Valentine’s Day came and went, and I ended up raped and murdered on the streets of the big metropolis. I am now at peace in a place where the Wi-Fi is free and unlimited. I also got to choose #pearlygates
In my human life, I was very unlucky in love. I met men on every extreme of the dating spectrum – the young, the old, the rich, the poor, the beautiful, the ugly, the white, the black, the short, the tall, the ambitious, the scroungers, the small dick, the huge dick – the whole fucking twelve yards. And everything in between.
But one man remained my Achilles heel and ultimately my murderer.
But first there was Oliver…
I received a V-Day card from Oliver, a guy I’d been on a few dates with. Then a bouquet of red roses and a box of expensive Belgian chocolates arrived on my desk as soon as I sat down. I rolled my eyes because though Oliver was perfect in every way – young like me, attractive, successful, never married, no illegitimate kids – I felt nothing for him. He was nauseatingly good. I only went out with him because my friends made me. For him, it was love at first sight. For me… nothing.
He was the kind of guy who wouldn’t look at other women when he was with you.. argh.. the worst; the kind of guy whose love for you bordered on stalker; the kind of guy who would never cheat on you.. argh.. the worst. The suffocating kind of love that would make you cringe. This was particularly bad because it was not mutual and like the bitch I was, I didn’t have enough courage to tell him how I felt. I let him spoil me while I did the dirty on him with losers with severe attachment issues.
You see, I had a weakness. I was always attracted to losers, it was like I had a beacon on my forehead that flashed like ambulance lights and losers were attracted to this light like moths to a flame. The kind of men I found sexually attractive were the kind that wanted to have sex with me more than they wanted to marry me. The kind that side-eyed other women as we romanced. The kind that asked for threesomes as birthday presents. The extreme opposite of Oliver. The oppressive kind of lover that made me want to end my life, or his.
My caring friends always told me I needed to be the decision-maker in all my relationships, that I needed to have a lot of self-love, self-care, kindness and compassion for myself but I guess I had selective amnesia with such matters because I always chose the losers over me.
On that fateful V-day, at around midday, I got a text from an ex, the mother-loser of all creation, and my heart skipped a beat. You know how they say everyone got ‘the-one-that-got-away’, well this ex was that person for me, or so I thought. He had a body like Thor, and sex with him was like the second coming. In his text, he wanted to know if I had plans for the evening. I replied immediately, “no…. you?” He replied immediately, “fancy a night out on the town with me? no strings attached…” “Of course,” I replied. I knew what he meant and wanted – 1) there’d be sex after the outing, 2) I shouldn’t expect anything else from him. And so, like the loser-magnet I was, I said yes.
A few minutes after I agreed to meet Thor, Oliver asked to take me out to dinner. I, unapologetically, told him I had plans. I could tell from his disappointed tone that he was very unhappy. As far as he was concerned, we were dating, and it should go without saying that on V-Day we should be together.
Now that I’m dead, I know he was the one for me. He’s mourning my death more than anyone. And he will mourn for a long time. Thor deleted my texts because he was the last person to see me alive and the police would soon knock on his door.
Thor and I went to dinner in a restaurant where an 8oz steak cost £125. We looked like a power couple. Dressed to the nines and walking like we owned the planet. Anyone looking in would be forgiven for thinking we were in love. We behaved like we were.
Afterwards, we were chauffeur-driven to a little pub in some village. Then back to the city and into a club. I was beginning to think, (hope), he wanted more. By the time the club was filling up, we were all over each other. I introduced him to strangers as my husband. However, most women wanted him (because he wanted them), and I saw one pass him a business card. Of course, since Thor thought he was god’s gift to women, he took it. We gyrated like dogs on heat – it was disgusting.
In this club, there were all sorts of people – a lady in pyjamas, another dressed like Theresa May, another like a hooker and me in a tight red dress that clung to me like a second skin. And a lot of men – knowing what I know now, this was my chance to escape. If only I knew.
How I died
At around 4 am we were well watered in every sense of the word. He ordered a cab. I felt like the biggest loser as I climbed in the back with him. I kept repeating this mantra in my head, “it’s only sex and I don’t love him, I don’t want to love him, I can’t love him.”
He said we couldn’t go back to his house. When I asked why he said ‘it was complicated’. For most normal brained people, that translates to trouble and/or multiple relationships. He suggested we go to my house. I said no and had no reason for it. I just knew I didn’t want to be disrespected in my own bed.
I suggested we go to a hotel. He suggested I pay for it since he’d paid for dinner and the club and the drinks and the fucking chauffeur he’d hired for the restaurant. That was the deal-breaker for me. There was no way in hell, heaven, earth or Jupiter I was going to pay a hotel room for a man to have sex with me. Never. Nada. I’d sooner pay for a hooker. I was not that desperate.
We were at a stalemate and the cab driver was getting agitated. Then Thor gave an address I didn’t recognise. I assumed it was a friend’s house. Halfway through he stopped the cab and asked again if I would pay for a hotel room. When I, nonchalantly, said no he kicked me out of the cab – forcibly I might add.
There I was in the middle of nowhere, literally, no one and nothing in sight. I had a very short dress, very high heels and a miniature coat. It was winter. I started freezing straight away and had to walk in the direction they went. I couldn’t believe he’d dropped me off and just took off. I half expected him or the driver to think of me as their daughter, mother, sister, auntie, niece, cousin, friend and come back – they didn’t. My phone had died too.
And then something heavy fell on my head. Then something hard pressed on my crotch. And everything went black. I know who did this – whatever pressed my crotch was familiar. So, to my rapist and murderer, just so you know, you can’t Hail Mary your way out of this.
Moral: Make good choices because external appearances are not good indicators of what lies beneath.
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