Enduring Love Dialectical Journal

The scene was one of cosy domesticity, a man and a woman sharing breakfast after a night out clubbing together. Married? Lovers? Boyfriend and girlfriend, or just a platonic relationship, it could have been any of the three, and the scene would have been mirrored in many homes across Rome. They were normal. Or at least, together, they contained a semblance of normality, which to Kyle, was almost as eerie a sensation as was the morning after his first murder to know that the woman across from him, the one who’d have reason to never trust another man, or allow one to touch her ever again, had entrusted him to hold her in his arms as she slept. And held no regrets for having done so, and not just that. She’d also revealed details to him of her life experiences that she doubted to spoken of with such earnestness and honesty to anyone before him, and he’d returned the favour without a second thought. With her eyes closed, and her soft breathing, and the faintest of snores, but no drooling, she’d appeared so serene and peaceful, and the Army veteran hoped that he’d been in same way responsible for the lack of nightmares.

Her response to his comment about her capabilities with a knife brought that long-withheld mischevious gleam back to his eyes – he wanted to hear that laugh of hers again - , and hinted of the Kyle as a child, and
“I know, and so do I. That feeling, Zai. It only increases. The power and control, the thrill and the adrenaline rush. No longer does it become just a way to control your emotions, but it becomes a craving. A need. It’s fun.” Those words were spoken bluntly, and he shrugged. “And that’s why I wanted to make sure, because I’ll never stop.” There was none of his previous intensity, or darkness, Kyle had simply stated it as a fact, before he seated himself at the table, and inhaled the aroma of the omelette before