Your Midweek Update for 11/17/21

I was thinking about someone I killed the other day. That doesn’t happen very often. I know I used to write down their names – and I regret how long it took me to come to my senses and burn those books – but I rarely go back and reflect on them. They’re usually just numbers, faces. The thing I remember most is the kill.

The squish of their organs in my hand, the echo of their pleas for mercy, the taste of their blood on my lips when I kiss my husband good night. Those are the memories that stay with me. I don’t care about the people – I hope I’ve made that clear over the years – so why would I think about them?

Honestly, it wasn’t even about them, I’m just surprised that I was thinking of someone at all.

A few years ago, Charlotte Westburn blackmailed me into murdering a politician. I swore I would never be a murder for hire. I would never waste my talents working for someone else’s agenda. And yet…

That entire affair feels like an entire lifetime ago. I was a different person – at least I hope I was.

That woman felt like her entire life was out of control.

You know sometimes I get distracted? I’ll be in the middle of writing and my mind will just wander away. I was just trying to remember if I ever used female pronouns when talking about myself. I must have, right? In all these years of writing to you, I must have mentioned that I was a woman. I’m certain I have and yet, I couldn’t say for certain. Or maybe you all just assumed because I talked about my husband and about being a mother to my sister’s children (which is some heteronormative bullshit, let me just say… but I do it, too) but I am. A woman. I have a husband whom I love, and a child that I try to be a mother for. Not a good mother, even, just better. I deal with all the societal and health-related bullshit that comes with having tits and a vagina.

And on top of that, I kill people. And I take advantage of the fact that I am a woman and some people will naturally not see me as a threat in order to get close to them and end their lives.

I know I’ve talked about being a woman before because I have definitely talked about taking advantage of the system that is designed to oppress me. That is definitely a conversation we’ve had.

I felt that being an assassin was a way of taking away the power I struggle to hold on to in a male-dominant lifestyle. I wasn’t going to do it because after all the things I’ve been through to overcome my addictions and my helplessness, I wouldn’t willingly go back to that life – no matter how sexy it looks on TV.

And then Charlotte, a woman I thought was my friend, took that away from me. And it doesn’t matter that she’s dead now, it doesn’t erase the way I felt when this monster I’d unwittingly created came back to hurt me.

I’m sick of ghosts coming back to haunt me. I don’t want to remember the victims. I don’t want to remember the friends who have hurt me. I just want to forget.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe