White City Murder Expo

Taking a shower after being drunk is always difficult.Maybe I washed my hair twice and didn't remember to wipe my body. Maybe I rubbed myself red and covered my head with toothpaste. Maybe I just lay on the sofa and thought I was taking a shower.As for what happened, I always have to wait until the next day to find out.

I probably took off my clothes after I sat in the bathtub, and there were shirts, trousers, and striped underwear lying on the floor... I like stripes, only vertical stripes and not horizontal stripes.My ex wife doesn't like stripes, she says I look stupid, she always says I'm stupid.

Will Butcher get married in the future?I suddenly thought of this question.

Maybe the two of them would come into the house hand in hand.They will come in one after the other.

Some children don't ask their parents' opinions when they fall in love. I think Butcher will definitely.But Butcher, he's not the kind of kid who really obeys.If I say the girl is bad, he probably won't retort, but will say - like talking about dinner, she's pregnant.

At that time, what else can I say?

I thought, maybe he's moving out, with his wife and kids?Or maybe, me, the old lame guy, talking nonsense on the phone every day, making up what's wrong with me, expecting him to come back and see me?Maybe one day he'll have enough of this trick, but I'm really dying.Since then, have he had nightmares of the ringing telephone ringing in the empty room?

I don't know when I started crying, and the water dripping from my hair mixed with my tears and flowed into the bathtub.

I heard the door being pushed open.

I saw someone come up, "Suey?" He called my name, took my face in his hands, and brushed all the loose wet hair back.

He said you can close your eyes.I did, and he kissed me, first on my quivering eyelids, then on the tip of my nose; he asked me to open my mouth, and I did, why not?It's just me and Butcher in this house, no one's gonna kiss me, so he's fake.He is trustworthy, just like the unique imaginary friend in everyone's mind, because it doesn't exist, so people can trust 100%.

I drink because it's hard to fall asleep, and when I can't sleep I tend to get cranky.Sometimes I think about the feeling of drowning, about being hanged, with the twine stuck between my Adam's apple and my jaw, and I imagine someone holding the back of my head or kicking a chair under my feet.If I dream of a bullet grazing my cheek, there will be the sound of a bullet casing falling in his hand.

He would be a man, about six feet tall, neither overly strong nor effeminate.He's going to have the power to kill me, and I won't think of him until he does it—something like this, the guy I imagined, who suddenly starts kissing me.He opened my teeth with the tip of his tongue, sucking my tongue like a cherry.

I have never kissed like this, controlled, almost suffocating.

No, no, no, I didn't ask him to do it, he shouldn't.

"... Boots?" I said struggling, which could also be interpreted as a plea for help.It feels a lot like real.

The man stopped for a while, and after a while, he actually started to bite my ear, and the hot air from his breath hit my cheek.Something is out of control.I called more urgently: "Bootz? Butcher? . . . "

He grabbed my hand, kissed the inside of the wrist, and made a "chirp" sound.