Chapter 4 - losing control

“What’s the matter with you tonight?” Thomas’ cousin, Marcus, grumbled, as the Witch-hunter started complaining again. They had all gone out for dinner, celebrating the end of the semester, but Thomas had become more and more difficult and snappy; like a teenager with hormones on overdrive. He had been angry and irritable for the last few days. “I don’t even understand what’s the matter with you!” chubby Marcus grumbled. “It’s like I hardly know you anymore! Are you taking something?” he asked, looking at his cousin’s bulging pecs. “You’re clearly working too hard in the gym!”

“Why?” Thomas snapped. “Because I’m not some flabby, ***, like you?" he roared. "Have you even looked at yourself in a mirror lately?”

“Thomas!” Xanthe hushed him, embarrassed at how loud the witch-hunter was getting. No matter what was going on, Marcus didn’t deserve to be spoken to like that. Having lost his father young as well, Thomas' cousin seemed just as oblivious to the witch-hunter gene as the rest of them. Now, on top of his ever increasing obesity, he was losing his best friend to the hunter’s curse.

It was Xanthe’s own fault, she reasoned, listening to this arguing. She had kept putting things off; failing to act; constantly wondering about how best to handle the situation. In that time, Thomas was slipping further and further away from her. Now bull-like with his massive, muscular appearance, his fiery temper was too much for many to contend with. He’d been kicked out of the gym for several fights he’d had with some of the guys there, and now he was even starting on his cousin; the best friend he had in the whole world. But, she thought, swallowing hard at the prospect, could she really KILL Thomas?

“And you can shut up as well!” Thomas bellowed at Xanthe; his massive chest rising and falling in huge gasps of increasing anger. “You always take Marcus’ side!” He stared hard at her, seeming to search deep into his girlfriend’s soul. His fist clenched around his knife, gripping it with a strength that made his knuckles turn white. “You…” he mumbled; a snarl curling his upper lip. “You’re a… You’re a w-“

Alarmed, Xanthe deliberately knocked over her water, taking Thomas out of whatever trance-like state he had been in and throwing the man’s building thought-process out of his head. Xanthe had left it too long. Thomas was already turning. She needed to act fast; very fast!

Xanthe turned to look at chubby Marcus, busily cleaning up the mess. The young man looked as if he had gained at least another twenty pounds in the last month; his new, flabby gut hanging out of his shirt as he wiped his napkin across the wet table. That was when the idea came into her head, fully-formed and ready to go.

Maybe she didn’t have to kill Thomas after all…