It was deserved.

Just a little story about heart break and murder. You know, the usual.

When people talk about their friends. They compliment them, give them a shining review and attempt to make themselves a meeting point. That's what I did. Him and her. The one person I could never live without, and the one person who I had never truly lived without. So many people think the best friend and the boy friend should always get along. But where does the line exist? Is it when she smiles at him a little too long, holds his arm when he stops her from falling a little too tight? Or is it when she presses her lips against his soft lips, tasting like alcohol and the remnants of someone else's lipgloss?

Because that's where I drew the line. A very firm, blood red line, up the stairs and through the hall to the bathroom. Do you know how hard it was to drag that body? The fake brunette hair was falling out and I had to grab her hands to pull her. Isn't it funny how those same hands were just running down his body and taking his shirt off? And isn't it even funnier that I used that shirt to clean up her filth?

I pulled her off him, just before she finished undoing his pants. She wasn't naked yet. I made sure she was, after all, it was my dress and I couldn't get blood on it. I started by bashing her head into the door. It's not like she had brain cells to kill because if she had a brain, she would never have betrayed me like that. And it was a betrayal, a betrayal of the worst kind, because I loved him with every fibre of my being and she knew. She knew what he meant to me, and she took him. She took him away from me.

It was easy for her I guess. Make me hate myself for being with him, tainting him with my very touch, but she was no better. Every glance was full of her poison, every smile slowly taking possession of a heart that was mine. Was mine. He was mine once. That beautiful soul and body, the heart that felt no shame and bore no anger. A purity that I could never attain except through loving him. She couldn't either, I guess that's why she did it. But she had no right.

I can still see it all happen in my dreams and I live through it, savouring each blow and stab, every slash of the knife and the sounds of smashing. I thrive on it, a hunger that I only had to saite once to be full forever. Do you know that hunger? That deep need to let someone know in so primal a way to back off? Because you can fix it. It's so easy, it just takes a small amount of payback. You can finish it earlier, slit their throat and be done with it, but that's too good for her. She needed to know how it felt, to have something slip slowly of her hands.

I was going to make it quick, she was a good friend once. But I killed him first and she said she didn't care. She took him, and I thought she cared about him. I could live with just killing her but oh god, he died. I killed him, with the knife that was meant for her. I thought a knife to the back would suffice. An elegant death that would serve to show the world what she did. I slipped, or she moved, or he did and I got him. Clean through the heart. Fitting I guess, seeing as how he died as quickly as my heart turned to ice when I first saw them.

I ruined him and I could accept that, it was my own fault. Killing him wasn't something I wanted to do, I thought that I was going to lose it after I did. But there was some justice to be done and I couldn't let this opportunity go to waste. I took her into that bathroom and made her experience everything I did when she took what was mine.

A muscle numbing drug, so that she couldn't move like I couldn't when I saw her lips on his, a sick twisted statue of shock, but still feel the what was coming next. A few short sharp jabs to her stomach, the knives that twisted in my gut at her betrayal. Anything I could make her feel I did, I taught her a good lesson and it's such a shame I wasted it, but I had to know no one else would go through what she put me through. I'm the victim here, she made me do it. That smug little smile when I saw her in the hallway was begging me to do it. I can still hear the smash of a glass panel against her face, a terrifying mosaic of glass and skin. It was an improvement, trust me. Breaking her ribs and showing her how it feels having your whole chest constrict with a fury that could rival any storm. And then the final act, the worst feeling imaginable, having your heart slowly pulled out of your chest as the emotions slowly overwhelm you and the sight before your eyes slowly sinks in.

So sure, you could say I'm guilty. My knives and glass killed her at last, but being called a murderer will never hurt me

Author's Note

Please be kind, it's my first story. I've probably stuffed up the language and my word use can be iffy. First paragraph is especially bad.

Reviews

[Winterspell]

OH MAHH HOLY... WOW. SERIOUSLY WOW. I don't know why you're worried about the language I found only three minor errors, if that. Seriously this is amazing!!!! 90/100!!!!

[Symphonic_Sunflowers]

Sarah this is really f*****g good!!!! Proud of you Swara! Keep tippy tapping at that keyboard!