StompI cut the tongue out of her mouth because I was tired of hearing her scream. Okay, if I’m being totally honest with myself, I think it was her lack of dignity that I found annoying. If someone attacked me I would never give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry or even panic for that matter, but I guess some people just have no pride.

She started freaking out when she saw the feet, that’s what set her off. Christina’s feet were in a plastic bag on my desk and I could have sworn that I had tied the bag up but, clearly I hadn’t because both feet were quite visible. In hindsight I can see how one might find that disturbing but, you know it still didn’t warrant all of her histrionics. Anyway, she’s dead now so I finally have the peace and quiet I need to think about what to do next.

Christina, minus her feet, is tied up in her bedroom and to be honest I have no idea what to do with her. See, the problem with acting out of pure rage is that you don’t think things through. You react without planning which of course creates more problems in the long run. In my defence however, the combination of hormones and putting up with that incessant stomping for nearly a year pushed me over the edge.

Even now, I don’t understand it. How does someone not hear themselves stomping around like that? Surely they can feel the vibrations? Surely they can see the pictures shaking on the walls? I just don’t get it! And it’s not as if she’s fat either. If she were fat I could kind of understand, I’d say “Well she’s fat and fat people are heavy hence the stomping” but she’s not fat, she’s slim, She weigh’s hardly anything – less now that she has no feet…

Every morning when she gets ready for work, she stomps around the flat waking me up in the process, and I’m quite a heavy sleeper. When she comes in from work: stomp stomp stomp; when she leaves for the gym: stomp, stomp stomp; when she goes to the bathroom; stomp, stomp stomp. Perhaps if it were just the stomping it wouldn’t have been so bad but everything about her is noisy. To this day I haven’t figured out how she is able to slam un-slammable kitchen cupboards. It’s a mystery. They were chosen specifically for the fact that they don’t slam but they’re no match for her brute strength I suppose.

See, with Kenneth I had a plan. His childish, passive-aggressive behaviour and crazy house rules were the stuff of nightmares but I handled my business like a woman and dealt with him in a mature and organised manner, and it’s because I handled it so well that, to this day no-one has been able to find his body.   It’s like that saying: “Failure to plan means planning to fail” or something like that.

Looking around, I think I’ve definitely failed here tonight. Poor Victoria is slumped in a heap in the passage in a pool of her own blood with her tongue a few centimetres away from her face; Christina’s feet are in a bag on my desk and the rest of her is handcuffed to her bed with her mouth all taped up. There’s blood everywhere, which sucks because I mopped up yesterday -Oh, I’ve just had a thought. One of the things I really resented about Kenneth was the fact that all the floors in the flat – except the bedroom floors – are titled. I feel it gives the flat both a physical and metaphorical coldness, but after everything that’s happened here tonight, boy am I glad to see those tiles! Removing a bloodstained carpet on top of everything else? No.

Today I am menstruating which, isn’t news I know, but it goes some way to explaining what happened here tonight. See, when I menstruate I don’t have those pissy little cramps that inconvenience my day; I have gut-wrenching, tissue-tearing, womb-ripping, soul crushing, heart-breaking cramps. The pain is so bad that my soul actually leaves my body rendering me nothing more than a shell for a day or two. I laugh in the face of tampons knowing that the way blood gushes out of me, I’d need a tampon change every three minutes. Fuck tampons and fuck those ultra-thin tissues they call sanitary towels. I use those big, brick-shaped towels that are so thick it’s almost impossible to close my legs – and even they can’t hold it. I cannot begin to tell you how many good sheets, nice pairs of trousers and good pairs of knickers have been ruined. When my period is really bad, you can add diarrhea to the mix too because God clearly hates women.

Needless to say, I am not myself when I’m menstruating. I’m in pain, I’m sad but most of all, I’m furious. I’m furious because I’m in pain; I’m furious because I’m I feel weak thanks to the massive blood loss and I’m furious because I know that in four weeks’ time I’m going to have to go through this shit all over again. The best thing for me to do when I’m like this is to take a handful of painkillers and sleep. My theory is that when you’re asleep you’re totally relaxed meaning that there are no muscle contractions and therefore no cramps. This afternoon I took the painkillers and went to sleep. Then…

Stomp stomp stomp.

As soon as my eyes opened the pain came flooding back and I totally lost it. I don’t know where I found the energy but somehow I managed to get out of bed, go in to the kitchen, find that big old knife that no-one really uses and make my way to Christina’s room. I punched her in the face to disable her and, when she fell to the ground I climbed on top of her and started slamming her head against the base of her bookshelf until she blacked out. I grabbed her by her hair and flung her on to the bed then I went in to her underwear draw to retrieve the handcuffs. Somehow I knew she’d have some, she’s kind of a whore. Anyway, she has one of those cast iron beds so it was pretty easy to handcuff both her hands above her head then to the bed. Kenneth had “Left” so suddenly a few months before that he’d left his toolbox behind. Knowing that there was bound to be some kind of tape in there – either duct or insulation – I ran to his room to retrieve it. I found Duct tape, ran back to Christina’s room and taped her mouth shut.

Then I got to the root of the problem.

It took bloody ages to cut through the bones and halfway through I had to go back in to the kitchen to locate the electric knife in order to finish the job. You know, the type people use to carve the turkey at Christmas? Anyway, as I was cutting, Christina kept waking up, freaking out then passing out again. This happened about three or four times, it was getting on my damn nerves. By the time I was done I was exhausted and sweaty but I’ll tell you something, I didn’t feel a tinge of pain throughout the whole ordeal. It was like I was so focussed on the task at hand that I didn’t feel a thing. I was really happy about that.

I took the feet to my room and put them in the plastic bag that was on my desk. Just as I’d finished doing that, Victoria – who by the way, was supposed to be out of town for the week – shows up. I think she saw the trail of blood from Christina’s room to mine. Knowing she would come in to my room to see what was going on, I stood behind the door holding the cast iron door stop/ornament my mother had bought me from Peru. Victoria poked her through the door and I knocked her out.

Safe in the knowledge that between the handcuffs and lack of feet, Christina wouldn’t be going anywhere, I turned my attention to Victoria and used one of my scarves to tie her up. I then ran back in to the kitchen to get some gloves and things I would need to clean up the mess in Christina’s room. Suddenly I heard a scream. It was Victoria, she had come to and seen the feet, so I made my way back to my room but saw that she had kind of crawled out in to the passage. I tried to calm her down but she wouldn’t shut up so hit her but that just made it worse. She was screaming and screaming so I ran in to Christina’s room, grabbed a knife and, I swear, I was only going to threaten Victoria with it but she wouldn’t stop screaming and I wasn’t trying to draw attention to the situation, so I cut out her tongue. She was making this kind of gargling noise and, you know it occurred to me that I was going to have to finish her off because she was a witness. See, if I had planned instead of reacted, I could have ensured that there would be no witnesses but, we all make mistakes I guess. Anyway, I went back in to my room, retrieved the door stop/ornament I had hit her with initially and just kept hitting her in the head with it until I was sure she was dead.

I’m absolutely knackered and to be honest I can’t be arsed to deal with all of this right now. D’you know what? After I’ve finished off Christina I think I’m going to go back to bed and have a nap for an hour or two. I just feel so drained and the pain is coming back again. I’m no good to anyone like this. Oh, I must remember to book an appointment with my doctor tomorrow and see if she can prescribe some stronger painkillers or something. I can’t carry on like this, I’m running out of paces to hide the bodies.

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