Getting Away

It all started with Nick. I have never despised anybody as much as I have despised him. At least that's what I think when my memories go back to those times. For as long as I can remember, we've always stuck together – me, Jerry, Nick, Honey, Paula, and Ian. We were as close as we could get. After that, I either lost the ability to approach people emotionally, or never had it, and the whole relationship held only because of the young age at which we met. We were an inseparable group of friends who knew all their embarrassing and less embarrassing secrets, so we spent our time practically only with each other. It was like that to high school because with it came a new school, ways to have fun and in some cases… new friends. Then Nick went wild. He learned about alcohol and more sophisticated ways of taking amphetamines. It started as usual – with Adderall. Then he also gave up all the values ​​he previously professed or never really believed in them, and drugs showed his true face. I am not a psychiatrist, so I will refrain from any suspicions and any deeper theories on this subject… but it is possible that as his environment and habits changed, some mental disorders also got in a way. He dated Paula for most of the school, though that might be an understatement. They had been saying for years that they would finally get married, go to Albuquerque, and buy a house where, in addition to the dog, a group of children would live their best life with them. When they mentioned such "ambitious" plans, we usually only sighed and wished them good luck because how seriously can you take such words when you're only a teen? I know I never believed it and as you can see, I was right.

In the second grade, thanks to new contacts acquired at various houses, holdings, and housewarming parties, Nick came up with a brilliant idea to monetise his favourite passion and thus became a school dealer. Well… one of the few. Our high school never had the best reputation. At first, Paula didn't know anything about it, and even though Jerry and I were the first to find out because he immediately shared this great idea with us, we decided to keep our mouths shut. However, one day, or more precisely when we all celebrated the end of the school year, an extraordinary but expected thing happened. A boy who, being at the same party, bought stuff from him… well, he overdosed. Unfortunately, this was not one of those overdoses where the injured person recovered for several weeks and then went to rehab. He simply died on the spot because, as it turned out, Nick used fentanyl to increase the value of his product. It was Paula who called the police, although he tried to talk her out of it as much as possible. She was shocked, but also terrified and disappointed. Unfortunately, his parents were not poor, so he could afford the best lawyers who made him only receive a year in prison and a hundred hours of community service. It's hard to think about a more positive way out of the whole situation for him.

When we were in third grade, he came back, and right away, he automatically started acting like nothing had happened. Justice system as it happened many times in the past, also failed this time, and the resocialisation haven't gone well. Since then, he has simply used a laxative instead of fentanyl, and as far as I know, no one was more seriously injured in this case. More seriously than debilitating addiction, of course.

The case was closed by something that happened only a few months later. Throughout high school, Nick was successfully pushing us away, creating his new persona at the same time. After the end of his sentence, he acted as if he did nothing wrong. It was honestly fucking disgusting, you know? That he didn't bother himself about the fact that this boy had lost his life because of him. Who sells fentanyl at a party where he tries to have fun himself? I had known for a long time that he was a fool, but it has gone too far. In addition, he returned to Paula, as if they had just not had a one-year break because of his sentence, even though she had never visited him in the facility. It should rather give you some food for thought. He came back and acted like we were all still best friends and expected everything to be fine. Well… it didn't. Everything went to shit.

Paula was getting suspicious. In fact, it is hardly surprising because Nick began to disappear more and more often. I'm not talking about a few hours after sleepover. I mean whole days.

He said he was going out to a party, and then he gave no signs of life for half a week. We heard rumours that he had joined some asshole association from a nearby college, although he still hadn't graduated from high school. It was suspicious and even very suspicious, but at the time we still didn't know if there was anything we could do about it. After all, if he would rather not speak, all we had to do was wait for some turn of events.

Even then, I hated most of the people I passed every day in the hallways of the school… and in the streets, in the shops, and at every party I've been to in my life. Even then, I was convinced of their non-uniqueness and falsehood, but I didn't do shit about it. Simple as that.

One day, Jerry came to us with a message. With the news that he learned from a trusted older friend (who happened to be at the aforementioned college) what Nick and his hideous society do on a daily basis.

