Who hates you (and why) - a screenplay

AUDIENCE SOUNDS - BLACK SCREEN

A murmur to start with. A chant barely audible but growing.The lights start to grow in intensity.

FADE IN: INT. TELEVISION STUDIO - NIGHT

The television studio is not large. It seats fifty or sixty people but it sounds as if there are a lot more people.

ANNOUNCER: It’s that time again! Who hates you and who do you hate to love? 

Suddenly a massive and garish sign flares up in neon. THE KUNT SHOW

AUDIENCE:  KUNT! KUNT! KUNT! KUNT!

Saul Kunt walks on stage exuding smarm and charm. His arrogance is personified. A mixture of Piers Morgan and Ryan Reynolds.

SAUL: Who do you love to hate?

AUDIENCE: KUNT KUNT KUNT KUNT!!!

SAUL: And he hates you too! Well, we’ve got so many victims tonight that I think you’re going to have an amazing time!

The audience starts jeering and cheering; whipped up into a spectacle.

FADE OUT:

FADE IN:

EXT. STREET - NIGHT

Saul is walking alone. He is very watchful. He has every reason to be. It’s been raining and he can hear his footsteps splashing in puddles. It’s late and there aren’t many people around. Saul can hear footsteps behind him getting closer, the splashing sounding urgent, forceful. Saul instinctively walks quicker but the footsteps behind him don’t, they die down completely. He walks past an alleyway strewn with rubbish and broken furniture. A few seconds later and the footsteps are back and they’re right behind him now. Saul is about to turn around when he’s hit right in the back with a table leg. He falls into a puddle.

ATTACKER : You bastard. You think everything is there for you to rip apart. You and your damn show! You don’t care who you take apart, who you destroy. Well destroy this!

The attacker ineptly beats Saul with the table leg. There’s no real strength to the blows and Saul has rolled into a foetal position. Soon the attacker throws the chair leg at him and runs off. Saul painfully gets up from the puddle.

SAUL: Fuck… another grateful fan, no doubt… my admiring fucking public.

Saul is in a lot of pain and staggers to the nearest house.The gate is wooden and lightly peeling. There’s no doorbell but a brass knocker in the shape of a gargoyle. Saul bangs it three times. The door opens on the third and a non-descript chap with shaggy hair, sullen eyes and glasses opens it. This is GRAHAM.

SAUL: …And here is the man you love to hate…

Saul takes a few steps inside as Graham closes the door behind him. Graham can see the state of Saul and just lets him in. Once the door closes Saul throws up on the carpet and slides down the wall in pain.

FADE OUT:

FADE IN:

INT. GRAHAM’S LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

Saul is sitting on an old 1980’s style MFI sofa. The lounge has a homely, lived in look.Everything is retro without being kitsch; it is genuine. Graham is sitting opposite him but as Saul wakes Graham walks off into the kitchen to get him a cup of chamomile tea.

Saul continues to look around him: Bookcases full of well-read books of all shapes and sizes. The ceiling is artexed. There is a small coffee table in front of him with a book of Trevor Grimshaw prints. In the corner is a record player-cabinet with horn. The most beautiful music is coming from it and Saul sits up to listen.

GRAHAM (From kitchen): That’s Elgar’s Cello Concerto.

SAUL:  Is that an original record player?

GRAHAM: Most of it. I updated it a little so it could play standard LP’s. Trying to get anything to play 78s is pretty nigh on impossible these days. It’s the shellac, modern needles damage them.

SAUL : 78s?

GRAHAM: The old gramophone records of the early 20th Century. So difficult to get these days anyways. Trying to get hold of anything… well, old, these days it is virtually impossible. There are still a few companies that use snail mail. I suppose most people would think of me as an old fogey!

SAUL (Mutters to himself): And the rest.

GRAHAM (Walks out, holding a tray with two cups of tea): Sorry, I didn’t quite get that.

SAUL: The music is beautiful. I don’t think I’ve heard anything like it before.

Graham places the tray on the table and hands Saul his cup. Graham looks surprised by Saul’s statement

GRAHAM: Really? This performance is particularly grand. Jacqueline de Pre is playing the cello. 

Saul is still looking at Graham with bemusement.

GRAHAM: Oh! I’m so sorry. After all the excitement I’ve not introduced myself! I don’t get many visitors.

Saul manages to stop himself from saying anything derisory and instead shakes Graham’s outstretched hand.

