I wish we would have never moved. After the incident at the party, however, it was necessary. My mom had a friend who used to live at the same motel where we did, and she told her of another motel a couple towns over where she was staying now. We moved there, and times got tough quickly. The guy who owned the place knew what my mom did for a living, and he was okay with it so long as she gave him 50% of what she made on top of the rent. We didn't have much food on account of that, and mom got generic cigarettes if she was lucky. By the time the rent was paid, all we really had money for was hot dogs and the drugs my mom used incessantly by that point.

After Sooner took her swan dive into the after-life, I entered into a new phase of my life. For awhile, I wondered why Hollywood had haunted my dreams so badly leading up to the event, and then appeared to urge me to get rid of the girl. Unfortunately, she had not returned since the incident that she had inspired for me to be able to ask her for clarification, so I was forced to draw my own conclusions. The only answers that I could come to in my mind were inconclusive and often contradictory. For awhile, I simply thought that she could not rest in peace thinking that I had killed her and her alone, as if the thought of being one of several was more akin to her liking than the thought of being the only. Yet this contradicted her philosophy in life, and her religious beliefs, so it could not be that. I entertained the notion that perhaps I had simply imagined some significance to the dreams that wasn’t really there, but that didn’t fit me. I dreamed frequently without looking for meaning in the jumbled pictures, so why would I do that in just this specific instance?

I was always a loner growing up. I didn’t have what you would call friends. I don’t suppose that I even had acquaintances for the most part. I didn’t stand out, even for not standing out. It was as if I flew completely under the radar. I didn’t get in trouble at school, and I didn’t win awards. I didn’t play any sports, and I wasn’t in the band. I walked in every day on time and took my seat, waiting for someone to tell me what I was doing wrong or right. It never happened, so I just assumed everything was ok. For the most part, is was as if I weren’t even there.

Following the death of the little slut from Hollywood, I was riding on a natural high. You could say that everything had worked out pretty much the way it should have, because I didn’t mean to kill her, so it was only right that people saw it as a death by natural causes. Yet I must admit that I did feel like I had gotten one over on the world. I spent the next year and a half with a bit of a superiority complex, and it was hard to knock me off of my game. When people angered me, I would tell myself that they simply weren’t worth my time. I had killed a girl, and they were the kind of people who just sat there and took it when life was fucking them over. Sure, they would piss and moan, but they wouldn’t do a damn thing about it.

I know you are probably not inclined to believe me, but I have no reason to lie to you. Petty games are not my thing, and I usually am a straightforward guy. I am too old to care what the consequences may be for baring my soul, and your opinion of me frankly isn’t that important. My story is, however, and the simple fact of the matter is that the first time I killed a girl it was an accident.