The Middle

This story began here and continued here...
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"I don't know shit?" She yelled at the page. "What the fuck do you know!" Jill forced her frazzled nerves to calm. He knows plenty. Too much. That's why she was in this mess...

She tried in vain to prepare herself for the onslaught of memories and emotions that would threaten to overtake her as his words forced her back into a place she never wanted to revisit. That part of her life should still be locked firmly in the past, where it belonged. She took a deep breath and surged on.

By the middle of your story, the audience starts to lose interest. It's not your fault really. No matter how good the plot, people's minds start to wander. You need something, a little bit of the unexpected, to keep them reading.

And so, my dear readers, if you're still with me, I now give you my surprise. The beginning was meant to entice. I mean, who doesn't want to know the great Jill Flowers?

Well, you don't know a damn thing. That's the Jill she WANTS you to know. The one she cleverly crafted to hide a past she never wants to see the light of day. Let me introduce you to the real Jill. My little fleur.

Jill wasn't always the powerhouse of a woman that she is today. Back in college, she was basically a good girl from a small town going to school in the big, bad city. She was someone with very little experience, sexually or otherwise.

Fleur allowed herself to be captivated by the wrong man. She couldn't help herself, really. He was such a bad boy and the danger that surrounded him was absolutely intoxicating.

She had always played by the rules, been faithful to her boyfriends, listened to her parents, even complying with her mother's silly request that she call home every Saturday afternoon at the same time each week. It was almost too easy. But from the very beginning, he wanted to corrupt her, possess her and break her...

She fell for him almost instantly.

It was never love for him. He wasn't capable of such a deep emotion. He fucked other women, all the while telling her she was the only one. They fought passionately, half the time for the ability to have wild make up sex afterwards. During one particularly nasty fight, he dropped to one knee and asked her to marry him. Her tearful answer was nothing more than a joke to him. One which he celebrated later that night in a bathroom stall with some slut he met at the local bar...

Her emotions, that silly little weakness of hers, made her play right into his hands.

Hands which led her to the bar that night...
Which spiked her drink with a little something more than vodka...
Which led her into that dark corridor...
Put the knife into her shaky hands...
And after she came to, covered in blood and panicked, helped her to bury the body...

Oh yeah, my dear readers. Our little fleur, once upon a time, got away with murder...