— Catharsis. “And I think that my life is like this, a morbid longing for the picturesque, whatever the cost.” This excerpt from The Secret History has been stuck in your head ever since you read it.

Your life was, in fact, a monotonous routine. Without going to college or taking any courses, working in a bookstore was the only thing you did. The choice about college (or rather, the lack of it) was a reflection of a not-so-good relationship with your parents, you loved your brother and vice versa, but the idea of being supported by someone after years of fighting to get rid of it was, if not humiliating, hypocrisy.

Like Richard Papen….

So, if that's not a justification for what you did, at least a heads up, something to talk about. Your reality didn't cross paths with Jameson by chance, that's what you try to believe. One cold night, at the end of shift, he walked through the door ringing that annoying bell. It wasn't the secret history (it can't be that cliché) and honestly, you don't even remember which book it was. You were exhausted and you just wanted to leave and sink down your rabbit hole.

You didn't really pay much attention to him (although, from the outset, he was already exuding an eccentricity). You had to find a dead body on the way home for you two to meet, literally.

After a long interview, he offered to drop you off at your house. The drive was relatively uneventful, but what really scared you was what he said when the car pulled up in front of your house. It would be understandable if he knew things about you, after all, he was a detective. But what he said, with that macabre smile, definitely no one and no detective would know. Your reaction was predictable: slamming the car door and running into the house.

A morbid desire for the picturesque at all costs.... Jameson has arranged to go after you, only this time he's saying insinuating things about your life—not your secrets, but hints about things. Just by following his advice, you lost the only 'friends' you had. He would talk and leave, like a fucking Cheshire cat, and when he didn't, he would convince you to go out with him.

And you accepted it. Because having Jameson and all his eccentricity in your life made it less morbid and monotonous. It was by following this path that you lost your virginity, with him.

But Jameson wasn't one to stay confined. He disappeared and reappeared as he pleased…

Miraculously, you can leave work a little early. Your day was shit and you just took a shower and threw yourself on the bed, falling asleep right after.

What woke you wasn't your cat meowing, but fingers running across your face. You opened your eyes and found James in your bed, yes, your fucking bed. Based on his attire, he had just gotten off a shift at the police station.

“A morbid craving for the picturesque, no matter the cost.” His voice sounded syrupy, as usual. “Does this sound familiar?” Something told you he was drunk, even though that was something he would totally say sober.