I hadn't been able to rest since I'd brought Marshall to my home. Even if the confusion and frustration didn't keep me from sleeping, there would've been no way I could've relaxed enough to do so through his screams and cries of pain—or the pain itself.

The second day brought with it more agony. I couldn't believe how it intensified the way it did. I wasn't entirely convinced that what I felt was his pain, but the convulsions and pleas made me all the more willing to believe the unbelievable.

"Please, just kill me!" he'd said around dawn, repeating the phrase every twenty minutes or so.

"I can't . . . I can't do that. It was never my intention to kill you. That's not why I brought you here. So, I won't do it now." My response always denied his death wish, but I wasn't quite sure why.

If Marshall was truly feeling what I'd grown positive he was, killing him would have been merciful, but I couldn't bring myself to think about doing that. It sickened me to even consider it. I felt like, if I killed him, I'd be killing a part of myself. Any other person, even him before I ripped into his throat, my instincts told me to kill. To drain them completely, but I'd always overcome that urge. I'd always maintained control.

Before noon had come around, I'd given him another sleeping-pill-infused glass of water. I wasn't able to take the begging and pleading to end his life anymore. It was torture enough to know, somehow, I'd caused what was happening—his agony and pain. The sleeping pills did their intended job. Though their reaction time was slower than the previous day, and almost an hour passed before he'd fallen asleep. The entire time he was unconscious, loud groans left his lips, and he continued to convulse constantly.

As I watched his writhing, naked body, I also saw how the darkening of his veins slowly progressed. By the end of the second day, the dark veins were visible on his entire face, down his neck, and reached all the way to his torso on his left side. They went down the length of his left arm. Some had even made it across to his right shoulder. Taking in the spreading of this sludge, I was befuddled at what it could possibly be, but my mind came up with words such as toxin, poison, and disease.

I tried but wasn't able to sleep with all the worry and guilt running around my head. While he slept, I cleaned up and did small chores to keep my mind off the things I couldn't understand. I began with a shower as I hadn't taken the chance to clean myself up since everything happened. The hot water helped with some of the tension my body had held. When I'd finished with that, I cleaned the bathroom, realizing that the process helped me to pass the time. I moved from room to room cleaning—sweeping, mopping, and scrubbing every surface—all except the room he occupied.