Blackout

The light through the hotel curtains was blinding, pulling her out of a dream and into a hangover. She draped her arm over her eyes, trying to block the sun’s evil rays. Head pounding, stomach rolling, mind foggy – this is why she never drank. Her skin also felt tight and itchy, like she had fallen in a mud puddle and it had dried and started to flake. Even worse, her mouth felt gross and dry – she needed water.

She slowly sat up, preparing to get out of bed, then screamed and fell to the floor in horrified surprise.

The plush, white, hotel duvet was drenched in blood, as was a very dead man.

Shit.

Shit shit Shit Shit SHIT!

Panicked, she started searching for her clothes as her mind raced.

Where was she? How had she gotten here? Why did her friends let her leave with a stranger? Who was that man in the bed? Why was he dead? And WHERE WAS HER FUCKING BRA?

Bathroom – it must be in the bathroom. Crawling across the red-speckled carpet the need to vomit came suddenly. She barely made it to the bathroom before everything that had been in her was quickly and violently ejected into the toilet.

When she thought it was finally over, she cautiously pulled herself off the floor to look in the mirror.

She had to clamp both hands over her mouth to keep from screaming again.

Blood was caked in her hair and fingernails and had dried on her face and arms, which explained the tight itchy feeling from earlier. After a quick examination she didn’t find any injuries on herself – it must all be his blood.

Trembling, she undressed again and got in the shower. It didn’t matter that the water was cold – it just needed to get the blood off.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood in that shower, watching as the water circling down the drain went from dark brownish red, to pink, to clear. After she was done she got dressed, her dripping hair soaking the back of her blouse, then took a deep breath as she prepared to go back to the bed.

From what she could tell, the man looked to be in his early thirties with thick, light brown hair and blank, hazel eyes. His skin was tanned, but she couldn’t tell what his ethnicity was. Perhaps some kind of Hispanic-Caucasian? He had been attractive and in good shape, but now the six pack he had worked so hard for was splayed open, various internal organs protruding.

The smell was indescribable. How had she not noticed it before? How had she slept next to this?

Then another thought came to her.

Who killed him?

She had been drunk only once before, and according to her friends she had become excessively affectionate, then a little weepy, and finally very intent on performing every word of Bohemian Rhapsody before passing out. They had not mentioned any violent tendencies.

Perhaps she could find some clues.

As soon as she thought it she changed her mind. Was she crazy? She needed to get out of there, but first she needed to call the police.

She walked across the swanky hotel suite and found her bag on a chic, white sofa. As she reached in to grab her phone, she yelped as she cut her hand on something sharp.

It wasn’t too deep, but her palm was definitely bleeding. She reached back in the bag, more carefully this time, and pulled out a scalpel.

As soon as she realized what this must be there was a knock at the door.

~

Thank you for reading my story! If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving me a tip!

I wrote in 2019 using a prompt I found online. However, I recently started seeing ads for a movie called The Flight Attendant that seems to have a very similar plot.. perhaps they used the same prompt. haha Either way, I hope you enjoyed it!