Page 1 of The Unbecoming

Chapter One

Nora

“Oh, fuck yeah, baby,” Liam grunts as he fucks me. His sweaty body is pressed against mine as he pants in my ear like a dog. Usually I can fake an orgasm to make him feel better, but not tonight. Not when I have so much on my mind. His movements falter, and he groans as he comes.

When he sits up, he gives me a quick kiss before climbing off my bed to pull his condom off. I’m trying to fake being satisfied, because I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

“Everything okay, Nora?” Liam asks as he pulls his jeans on. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I just have a headache,” I lie, forcing a smile.

“Oh, honey,” he says, taking my face between his hands to gently kiss my forehead. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’m okay. I think I just need some rest.” He deserves someone honest. I don’t know if I can ever be that person for him.

“Okay, well, I’ll go so you can get some sleep,” he says, kissing me. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“I will,” I lie as I walk him to my apartment door. He pulls his shirt on and grabs his keys before stepping into his shoes. He was on the field late tonight, so he wasn’t here long before clothes started coming off. Letting him fuck me is the only way I can make sure I don’t have to talk too much. Plus, it gives me time to think.

When Liam leaves, I consider going out. I could feed the itch that’s been crawling beneath my skin all day. I know exactly where I’d end up. A dark bar. With a stranger whose name I’d never bother learning. I’d have an hour of pretending I could outrun my own mind. Doing anything to quiet my own head. To make it stop.

Why can’t I make it stop?

I pace my apartment, trying to find an alternative. A shower. Maybe I could go to sleep. I could work on schoolwork. Instead, I go to my bathroom and open the drawer. Waiting for me is a razor-sharp blade.

I don’t want to die. I don’t even particularly like blood, but I like the quiet that follows the blade. For just a moment, I can make the feeling go away. I can pretend I am a different kind of broken. I’m something other than what I was raised to be.

I sit on the edge of my clawfoot tub and find a spot on my arm. Some of these scars are years old, and some are still healing. I pick one that is nearly faded away to dig the blade in and slowly drag it through my skin. I hiss as blood seeps out, but exhale in relief. My racing thoughts begin to slow, and my breathing evens out. I can close my eyes, and I'm not afraid of what I see looking back at me. The relentless mental noise finally recedes. Darkness fills my mind, suffocating all the intrusive urges. For just this one moment, I can be me.

Eventually, I have to return to reality. I rinse out the tub and bandage my arm. I have class early in the morning, and my mind is quiet enough to maybe even get some sleep. After shutting the lights off, I crawl into bed and let my mind wander. The monsters under the bed can’t get me if I’m hiding in my blanket. At least, that's what I believed when I was eight.

The older I get, the more I realize monsters don't wait under beds; they hide in the people we love.

Chapter Two

Nora

In just a few months, I will walk across the stage with my master’s in criminal psychology. I’ve always been fascinated by the “why” in everything. Crime has never shocked me, but people pretending they don’t understand where it came from do.

I am the first to arrive in class, as usual. Professor Green is already at the front of the room, a neat stack of papers arranged beside his laptop. I stop in the doorway. That's... unusual. His desk is normally a disaster of coffee cups, loose articles, and half-graded assignments. Instead, he has a neat stack of files. That tells me something important is happening today.

I take my seat at the front as other students start to file in. Some look ready to face the day, while some look half asleep and nursing a hangover. Despite the mask I wear every day, I don't socialize unless I have to. Smiling is easy for me, but pretending to care about people feels impossible.

“Good morning, everyone!” Professor Green says with his usual chipper tone. He moves out from behind his desk with his neat stack of files in his hands. “Today is a special day. I want to start by saying that this next assignment is worth a third of your grade. Everything up until this point has been preparing you for this. So, let’s hope you paid attention.”

I flip open my syllabus to check what exactly is happening. All it says is “The final interview.”

“I have been intentionally vague because I want this to be a true interview for you all,” he continues. “We don’t get to research before interviews because it can create what?”

“Bias,” I say.

“Yes, Ms. Bennett. Exactly. Just because it’s on the Internet doesn’t mean it’s true. These interviews are often used in criminal court cases. In fact, some of you are assigned to individuals awaiting trial. There’s a good chance you will be called to testify. This means you mustn't be biased.”

“I’m sorry. We are being assigned to interview someone who is not convicted?” I ask.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “I have paired you all where I think you will do best. Each facility has its own safety protocols, and I expect everyone to adhere to them perfectly. In short, there is reasonable suspicion that each of these individuals chosen has committed horrific crimes. Do not take that lightly.”

I am weirdly excited for this. I made my assumptions on what this assignment might be, but I never considered that the interview was literal. I guess I just didn’t expect to be handed off to a criminal and expected to come back with a professional review and profile of this individual.