GRAHAM: My name’s Graham. Graham Cleverly. Learned to accept the burden of the surname. Used to get bullied for it at school but I’ve got used to it.

SAUL: I can relate to that. 

GRAHAM: Oh, why’s that then?

Saul is bemused and leans back into the comfy sofa.

SAUL: Do you not know who I am then?

GRAHAM: Sorry, old bean; should I?

SAUL: I’m quite famous… or should I say infamous.

GRAHAM: Ah, infamy. I once heard that fame was fickle like a woman. (chuckles) She has to be courted and wooed, brought gifts and seduced but she can turn on you in an instant! (GRAHAM snaps his fingers)

SAUL: I’ve not heard that before but it’s very apt! Well, my name is Kunt.

There is no reaction from Graham, not even from the actual word itself.

SAUL: Saul Kunt? Have you really not heard of me? 

Graham shakes his head sheepishly.

SAUL: I’m rather big on tv; and even bigger online.

Graham shrugs again.

SAUL: On the internet. You know?

GRAHAM (Shakes his head): And therein lies the problem, old chap. I have neither a television or a computer!

Saul looks around him. He’s not noticed that before now and, there is no television; no computer. Just the record player and books.

SAUL (despite himself): Well, fuck me.

CUT TO:

INT. GRAHAM’S KITCHEN - AFTERNOON

It’s another day. Both Graham and Saul are wearing different clothes and for every piece of dialogue there is a change of day; a change of clothes, etc. Saul has finally found someone he can talk to. 

GRAHAM (Mid-conversation): …burglars would take two minutes to check the place out and realise that there’s nothing worth stealing. There’s nothing modern that looks as if it’s worth anything, so why worry?

SAUL: Well, when you put it like that…

CUT TO:

INT. GRAHAM’S LOUNGE - AFTERNOON

SAUL: …still can’t get over the fact that you have no idea of who I am.

GRAHAM: What is it that Joe Masteroff wrote? “Leave your troubles outside! So—life is disappointing? Forget it! In here, life is beautiful!”

(SAUL Laughs)

GRAHAM: Ok, maybe not beautiful but you get my gist. I don’t care about who you are ‘outside’. That’s not you, anyway.

Saul rubs his chin and wonders.

CUT TO:

GRAHAM: Everything has become so trivial today, and I think that television is to blame for that.

SAUL (Saul laughs good-naturedly): You might have something there, Graham. You really might!

CUT TO:

INT. GRAHAM’S LOUNGE - NIGHT

Graham is unwrapping a present. It’s a portable CD player with a few classical music cd’s including a box set of Jacqueline de Pre. 

SAUL: Happy Birthday, Graham. 

Graham looks confused. 

SAUL: It’s so you can carry your music around with you!

There’s now various electrical devices scattered on the shelves. A digital clock; a top of the line radio; electric lamps. No television though still. There is a barely discernible hum though.

GRAHAM: You really shouldn’t Saul. You buy me enough already and it’s really not necessary. We’re friends. It’s not as if I can repay you either.

SAUL: You don’t need to.

GRAHAM: And nor do you.

SAUL: I don’t think you understand, Graham. I can be myself here, with you. That’s a luxury I never knew I had until we met. I wish more people could know you as I do.

CUT TO:

INT. CORPORATE OFFICES - MORNING

Saul sits across a desk with his producer, CLive and researcher, Steph. 

SAUL : I want to do something different with the next show.

CLIVE : Different is bad, Saul. You know that. This format works. Steph researches the guests, you rip them to shreds! Gold!

STEPH: And people line up to be on the show! Well, they’re put up to it most of the time…

SAUL: I'm not sure I want to do that any more. I’ve changed, Clive. I want to be like Michael Parkinson or Terry Wogan. Serious chat-show hosts.

STEPH: Who?

CUT TO:

INT. GRAHAM’S KITCHEN - AFTERNOON

Saul and Graham are sharing a cup of tea. Graham is using the eclectic kettle that Saul bought him. Graham is looking a bit disheveled.

SAUL: Are you still having trouble sleeping?

GRAHAM: It’s the electric clock you got me; the glow of the numbers takes a bit of getting used to… But what were you saying?

SAUL: I want to put you on my chat show. I want other people to get to know you as I do.

GRAHAM: And why do you want to do that? What’s wrong with what we’ve got now?

SAUL: No one else seems to understand. They see a change in me… because of you… your influence… and they just don’t get it. If more people knew you, then they might… get it.

GRAHAM: But?

