Waking up, the bright white light stung my eyes. I rubbed my eyes and slowly the blurred room came into focus, checking my surroundings I immediately knew where I was. I was in a cell. The room I was in was around four metres in height, length and width. It was very pleasing. There was a small window letting in the July sun, but it had bars to cover it so I couldn't escape. I'd never really been able to grasp that concept, if someone was trying to escape, the window would not be the first option. Firstly, the window was far too small to fit any normal sized person through and secondly, it's such an obvious choice.
I knew why I was here. The events of last night were running through my head, though they were vague. My head was hazy, almost like I'd banged my head, so it was hard to recall everything. But I knew.
Picking at the dried blood on my hands, I knew I was a murderer. I knew why I was a murderer, but as far as I was aware nobody had bothered to ask me why yet.
I had a boyfriend. Liam. He was the same age as me, 18. We had a lot in common, the main thing being that we both liked music, he was a part-time musician in a band called Waves. I went to one of their small gigs with a friend about 2 years ago, it was the first time I ever saw him and I knew that I liked him straight away. We talked for weeks non stop before agreeing to give a relationship a chance. It was all perfect until about two months ago.
He started becoming possessive. Checking my phone every time we were together- he never did find anything- and stopping me from seeing my friends or going out. I lived as his property, a slave almost. I had to obey him because I knew if I didn't I'd have to face the consequences.
That's why, looking down at the blood splattered up my arm and on my clothes, I didn't feel remorse. All I felt was pride.