Page 3 of Desperate Valentine

I try dialing Mila, but of course, there’s no answer. She’s on a date with Charlie Jensen tonight, so I’m sure I won’t be hearing from her anytime soon.

I have no way to get him out of here without someone seeing.

What the fuck did I just do?

Once I finally get him to the tub, I roll him up and over the edge, trying my best not to get his blood everywhere, but that’s easier said than done.

Thank fuck they tore the carpet out of this place a couple years ago, or I’d really be shit out of luck.

I know I can’t stay here tonight with a dead body resting in my bathtub, so I lock the bathroom door and step outside for a breath of fresh air. It’s still daylight outside, which makes me even more nervous.

Did anyone see him come into my dorm?

What if someone knows this is the last place he went?

Where is his phone?

Fuck!

Chapter 2

Ineed a fuckingdrink.

The only person that I can talk to about this is out on a date and I’m not ruining that for her.

Unsure of what to do, I quickly head back into my dorm long enough to grab my phone, keys and wallet.

I’m not sure where to go. Anywhere but here would suffice.

This is bullshit. Who the fuck just walks into someone’s dorm like that?

Fuck you, Blaise!

If anyone finds out about this, my life is fucking over before it even started.

I know of a little bar not far from here. I’ve never checked the place out, but it seems like a safe place to go while I cool off.

I’ll figure out everything else later.

A short while later, I arrive at the bar. Lucky for me, it seems quite empty. I suppose everybody is out celebrating Valentine’s Day.

Idiots.

What a complete waste of money.

As soon as I walk in, I’m met with the overpowering smell of stale cigarettes and beer. I really don’t mind. Anything is better than the smell of first stage decomposition.

Almost like everybody knows what I just did, heads turn in my direction. Though I know it’s more than likely because I’ve never stepped foot in here before. I hold my head down the rest of the way to the bar and take a seat on one of the rusted stools.

The bartender shoots me a comforting smile. “What can I get ya?” he asks.

“The strongest shit you have. Please.”

“That kinda day, huh?”

“You could say that.” I sigh as he slides a shot in my direction.

“That should help. It’s on the house.”

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