When I opened my eyes there was darkness, an impenetrable void of black, like I had fallen in a dark abyss. I was disoriented, confused. I tried to move. My arms and feet were confined. I couldn't raise my head. My breasts were pressed, squished under a barrier. I was trapped in some sort of box. It was a tight, wooden box from what I could gather. Dust fell through my lashes into my eye, tearing, adding to madness. I tried to move my arms but I could barely stretch my fingers to feel around. What was going on? Where was I? I have to hold off the panic and think. What was the last thing I remembered?
Roger! I remembered his twisted face as he approached. His humorless jowls cracked open, sneering at me like an animal. His eyes were red, infected, tearing, and he came for me. Yes, now I remember, Roger came for me. He reached out with his awful hands and grabbed me. He ripped my strap. I screamed. I asked him what he was doing, what was the meaning of this? He snarled and pulled me out of the building. My heel snapped. He hit me, over and over again. The pain was coming back to me. I remember crying and then... black. He must have knocked me out and put me in this box. He did this to me! Am I buried? Oh god I'm buried alive! But why would he do that? What would make him do that to me?
Miranda! That little bitch! I remember now, I saw her talking to Roger. They looked across the office at me. They stared at me. Whispered secrets about me, held it to themselves, some sick little plot. I knew they were up to something the way they looked over at me, disgusted eyes, hate filled, judging me for some unknown sins. I felt uneasy from their leers. She caused this. This was her doing. But what could Miranda have possibly said to Roger? What did she know?
Jen! It had to be her. Jen that traitorous bitch, she was supposed to me friend, my confidant, not Miranda's. Jen was my best friend. Miranda was some dumb skank. It must have been that night at the club. Jen and I had too many drinks. I was drunk. We were talking and laughing. I talked too much. I acted the fool. Jen took advantage of me. She got me drunk and lied to me. She said I was her friend when that was the furthest thing from the truth. She used me and ensnared me in this violent trap. It was her fault. This was her doing. Oh god what had I said? What had I done?
The hug! I had told her about consoling Roger. I told her how I kissed him after the funeral. The confusion we both felt, the spark, the rekindling of an old flame. I told her everything. I told her I still loved Roger, that I wanted him back, that I needed him, couldn't live without him. That's it. That's what she told Miranda. That's the reason. They were jealous. That was my downfall. It was my kindness and sympathy that got me into this situation. But what would make Roger so angry? What would make him want to put me in this box?
The murder! That had to be it. Big mouth Jen must have told Miranda about the murder. I knew that cunt couldn't keep her mouth shut. Then blabbermouth Miranda, the office whore, had to run into the arms of Roger. I knew she wanted him. She couldn't keep her filthy little whore hands off my man. She told about the murder. That made Roger angry. He was enraged, not thinking clearly. He couldn't see my ultimate plan, our ultimate plan. They had ruined it. Everything was ruined! This is everyone's fault! And now I'm trapped in a box, slowly suffocating to death.
I feel a scream well up in my throat. I am plagued with panic, an intense wretchedness consuming my whole being. I'm manic, scared and alone, abandoned. I'm stuck, trapped. I can't even reach to take my heels off. It's so dark, so bloody dark. And I'm hurting. My face is in pain, my body aches. I must control my breathing before I hyperventilate. I must save my breaths. I must hold on to life. I must wait this out, until Roger gets his wits about him. Until he sees the folly of his ways and realizes his true destiny with me. I am his woman. I am his life. I love him more than anyone in this world. Who else would do what I did for him. Who else would do the ultimate deed for their man? Who else would kill for him? Who else would rid him of his disease-infected slut of a wife?
Frantically I clawed with useless arms as the air used up and I suffocated, frightened and alone.
THE END
