I was walking down the street. Sunday morning in Berlin. My hair was probably a disaster — a mix of sweat, glitter, and a few feathers stuck in it from god knows whose outfit. I didn't care. I felt very light, very careless… still a little high and still not ready to return to the other version of myself. I knew that I couldn't continue running away, avoiding things ,but god, it feels good! And this morning is damn beautiful. Sunday morning, December, sunny, cold. People having brunch in cafés. A man walking his dog. People from the club still fucked up, one girl standing and waiting for her Uber, barely awake.
I walked and walked and walked and wished — and dreamed — this walk would never end. I sat down near the canal, started to roll a cigarette, or at least what was left of one, trying to check my phone , but it's dead. Such a relief. I can postpone going home a bit longer… The cigarette burned fast, too fast, but I wanted it to last a little longer.
Walking toward the house, how ironic — I couldn't get freedom even here. I hate to be so dramatic, but it's true. He was waiting for me there. The person who destroyed everything. I was walking home, and I knew what was waiting for me. I knew he would be there. He was looking for me for such a long time. But I… I can't run away again. I am tired of being a victim.
Walking toward the house, I opened the door and he was lying on my couch. I saw my room. I could've called the police ,but.. anger was so much more louder. He looked at me: "Bitch came back." He came to me and threw me into the room. I fell, ouch — the glass broke under me. It hurt, but I was excited — excited because time had come. He was taking off his pants — "Oh yeah, come here if you're ready." While he was raping me I grabbed a piece of the glass… and I killed him.
The cigarette burned too fast .
and I wished it could stay with me a little longer.