SAUL: My producer wants to meet with you first. He’s a very skeptical man.

GRAHAM: Meeting you is fine, there is no pressure for me to be anyone else. I don’t think the same will be true when I’m out with your other friends.

SAUL: He’s my producer, not my friend.

CUT TO:

INT. A COFFEE SHOP - MORNING

Saul and Graham sit opposite Steph and Clive. Graham is uncomfortable. He’s wearing clothes that are out of date, but still smart. Saul is trying to encourage him to talk. Clive is quiet, rubbing right thumb against his fingers. Steph is trying not to laugh. Graham is unaware of how he sounds to them.

GRAHAM: It suits me fine though… not having a computer, I mean.. Life moves far too fast for me out there. I can’t keep up. There’s no getting to know each other, not really. Everything’s on show, everything’s for sale. Everything and everybody is commented on all the time and there’s no time to develop oneself. It’s all instant ego gratification and I refuse to live in that kind of world.

CUT TO:

Saul and Clive are paying the bill at the counter whilst Steph is talking to Graham. Clive nudges Saul.

CLIVE: I love it. It’s so calculated it’s fucking mean. Where’d you find him? This is going to be abso-fucking amazing.

SAUL (shocked): What? No! It’s genuine, Clive! He’s an amazing guy. I tell you, more people need to be like him.

CLIVE: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. If this is it; if this is really a sting then it’s a green light. If you are being genuine then it’ll be the last thing you ever do.

CUT TO:

INT. SAUL’S FLAT - NIGHT

Saul is on the phone to Graham. Graham sounds faint and spaced out, he can’t get used to talking on the telephone. There’s also the sound of static on the line.

SAUL: You need to have the mouthpiece closer to you, Graham; bloody hell.

GRAHAM: I really don’t think this is a good idea. You sound more stressed now than what you did yesterday!

SAUL: You don’t understand show business. It’s like being a spy the whole time, like being in that book you lent me: Orwell’s 1984. I have to toe the company line and even though I’m quite an influential person on television I’m still living on a knife edge, trying to keep up a cover story. Everyone wants a piece of who they think you are and there’s not enough of the real me to go around any more. I’ve lost sight of who that is, actually. Which is why I’m grateful to have met you.

GRAHAM: There’s a lot of it about, then.

SAUL: What’s that then?

GRAHAM: People being daft.

SAUL: More than you know, Graham. More than you know. Anyway; you need an early night. It’s the big day tomorrow.

CUT TO:

INT. TELEVISION STUDIO - NIGHT

The studio is packed. Graham is nervous, fidgeting. Saul is trying to look cool.

SAUL: Stop fidgeting, you’re making me nervous!

GRAHAM: Sorry. Maybe this was a bad idea.

The theme music starts and the crowd goes wild, clapping and jeering. But there is no fanfare this time; no voice over. The audience starts with their change of: “KUNT KUNT” but Saul motions for them to be quiet. The lights shine down on him as he stands up and walks to the front of his little set. Graham is not in the spotlight yet. He’s still in the shadows.

SAUL: (Speaking in his normal voice, albeit louder) People seem to think that it’s impossible for a man to change. Anyone can change if they’re given the chance, and luckily I was given that chance! I never realised that there was more to life than this. This chap here saved my life.(points to Graham and sits down next to him)

A few people get up out of their chairs and leave.

SAUL: In more ways than one… he didn’t do anything particularly heroic, but what he did was to open the door to a complete stranger and show him unconditional kindness. These last three months he’s continued to show me that same kindness as he’s opened his doors to me time and time again. He’s one of the most caring and thoughtful individuals that I’ve ever come across. (Graham blushes and fidgets some more) I’ve learnt things through Graham and believe that I’m becoming a better man. I sleep better and understand people more. He’s my friend and I want you all to meet him.

The spotlight shines on to Graham who puts his hand over his eyes briefly before remembering what Saul told him. A few more people get up and leave. Clive looks disgruntled and shakes his head in disbelief.

SAUL: True, Graham is a slice of yesteryear. But he is so refreshing and was quite an eye opener to me, I can tell you! I wouldn’t say that he’s out of touch with us today but in some ways he’s remembered things that we’ve forgotten. But he’d never seen a CD before I played him one, let alone heard of music downloads. He still has a record player, would you believe! What do you think of the difference though, Graham?

GRAHAM (Coughs):I still prefer vinyl. It has a much warmer sound. It’s more intimate.

