I woke up the next day swimming in blood. My dress. My slippers. My hair. My body. My hands. All soaked in blood. Leo's blood. I screamed. I screamed my lungs out. I wept, hugging my knees and rocking back and forth. But no matter what I did, Leo never woke up. I slit his throat. I slit his throat. I slit his throat. I slit his throat. I am a murderer.

I am a murderer.

After three hours of pointless weeping, I ran out of tears. I gathered myself up and tried standing. I could hear my knees quaking under my weight. Every step I took felt like a mile's walk. I am shivering. Shaking. And it's not even cold.

I find the tub. I collapse inside and search for the handle. The water falls like bullets. Piercing through my flesh. Cleansing me. I appreciate every single drop of it. Once there was no more blood on me, I gathered the courage to stand up. I took of my dress and threw it in basket. I would never want to see this dress again. I wish I could shed my skin as well.

I stay in the shower for over an hour before I got out. I covered up with a towel and headed to my room. I grabbed fresh clothes and my mind ravaged in a war. I need some help to clean whatever mess I've made. But how? Who? I can't let anyone know. I can't bring family into this. And I don't have friends close enough to call. Then it comes to my head. No one could be better for this job like someone who would get paid to do it.

People usually tend to shut these parts of their lives away. To erase them as if they never happened. But I don't want to. I forget a lot of incidents. And the last thing I want is to forget more. Intentionally. I am writing this down in details because I want to remember. To know who I am. I don't want to be clueless. I don't want to be sweet Caroline anymore. I am someone else, and I should remember that. I admit. I am a killer.

I took a life. And I will have to live with that.