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When someone who doesn’t want to die, realises they’re going to die, they fight. Holy fuck, do they fight.
I want to live in a world where I don’t have to keep my keys between my fingers in case I’m attacked walking home.
the thought of going on an actual real date from Tinder makes me want to hide in bed with a bottle of wine. But where else do people my age find love if it’s not through dating apps or people they know? It’s like looking for a unicorn on a council estate.
‘Looking stunning as ever, Kitty,’ he says, and I just about hold myself back from grabbing a butter knife and disembowelling him there and then.
‘So, what is it you do, doll?’ The ice pick is deep in his neck before he finishes his sentence. ‘I kill people,’ I say, as I pull the pick out and watch him slide to the floor, blood pooling around him like an oil slick.
‘You’re going to need to get serious help after this,’ I say, as we heave James’s unconscious body onto the bed and handcuff him to it. Hen laughs.
