9

My hair used to be brownish black. But he forced me to dye it and now I'm a dumb blonde. I hate it. I hate it so much.

He forced me to do other things, too. Whatever pleased him, I did. I became a slut for him. I became a woman for him. I became a toy for him.

But then I used the scratches on his neck as an excuse for his death, his "suicide". The ropes were of thick material, rougher than the end of a hairbrush. And the videotape clearly shows a man of the exact figure as him take certain materials from the garage, soon entering the house, leaving the presence of the camera. So when the police start asking, I'll tell them what I saw happened. They'll believe me and I'll wait. I'm still waiting.

I'm waiting for everyone to start suspecting, hoping to prove the skinny bitch wrong even though they have no proof. I'm waiting to expose the videotape of the suicidal millionaire and what he gathered from the garage the night of the death.

I'm waiting for brand new hair.

That's when I'll be happy: when my new hair will showcase my new life, my new beginning. I will be a woman of great beauty living her own life.  God knows I tried many times before. And now, I'm finally free.

My husband is a criminal and I am a heroine. I killed a criminal and saved the world. I killed a scammer and enlightened people's hearts. I killed myself and became even prettier.

I am Madelaine Petch, a heroic bitch.