They enjoyed robbing the helpless and beating them unconscious for no other reason than to cause extreme chaos. A situation straight from "A Clockwork Orange", although this piece should show how unprofitable it is to live this way. It also turned out that Nick, apart from being a serial drug addict, is also a mass traitor and occasional rapist. They recorded girls from fraternities, how drunk to the point of unconsciousness, they certainly succumbed to their "unquestionable" charisma and did very immoral things. Everyone but Paula had lost all respect for him at that memorable party, but that… that was unforgivable even for her. We used to meet, drink rum and beer, and smoke exorbitant amounts of cigarettes, and talk about possible solutions. Solutions that seemed to be increasingly more extreme. Jerry wanted to do plastic surgery on him with his own fists, Honey thought loudly about blowing up his car, Ian wanted to report him to the police, I sided with Jerry's idea, and Paula… Paula came up with a plan to get rid of him. Once and for all.

At first, it seemed to be a great exaggeration, but a few hours of rum sprinkled us more and more to rethink that possibility. If we had decided to beat his ass brutally, his parents would certainly have given us hell, and as we could not afford the lawyers they used, it would probably have resulted in a not necessarily lenient sentence. Certainly, not as gentle as his when he killed that kid. Our way could save plenty of people. All the girls he had hurt, anyone who had poisoned himself with his sketchy product, and all the other victims of his ungodly crimes, would experience at least a glimmer of justice. There would be one less guy in the streets who probably never meant good again. Evil had consumed him – aggressively and crazy, and we would have done our best to nip it in the bud. We could have ended the cycle of this injustice and lawlessness if we had planned it so that no one would suffer the consequences. It didn't take long to convince me. It may not seem surprising or unexpected to you, but I was much calmer then. It was the last step… actually the last straight that took me straight to the path of life that I am now so proud to follow. Jerry, like me, quickly agreed that Paula was right, then there was Honey, and at the very end, the most stubborn Ian. He was truly a golden boy, but At that moment something broke in him. I saw him like this for the first time. Something clicked, and his eyes lit up, a spark that must have pushed him into action. The spark that made it all went so perfectly because in the end it was his plan that we put into practice.

We had a party. Huge party, for at least fifty people. We knew that not everyone could fit in Paula's house, so we planned to extend the fun to the garden. It couldn't be too crowded. At the beginning, we were all supposed to have fun, and then narrow the group of friends only to our group during the after-party. It was the most important part. Ian had the idea that whoever would get this honour and get rid of Nick once and for all should be decided by fate. They would rather not be directly guilty. It's probably a question of morality. In that case, to avoid any suspicion that I was different, I happily nodded to them, and officially saw it as "the best way not to blame ourselves so much." An obvious lie because ending such a fuck-up of a man was better than supporting any charity. We promised that whoever would that be, would never share the secret with the rest, and they would not ask. Ian said that this way we would deceive the polygraph if we had to, but it always seemed to me that the reason was quite different. They couldn't possibly just digest the fact that there might be a murderer among them, and if they didn't know who he was, the whole situation would be more virulent. It's an idiotic excuse for me, but oh well. There wasn't a choice. As highschoolers, we still had some pretty distorted and promising plans to stay friends even after graduation, so it was crucial for them not to know who did the most dirty work. A cowardly approach, but quite logical.

We only drank water all night. We needed clear heads and full mobility to accomplish such a task, so we decided that maybe it would be appropriate to drink ourselves unconscious another time. The rest was definitely more complicated. At around four in the morning, we drove out of the house, all who were not part of the pack, and proceeded to the main part of the plan. A week earlier, we stocked up on a whole lot of Rohypnol, or if you prefer a more street-like term – roofies. The trick was to put it in every glass but one, and then mix them together so thoroughly that it was up to fate who would turn into the killer that night. You will not be surprised if I say that this burden fell on me. Although, it actually came to me with incredible ease.

Everyone but me was kidnapped by Morpheus, so I started plotting. I put on the previously prepared black gloves (because I'm incredibly wary) and started rummaging through Nick's pockets. I found a zip-bag containing at least three grams of amphetamine in them, and then I took mine out, which contained about five grams. I had bought it through two different middlemen two weeks earlier in case if it was up to me to kill this asshole. I dumped the entire contents into a tissue and soaked it with water – a die-hard junkie technique when their noses prevented them from snorting, and then I opened his mouth and pushed it straight down his throat. Such a simple action that could solve so many potential problems. I wiped the water off the sink and went to bed with the rest. I slept like a baby.

About seven hours later, everyone woke up. Except for Nick. We called an ambulance and played the most scared teenagers the world had ever seen. This is how I became a murderer. Nick was my first.