The Beginning

My fiancé died when I was twenty-one years old. It was a terribly tragic end to a great love story- especially considering the fact that I was the one who killed the cheating bastard.

Okay, that probably came out wrong but I swear, I’m not a bad person. Did killing him make me seem a tiny bit cruel? Mercilessly heartless, maybe? Well, I’m not honestly. Truth is that I’m just like any other normal, ordinary young woman trying to find her place in this sad and unfair world. Except for the fact that I’ve killed quite a few people in my lifetime. See, I told you, I’m not a bad person at all.

Alright, perhaps I’d start from where it all began; a few days ago at a birthday party I attended at Club 99, Queens with Zachary Kings, my currently dead and rotting-in-hell ex-fiancé.

…

The last time I went clubbing was when I was in the 12th Grade. Mindy Park, the most popular girl at school shutdown a downtown club to celebrate her 18th Birthday. At that club, I almost got raped by Mindy’s then boyfriend- Star quarterback of the football team, Brandon Gold. Since then, my mother had always ensured I carried a pocketknife whenever I go.

     I’m the type of girl who usually minds her business and doesn’t speak much thus, everyone at my college misunderstands that and thinks that I’m antisocial and depressed; reasons to why I have zero social standing there and I’m never invited to literally anything.

Although, I really hate parties, especially the ones held at clubs and the disdain got worse after what happened the last time I attended one. But I had to make an exception this time because unlike me, my late fiancé was very popular at our college, hence he was invited(as always), and then he begged me to tag along and be his date.

The party was totally insane!

Club 99 was closed and reserved for Richard Price’s strictly-by-invitation birthday party. A big cheesy disco ball was spewing out dancing dots of lights, splashing glitter all over the floors and walls. Nevertheless, only strategic places were illuminated by the flashing pink and blue lights, a greater perimeter was left in dimly-lit murkiness which was probably full of people doing things that were reserved for dark and dingy areas.

    In one corner, it seemed like Zara Beige was getting manhandled. I think that’s the only way to describe the clumsy movement of his hand under her shirt as he did something to her breasts that reminded me of a terrible summer I spent at my Aunt’s Dairy Farm in Texas milking cows. Oh well, Zara seemed to have been enjoying it.

At another corner, I saw Zachary and his friends at the bar laughing loudly and chatting over their glasses of whisky and vodka. I saw Collins pouring shots into Brian’s mouth. Brian, a lightweight who never learns his lesson each and every time he wakes up in a pool of his own puke. Someone is definitely going to be clinging to the rim of a toilet bowl soon.

My eyes dragged over to the final corner. I saw her. My so-called sister. She’s surrounded by all her blonde clones. Their iPhones were all out, off course. They’re squishing their faces together as they seductively pout their lips that had been heavily layered with pink lipstick. They’re probably taking their hundredth selfie that day, Snapped, Instagrammed, Tik-Toked and had the hell hashtagged out of it. Or whatever they do with their pictures. My sister took out some more glittery pink lipstick and records herself applying it. Ew.

It’s still hard for me to accept the fact that we’re identical twins. To me, the only thing identical about us were our looks, and I’m referring to the mere basics; our emerald-green eyes and pale, clear creamy skin that refused to get a shade darker despite the hours we spent at the beach.

Other than those, we were nothing identical. Unlike my sister, I had tattoos and a handful of piercings, I loved the color black and loved to dress up in dark colours. I owned a lot of platform boots of different lengths while she strutted around in her heels, pumps and wedges. I wear dark makeup with black emphasis on eyeliners, mascara, eyeshadows and I’m always on black lipstick and had even dyed my hair black to get rid of that genetic blondness that runs in my DNA.

I swear, I’m not depressed. One thing I hated more than the color pink was getting caught up in the stereotype that deems people who love the colour black as soul-empty, depressed sadists.

I’m actually one of the happiest girls you’d meet when you eventually get to know me. My best friend, Ria can testify to that.

Anyways, Zach usually said that my fashion sense is the most attractive trait about me, the first reason why he “fell in love” with me, he said. He also said goth girls are the freakiest and I couldn’t agree more.

