Thirst of Revenge

Adrian POV

“Becky is dead; you guys must be joking.” I let out a cry. I tried to cover myself with the duvet to continue with my sleep when Theresa pulled it away.

“Adrian! Are you crazy or no? You think we did know where and how you buried her.” Theresa yelled,

“I am confused. How on earth did I kill Becky, and I found it out from you? I asked reluctantly. In my confused state my face was covered by the loud sound of a slap from Winifred.

“You better start talking, or else I will show what persecutors do to murderers like you.” Winifred spoke for the first time since she came into the room, and I held onto my face trying to hold back the tears that clouded my eyes, which were threatening to fall.

“I didn't do it.” My lip trembles. “What would you say about the blood that is all over you?” Winifred let out, pointing her index finger at me. I stared at the cloth on my body, and right there I was surprised the cloth I was putting on was covered with blood that I had to pull out immediately.

“What more do you have to say, liar? Theresa cursed. As realization hit me, I knew that no matter what I said, no one would believe me.

“Cuff me, if you believe in your heart that I am responsible for Beck’s death.” I let out, raising my two hands towards Winifred, but she hesitated.

I used that as an opportunity to have an agreement with Winifred to get to the root of the accusation that was labelled to me by my best friends.

“Theresa and Winifred, I didn't care about what you think, but you need to give me one month to find the missing part of this accusation,” I pleaded.

“You must be delusional to think you can play us.” Theresa queried, Was Winifred the quiet one who did not say a word?. Instead, she went to the bar stand, took a bottle of alcohol, and drank one shot from it.

“You have one month to clear your name,” she said, glaring at me. Winifred left, leaving Theresa and me.

Theresa glared at me, and the moment she got to the door, I called her by her full name.

“Theresa Johnson, what wrong have I done to you for you to set me up this way? I asked, locking eyes with her.

“Adrian, look at me. I am not Winifred. I would deal with you if another nonsense word came from that hole you call a mouth.”

She threatened before storming out of my house. I was thinking of the necessary thing I did and how I killed someone without knowing that I did.

I knew I hated Becky because of her lying lifestyle, and of course we were rivals, but killing her would be the last thing I would do. I had a fight with her the other day, and she promised with her life that she would deal with me till I wished I was not born.

On the contrary, between Theresa and Winifred, I did not know who came in here and who called the other. It was pointless asking those questions because there was no evidence.

I lay on my bed lost in thought, as I did not understand what my life had become. Today is the first day, so I am left with twenty-nine days to gather the evidence that shows that “I AM INNOCENT.”

I breathed heavily as I sat on the edge of my bed. Then I took my photo album, watching the four of us; we were happy, but I did not know what happened along the line.

Tears were flowing freely from my eyes as I watched the picture I took with Becky, but a harmless fight we had took her life.

The same harmless fight took my innocence on the altar of murder, and probably along the line it would take my life as well. I was lost in thought when the notification on my phone beeped, and it was an email from the company where I work.

I quickly opened the email, and it was a sack letter. I screamed at the top of my lungs, which made my phone slip from my hand to the floor.

I placed a call across to my boss, hoping he or she would reconsider, but at first she did not pick up, then the second to third time she eventually did.

“Please ma… ….” “Cut that, you murderer, or you thought we don't know what you did. I did not need a bloodsucker as a worker.” She cursed.

She hung up the call before I could say a word to defend myself. My means of survival had been taken away from me.

How do words fly? I was still crying when I heard a knock on my door. I sluggishly dragged my leg to the door and opened it.

To my dismay it was the company representatives who entered the house to inspect if everything was intact before coming to meet me.

“You have twenty-four hours to vacate the premises.” The company representatives said before walking away, I closed the door, slumped on the floor, and wailed.

Who did I offend? Where did I go wrong that I was being punished for the wrong I did not do? I went to the room, took my phone, and called all my friends concerning accommodation, but they all said they did not want to get associated with a murderer.

All my friends deserted me at the critical moment. The time I need them most, but no, they all prove to me that I was nothing but a bank to them. I told myself I would not cry any longer. I wiped my tears, but the more I wiped, the more the tears flowed freely from my eyes down my cheeks.

After what took, like, forever, I took my bath, dressed up, picked up my necessary things, and left the house.

As I was waiting for an Uber that would take me to my first home, where I would stay to sort myself out, a black Benz drove past me, later reversed back, and stopped at the spot I was standing.

I quickly moved away as I was ready to throw tantrums at him; I stopped halfway when I recognized his face.

“Zack! I yelled happily; immediately he came down from the car, and I hugged him, hoping the hug would last forever.

“Where are you heading to? I could drop you there before heading to my destination.” He asked with his voice filled with concern.

At first I wanted to tell him about all my predicament, but on second thought I kicked against it;

I smiled at him and said I would be heading to the nearest hotel nearby. He shook his head at me as he asked me to hop into his car.

I did not know if it was me, but I saw something like pity on his face, but I did not read any meaning into it.

He took me to an expensive hotel, giving me his black card and asking me to show it to the manager. I tried declining, but he insisted.

I collected the black card and headed to the receptionist table. The moment I showed the black card to the receptionist,