Blood is all over the place. Sweat is all over my face. Blood and sweat and sirens. Police sirens. Echoing inside my ears. I want to throw up. And I do. My vomit slops over her dead body and merges with her blood. I try to think what to do next. But I can’t. The last twenty five minutes whirl through my head with incredible vehemence and I can’t help but throw up again.
It was supposed to be a splendid night. A night full of fun. I didn’t know what was going to happen when I dialled one of the phone numbers I saw in the “naughty” section of this week’s newspaper. If I had known, I would have never asked the girl to come to my place.
Twenty minutes after my phone call, she came. As soon as I heard the bell of my apartment ringing, I immediately left my half-empty bottle of whiskey at the kitchen’s table and ran to open the door. I didn’t notice it, but my pupils dilated at the sight of her beautiful, cute face and they dilated again when I laid eyes at her even more attractive body. I invited her in, willing to pour her some of my whiskey first. She said she didn’t have time, there were a lot of other clients -despite the fact that I didn’t want to think of myself as a “client”, that’s exactly what I was and I knew it- waiting for her to please them. I didn’t have a problem with skipping the drink -I had already drunk a lot- and so I got into bed, taking her with me. I didn’t notice the knife until it was too late. But I was stronger and managed to kill her first.