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A Short Story : A Story?

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“I can’t stop”

The lights flickered,and then they went off.The sirens started,she was coming,I knew it wouldn’t be the last time.The beaten body in front of me was screaming,but it was blurred out,like my ears had popped.The petite blonde was wailing in the bathroom,fighting for her last breaths,floor covered in red,the liquid covering my hands.
There she was,a cold chill went through my already freezing body…”Just do it Bradley,make your mother proud”.My mother stood behind me,I could feel her hand on my shoulder,icy but comforting..I knew I had to listen to her demands.My night ended with a razor blade in my victim's windpipe,and my mother nowhere to be found.

“Hello Bradley,how are you today?”,I didn’t know what to say,these therapist rooms always freaked me out,so I answered with an,“I’m okay”
.My father had been sending me to these places since I was 25.Why?I didn’t know,but every Wednesday and Friday there was a black chauffeur car outside my house,the sound of a car door opening and closing,heavy footsteps up the walk,then a light knock on my door.My father would stand in front of me,nut colored dress shoes and all,and lead me to the ebony automobile.I didn’t argue,I just went.
This fiery redheaded lady was always asking me questions, her thin painted red lips would never stop moving,and half the time I wasn’t even listening.”How was your day?”
,or “What’d you do today?” , and always she asked,”Have you seen your mother recently?” I would respond , “Oh,yes,I took
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