    I usually thought I’d be the last girl on the planet that Zachary Kings would go out with. If anyone had told me he would go for a girl like me, I would call them a liar. He usually went for girls like my sister. Not me. But after he proposed to me a year ago on my twentieth birthday, I actually had to rethink my self-conceived notion.

He was my first love.

I loved him.

I was so, so, so ‘head-over-heels' madly in love with him.

Zachary Kings, I loved him so dearly.

But he’s dead now. My feelings don’t matter. And apparently, they never did to him. So I might as well go on with the tale of how I killed him.

    I was already bored of the party, and it wasn’t even up to an hour I had arrived. The party activities and games going on didn’t amuse me to even the lowest minimum.

Parties were just so not my thing. And seeing girls like my sister flocking around in mass disgusted me. So, I just sat at my own corner, minding my business as usual, judging and watching everyone do their thing while I kept myself busy; taking drags off my cigarette sticks and downing my shots of tequila.

It was then they decided to play one of their clichè party games- Spin The Bottle. Off course I wasn’t invited to play the game, and I couldn’t even be slightly bothered into wanting to join in the game.

Zachary was a participant, as well as his best friend Collins, my sister and her lot of blonde minions. As usual, 90% of the participants were drunk and there wasn’t going to be anything new; All the dares were definitely going to be tasks attempted to satisfy the sexual urges of players for the visual excitement of other participating players. Nothing new.

Cara Nieman was dared to pole dance. Patricia Coleman was dared to give Andrew Sanders a lap dance to Rihanna’s Work. Kate Olives was dared to tongue kiss a girl of her choice and she picked Zara Beige, the cow. Brie Davidson was dared to strip off five things from her body, for someone who wore nothing but a black flimsy see-through mini dress, you can probably guess how that went down. My sister, Summer was dared to imitate having sex with a boy of her choice and she chose Collins. Zachary rejected all of his dares with the label that “he had a fiancé” hence, he drank a shot of whiskey instead. A sweet gentleman he was, and he remained so until his end.

At a point, I had lost interest in watching the game and had sought solace in the comfort of my phone as I scrolled through A****n searching for the next black goth dress to purchase. It was probably at that moment, they took advantage of my distracted moment and left. It was also probably at that moment a participant had dared Lucas Goodman to come over to me and pour my shot of tequila on my dress. And he did.

A good thing- I must commend, that they had actually switched up from the sexual-oriented dares, a bad thing for Lucas because he messed with the wrong person.

The participants burst into laughter at the sight of my mortified and bewildered face the moment the liquid came in contact with my dress. I bought that dress for almost a thousand bucks.

Lucas also found his act amusing as he erupted a guffaw that was untimely ended with the violent meeting of my hand with his face in a resounding slap. He became quiet, as well as the other participants.

Well, that spelt the end of the god-damned party for me. All I needed was to go to the bathroom, wash off the stain and tell Zachary that I’ll have to leave early. But for some reason, Zachary was no longer at the game circle.

Strange.

I decided to go wash off the stain nevertheless before it dries and then go on to look for Zach. I walked to the bathroom and settled at the water faucet to attend to the stain.

That was when it befell me- a strong premonition.

A hard chill ran down my spine; my body felt the same way it would feel if a bucket load of ice cubes were roughly showered on me. Something felt terribly wrong

    That was when I heard it. Zach’s voice.

Huh?

I heard it.

Zachary’s voice. In the Female Bathroom.

Not only that.

I heard another voice. Oddly familiar.

Two voices. How come?

Zach was definitely there. But who was the other one? A very familiar voice. My curiosity thickened and heightened to the peak. I needed to know. I tiptoed gently towards the direction of stall where the voices stemmed for. With every step I took, it became clearer and clearer and clearer and so overly clear that my heart skipped a beat when I finally realized who it was.

The muffled voices were coming from the last stall. I opened the door and I can’t really say now, if I was able to figure out what those sounds were and meant before or after I opened the stall door, but I was certainly dumbfound and bewildered when I met with the heartbreaking, surprising scene, Shit!

Reality dawned on me the moment I kicked open the door and saw my Zachary, pants down, moaning and grunting as he banged the shit out of my sister’s ass. What the actual freaking fuck?