Crimes of Passion

Waking, drenched in blood, axe laying discarded on the bed, I realized:

Christ, I’ve killed her!

We’d been fighting, lately we were always fighting, and we’d been drinking, but had I drank enough to lose time? And I’m not a man who, black-out-drunk, would think to get the axe…

I’m not a murderer.

Am I?

Okay, okay. What did I do, and how do I deal with it?

I rush to splash water on my face, but my hands pass through the faucet and, when I look up, there’s no reflection in the mirror.

Ah.

I see.

She killed me.