9/10/2020

For anyone who finds this confession,

I didn't want to kill her, but she left me no choice. Until a few weeks ago, she was the best girlfriend I ever had. Well, almost the best. At least I never thought I would kill her.

Things began to get bad after I left New York to live with her in England, where she said she had lived all her life. We had first met in Paris. After a few weeks of living together, she started to get depressed, saying she didn't want to do anything or go anywhere. She didn't even want to leave her apartment.

Maybe it was my fault she became depressed. After all, it was me who got her hooked on drugs. At first, we started with the fun stuff like pot and mescaline. But she wasn't satisfied; she wanted something stronger. So, she started doing cocaine.

It wasn't long before the drugs were not effective other than to keep her functioning normally. Without coke and heroin, she was a disaster, diving into a bottomless pit of depression. She needed a fix every day, apparently to stay sane and alive.

I don't know who will see this note first, probably the police. I certainly hope her mom never has to read it. I guess this is my confession for the commission of murder. But I personally don't see it that way. What I did was to put her out of misery. I prefer to think of it as a mercy killing. I can't explain it any better than that. At least I mixed up the finest concoction of heroin and meth I could muster, making her transition to the next world as peaceful as possible.

It's not easy for me to write this. In fact, it's even harder than ending her life was. I know I got mad at her when I found out about the other guy. I was so enraged, I threatened her with a little steak knife, quite silly really. I gave her a big hug and said I was sorry. We had our spats now and then, who doesn't? One time, I made her get out of a taxi on the traffic side of the car. I honestly didn't see the truck coming. Luckily it missed hitting her. I pretended to brush it off as a stupid prank, while inside my heart, I was terrified. I would never have wanted to hurt her. Of course, she didn't think it was funny. Then again, I've never been accused of being Henny Youngman.

I let her have a smoke or two, not letting on what I was about to do. Then I suggested we get high together. She flushed the cigarette butts down the toilet. I didn't want her last moments alive to be spent in a stinking bathroom, so we went into the bedroom, and I let her shoot up my special recipe.

Her life felt so warm in my arms before it ended.

Story and Cover Illustration Copyright © 2020 by Michael DeFrancesco