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MY PAINKILLER

PAINKILLER I just got my release papers after spending seven years in prison. You might all be wondering why I got in prison. It's that simple. I killed a man for raping me. Now, most people and the court didn't see what I did as self defence because that man was my husband. They thought me cruel and heartless to murder a man who I was supposed to love. I don't blame them because they were actually right but they did not know the full story behind my charade of a marriage. I only blame my parents for selling me off and getting me married against my will. I had just turned eighteen and I wanted to enjoy my adulthood but they ruined my plans. They got me married and I spent the other years in prison. I was the only child of my parents and things were not so good for us. I was willing to not go to school in order to help them hustle and provide. But they thought marrying me off would solve our financial needs. I begged and pleaded but they wouldn't listen. And after three months of marriage, I turned a murderer. I was willing to leave all that in the past now and start anew. But I couldn't help but wonder if my past was willing to leave me and let me start anew. One way or the other, I knew, that my past was gonna come haunt me. And I don't know if I was prepared or not yet. "Victoria Williams?" a female police officer asked me when I got to the counter. "Yes ma'am," I replied and nodded. I watched her fill out a book and let me sign. She gave me some new clothes and a wallet. Another police officer unlocked my handcuffs and showed me a room to change in. I changed quickly and observed myself in a mirror. I had changed a whole lot. All my fat was gone and was replaced by thin skin,  jutting bones and sunken eyes. The new clothes made me presentable to the world I was going to meet and that was satisfactory. I walked out the changing room to the waiting room to be greeted by a small girl who ran and hugged me. "Mummy," she said.

mystery_flame · 奇幻言情
分數不夠
157 Chs

4

Chapter 4

ARLAN BARDOT

"Hello?" I almost snarled into my phone when it went off again, ringing so loudly and disrupting my emotions so abruptly.

I tried to keep my gaze on the bus and the waned red haired woman inside it. I hoped the women I had planted in the bus did their jobs well. I had to have the evidence of her suffering. 

It had been seven years and in the range of those years, a lot of people would have definitely forgotten about the sensational news of a newly married wife stabbing her husband to death. So, in my own way, I had to make sure she was paid homage as a murderer as soon as she left prison. She was never to forget the horrible crime she committed because as from now, she was going to suffer dearly for it.

"Mr Bardot," the fidgety voice of one of my workers came to life and I frowned.