There was no thought, no plan. In fact, the idea itself wasn't something Mikala had ever considered. The way her mother struggled, though, it was oddly satisfying.

It took focused effort to calm her heart's rhythm, but it was slowing. Her mind, overcome with raw emotion, was now filled with confusion.

"You—" Rodney tried to speak. The quiver in his chin gave away his fear as he took yet another step back, barely avoiding the Christmas tree.

Mikala didn't respond. She simply rose to her feet with the gift in her hand, the trigger that set everything into motion. The redness in her eyes was a deep, dramatic contrast to her pale skin, and the darkness, the seething rage, well, it wasn't gone. Still, suppressing her emotions had become commonplace.

Rodney leaned against a nearby wall with unblinking eyes, knocking silver garland to the floor without reacting. He tugged at his snow themed camouflage jacket like a baby hoping to grab something to keep it safe.

No sign of remorse could be heard in her voice. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Don't— I mean— Mikala, I can't—"

Wrapping paper crunched under her feet as she stepped forward, only making it one step before Rodney raised his arm with a commanding groan.

"Don't be a pussy. I said I'm not going to hurt you," said Mikala. The way she flailed her arms and ignored the spittle shooting from her mouth gave away the truth.

"You killed her. Why? Why did you do that?"

"I don't know. I just did, Rodney." She dropped her attention to her mother's body. Gratification seeped into her veins as she looked into those open eyes. No more mocking stares or demanding looks were going to come. She was finally free.

"At least now I can be myself," she said, scanning the body again. Even in death, her petite, fit frame was an open mockery. The ribbon, still wrapped tightly around her neck, was the only reprieve from Mikala's frustrations. "She can't tell me what to do anymore. I'll make my own decisions."

"She's your mom," Rodney said, his voice no more than a whisper.

Mikala's long black ponytail flowed through the air with the force of a whip. "You saw it! Don't you dare say that to me."

"She loved you," Rodney said, clearly trying to find his courage. "It was a stupid present. You didn't need to kill her."

"Don't give me that crap."

He stepped away from the wall, moving to the other side of the coffee table. Three mugs of hot chocolate rested on holiday themed cup holders with marshmallows still melting inside. "You could go to jail for this, Mikala."

It hit her like a train running over a coin. He was right. She dropped the gift on the floor as her hands shook, contemplating what to do. With eyes darting from side to side she took in her surroundings. A pristinely decorated home with perfect holiday cheer suddenly evaporated in her mind, only to be replaced with dreary concrete walls and bared doors. She couldn't go to jail. She just couldn't.

"What do I do?" she asked, showing her first sign of dread. A minor indication, but at least it was something. "I don't know what to do."

"Babe, I don't think there's anything you can do. This can't stay hidden. You have to turn yourself in."

The room suddenly molded into a shield of tears. So many things happening at once, and her emotions were out of whack. Her mother deserved this fate. There was no doubting that. The gift at her feet was irrefutable evidence, but fear about the consequences overcame her.

"Rodney, please help me," she whispered. "I don't want to go to jail."

It must've been the change in her demeanor, or a natural tendency to help, but the tears quickly turned into her reprieve. Rodney came to her side and looked at her with love. And that gave Mikala an idea.

She fell into his arms, burying her face into his chest with a wailing cry. "We can bury the body. No one will look for her for a while, and that'll give me time to leave. Maybe I can get to my dad's house in Germany."

"That would only postpone the inevitable," he said, pulling her back and looking into her eyes. He had always been such fun, but the only thing Mikala saw now was judgment, whether it was real or not.

"I know, Rodney." The fake sniffles did their job as he pulled her in for an embrace. It made her portrayal of sorrow easier to exaggerate. "I'm sorry. I just need some time. You're right. I can't run forever, but I can at least have some time. I'll turn myself in, I promise. Just help me bury her so I can figure this out."

"You really think that'll help?"

"Please. Can you help me with this one thing? I can't move her on my own."

"What if someone sees me?"

Patience had never been Makala's strong suit. The effort grew too intensive. It was fine at first, when the tears were real, when uncertainty overcame her, but if he wasn't going to listen then there was no point in keeping up the façade.

"That's enough," Makala shouted, slamming two open palms across Rodney's chest. "I'm not fat. She deserved to die. And you want to know what? I don't care. I'm not going to get caught."

"You really think that?"

"No one's going to catch me if I leave the country, you idiot."

A crease formed across his forehead as Rodney narrowed his eyes. "That's not what I meant. You really think you had a right to end someone's life because they bought you a scale? It's not like she was on your case for being overweight. She pushed healthy food on you like any other parent."

He was on her side! He thought she was fat, too. "It wasn't just a scale, and you know it," she said through gritted teeth.

"That's exactly what it was." He raised his voice without any effort or shame for her situation, like he didn't even care.

Adrenaline flooded over her as the room shrank into one narrow tunnel. It was her, a dead mother, and a boyfriend that deserved the same fate.

This time was different. It wasn't a reaction or an emotional outburst. Mikala had time to think, to really consider her options. It wasn't like anything mattered now. Honestly, the feeling of ending a life was a rush, not something to fear. Maybe this could be fun.

She stormed forward, crashing into Rodney before he could fully retreat. The contact wasn't enough to knock him off his feet, but it did give her the time she needed. She reached for the scale, clinching it with both hands, and swung it with all the force she could muster. The crack of Rodney's jaw was rewarding. It filled her with euphoria but didn't do the damage needed. With blood dripping from his head, Rodney grasped her by the shoulders with enough force to make her scream in pain. She swung again, hitting him with just enough of an impact to loosen his grasp, but this time she didn't stop. Blow after blow eventually painted her vision a deep, dark red.

It wasn't easy, but that was part of the joy. Each attempt to fill her lungs with air and slow her pulse was like a high that normal drugs couldn't match. She stood there with the scale in her hand as blood dripped to the floor with one thought in her mind, and one thought only. This is the kind of fun I want to have every holiday.

Follow us and our contributing authors for more dark fiction ♥