cheek, and a piercing gaze that seemed to penetrate the soul.
Upon spotting Vex, a twisted grin spread across their faces, revealing a mixture of amusement and mischief. With an overt display of familiarity, one of them slung his arm over Vex's shoulder, invading his personal space. Their casual greeting held a touch of sarcasm and underlying tension.
"Heyy, Vex! Sup, you fucking bastard?" the tattooed individual sneered, his voice laced with a hint of menace.
Despite the invasion of his personal space and their provocative words, Vex remained seemingly unaffected.
Vex's gaze, devoid of emotion, glanced briefly at the arm draped over his shoulder before calmly shrugging it off. He maintained his composed demeanor, seemingly disinterested in conversing with the two individuals. His indifference could be interpreted as a calculated move or a reflection of his carefree nature, leaving the gangsters unsure how to proceed.
With a nonchalant expression, Vex replied, "Not much. Just here for a quick stop." His voice lacked any hint of fear or intimidation as if their presence held no significance to him.
"How about buying some jerky for your bosses, eh? I know you've got that drug money from all the dealing you've done in our underground nightclub."
The gangsters chuckled, their voices carrying a sense of entitlement and dominance. They seemed unconcerned about the presence of the cashier, confident in their ability to intimidate those around them.
Without uttering a word, Vex subtly shrugged off the gangster's arm from his shoulder, signaling his disinterest in their banter. His carefree demeanor served as a shield, concealing his true intentions and emotions from prying eyes.
The cashier, aware of the tense atmosphere, remained silent, their fear preventing them from intervening or reporting the presence of the gangsters. The store became a temporary stage for the power play between Vex and the menacing figures before him.
"Sure, I'll buy you some cigars as well," Vex responded casually, his detached demeanor unwavering. His calm response seemed to amuse the gangsters, and one of them patted his shoulder in a show of camaraderie.
"That's our favorite subordinate, hahaha," one of the gangsters menacingly chuckled, their enjoyment tinged with a hint of underlying threat.
As the tension lingered in the air, Vex subtly shifted his position, distancing himself from the gangsters' touch. His actions spoke volumes, silently asserting his independence and reinforcing the boundaries he had set.
The cashier, observing the interaction from a distance, grew increasingly uneasy. Vex proceeded to the counter, placing the jerky and cigars on the counter for purchase. The cashier, sensing the delicate balance of power, maintained a professional neutrality, scanning the items without comment.
As the transaction concluded, Vex retrieved his purchase and nodded subtly to the cashier, acknowledging their silence and discretion.
"By the way, the boss wants to talk to you soon. I suggest you drop him a visit at the club," the tattooed gangster said, conveying authority.
Vex's detached expression remained unchanged as he absorbed the information. The mention of the boss and the club hinted at a deeper layer of involvement, one that he could not easily dismiss.
Vex acknowledged the gangster's words but did not reveal any indication of compliance or refusal.
"Thanks for the heads up," Vex responded, his voice devoid of emotion. "I'll consider paying a visit when the time is right."
"Oh, he wants that visit now," the bearded gangster threatened, lighting up his cigarette, the smoke curling around him in a hazy veil.
Vex's mind raced, a mix of annoyance and apprehension filling his thoughts. The timing of the boss's request couldn't have been worse.
"Shit, of all times?" Vex mentally lamented, feeling a surge of frustration beneath his composed exterior.
Suppressing his internal turmoil, Vex offered a curt nod to the gangsters. "I'll head to the club," he replied, his voice betraying none of his inner conflicts. He knew that appeasing the boss's request was a necessary step to safeguard his position and maintain the intricate dance of power within their underworld.
"We're coming with you," the tattooed gangster smirked, slinging an arm over Vex's shoulder again, his grip tight and unwavering. Vex, aware of the futility of resisting, chose not to shrug off the gangster's arm this time. The action would only reinforce his lack of control and the inevitability of the situation unfolding before him.
Without uttering a word, Vex acknowledged the gangsters' decision, his detached demeanor remaining intact. He understood that their presence was not a matter of choice but a demand from higher authorities. Them accompanying him to the club emphasized the gravity of the upcoming meeting.
As they left the convenience store, the rain-soaked streets provided a gloomy backdrop to their silent procession. The sounds of their footsteps mingled with the faint patter of raindrops, forming a somber symphony that mirrored the weight of the impending encounter.