December 2015
They can’t change their minds. They must believe all is well inside my head, so I will be more careful this time.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Flora asks me, as I approach. But I know she doesn’t care – not really – and I want to scream that I’m not OK, that I’m scared of what I’m capable of. That I’m going to kill again. That I’m going to kill her. ‘You know I didn’t want this to happen,’ she goes on. ‘You can’t choose who you fall in love with. I hope we can be friends.’
‘I’m fine,’ I say, as I follow her up the stairs. It’s dimly lit, and always smells musty. It’s cold too. Nobody comes here – that’s why it was our meeting place for so long.
The stairs are steep. ‘One, two, three, four …’ I count under my breath as I follow her up, up, up. Her perfume’s strong – she’s meeting him.
She turns, as she reaches the top.
‘Wait for me,’ I call after her. ‘I need to talk to you.’
She balances on the edge of the top step in her heels. She looks nice – her hair curled.
‘Thanks for waiting,’ I say, now at her side, but I see the apprehension in her eyes as I push a tendril of her hair from her face. I so want to kiss her, but I know she doesn’t want me to. Not any more.
Before she can open her mouth to speak – to tell me not to touch her – I push.
She tumbles, smacking her head against the wall, her legs bending out of shape, as though made of twigs.
The fall breaks her neck. I know because I see a bone poking through her flesh – and the blood, there’s so much blood.
Her eyes, wide open and lifeless, stare up at me, as though asking me why. Surely she knows the answer.
‘It’s because you deserved to die, Flora,’ I say, throwing the key down on top of her, before racing away – I can’t let anyone catch me here.