Alive

Chapter 11: Don't Make Assumptions

The blood smeared on my floor was taunting me.

"Look at what you did. You're not in control. You're pathetic."

I slammed my fist into the wall, that was a mistake, my knuckles screamed in protest as they made contact with the plasterboard. Ouch. How much had I hit her? They were cut open and already bruised, I winced as I touched them. I had read somewhere that psychopaths couldn't feel physical pain... That was bullshit.

I fumbled around in the cupboard beneath my kitchen sink and finally found a bottle of bleach that had been pushed right to the back. I pulled out a bucket and put it in the sink, turning the tap on and squirting some of the bleach into it. When it was full I put on some rubber gloves and carried it over to where Charlie's body had been lying and I began to scrub the floor with the abrasive side of a sponge.

I made sure I didn't miss anything, even the tiniest drop of blood could be as incriminating as an outright confession. I filled the bucket a second time and scrubbed at the floor again even though I couldn't see anything there. It seemed spotless, but I had to make sure I got everything.

It was exhausting, having to think on the spot what needed to be done. Whenever I killed someone I made a mental checklist beforehand and after I killed them I ticked them off one by one. But now, I was panicking in case I missed something.

There was an old floor rug in the cubbyhole in my spare room, I grabbed a can of air freshener and headed to find it. I had forgotten how much junk I'd crammed into the space. I could just about see the top of the rolled up rug behind stacks of books and clothes I'd grown out of and a vacuum cleaner precariously balanced on top of the pile.

I began to take everything out placing it down on the floor beside me until I could get to the rug. Groaning, I pulled it out of the cubbyhole, it was a lot heavier than I'd thought it would be and my arms where already aching from hauling Charlie's dead body around and scrubbing at the floor.

After putting everything back into the cubbyhole and slamming the door so that it wouldn't all fall out, I sprayed the rug with the air freshener and took them both out into the hall. Hopefully now that I'd sprayed it, the thick material would mask the smell of bleach lingering in my apartment.

I was about to drop it down in the hallway when I saw something. Droplets of blood in front of my door. What? I'd just cleaned the whole area twice and there was nothing I'd missed. I looked closer and there was water streaked along the laminate too. What the fu- no. NO.

I dropped the rug and the air freshener where I stood and ran into the bathroom. Oh my God. The bathtub was empty. I hadn't checked her pulse after I'd attacked her, I just assumed she was dead. Oh my fucking God. She was alive. She had witnessed my anger and suffered my assault, and now she had escaped.