There are a few chuckles of derision from the audience.

SAUL: It’s true; he does still prefer to listen to the records… and the bizarre thing is that he’s right! I started listening to some of his albums and they do sound so much richer and warmer. How can that be? Mind you, he didn’t even have a TV! Can you believe that! Why don’t you have a television set, Graham? You don’t even use the one that I bought you won’t even let me buy you one!

A few more people walk out with tuts and sighs.

GRAHAM (Really nervous and wooden):  I don’t have any need for it…I read, listen to the records…

Saul has seen the people leaving now and is a little shaken by what is happening. He carries on though, trying to salvage the conversation.

SAUL: Funny enough, I don’t miss it either when I’m at your place. We talk most of the time and listen to music. You’re so knowledgeable as well, Graham. I could talk to you for hours! How so?

GRAHAM: Because I don’t watch TV?

CUT TO::

Clive, standing in the wing of the studio.

CLIVE (mutters to himself): That’s going to hurt the ratings.

CUT TO:

Saul is more nervous now. He’s seen Clive and Clive is making the sign of slitting his throat.

SAUL: Well… you certainly read more than many people. Most of the books must be from libraries, I guess? What do you think of the plan to shut down more libraries?

GRAHAM: Well.. I heard someone say that it was possible to determine the degree of civilisation by the way they treated their books. Our libraries are falling into disarray; they’re old, dusty buildings and the books are often in a really bad way.

There’s an audible sigh and groan from the audience. Clive has his head in his hands and more people are leaving.

GRAHAM: I don’t interact with people, as you.. ahem.. know. I just can’t. They live by the sound bite, short twittered attention spans, no depth to their lives. Books are an investment into one's soul, allowing the individuals to grow, but all I see are stunted people everywhere.

Saul sees more people leaving. Clive is about to storm the set and turn the lights off. Saul looks at Graham fidget, looks at the audience.

SAUL (in his stage voice): Talking of stunted people, tweetie pie! You’re the latest victim of THE KUNT!

There is now an audible gasp from the audience. Those that were in the process of leaving suddenly rush back to their seats. There’s a palpable round of applause and Clive is really surprised and delighted by this turn of events. Graham doesn’t know what to think, he just looks at Saul for confirmation of what’s happening. Saul will not look at him.

SAUL: Would you believe this guy? He doesn’t have a television. He didn’t have a microwave, until I gave him one. He didn’t even have a radio or an electric alarm clock until I gave him one. He still doesn’t have a girlfriend and I’m certainly not giving him one of those.

Saul is on a roll. He insults every aspect of Graham’s life and has never been so savage before. Graham just sits there and takes it.

FADE OUT:

FADE IN:

EXT. THE STREET OUTSIDE GRAHAM’S HOUSE - NIGHT

The night after the biggest show of Saul’s life. He’s reading the news on his mobile about how he engineered the biggest coup in internet and broadcasting history. He doesn’t look happy though. He comes to Graham’s house and stops. The gate is broken. There is a dustbin visible and inside are all the electrical items that Saul bought him, including the boxes. There are cords trailing outside, and the lid isn’t on properly so we can see a toaster, or the cd player… The windows have boards against them where someone has tried breaking them. The words “SPECCY TWAT” are spray-painted on the door. Saul ponders whether or not to knock on the door. He hears Jacqueline de Pre playing faintly from within. He then hears someone walking on the opposite side of the street to him.

PASSER-BY: (SHOUTS) Who loves you, Kunty baby?!

SAUL (SHOUTING BACK): Who hates to love you back?

Saul continues walking through the night-time streets.

FADE OUT:

What would you do?

I used to think that I was boring. The truth would have been far more complex had I not accepted my gift. I could put people to sleep by just talking to them.

For years, especially throughout my more formative years at school, I just thought I was the most asinine of children; everyone always yawned within minutes of talking to me. I thought I was bright and interesting with lots of things to say, it’s just that no one could stay alert when listening. The yawning and nodding off started within a minute of me talking. No one made the connection, luckily, but I certainly did. I was a sensitive child and was very careful not to talk to many people. It was also lucky that I didn’t really have much to say for myself; I was a loner, even back then.

It wasn’t too pronounced until I hit puberty and then the effect became more intense. No one dared argue with me; and still no one put two and two together. I suppose it’s quite a leap of the imagination to say that I was the source of everyone's lethargy. Soon it became obvious that I didn’t really need to say much at all to have an impact. When I turned 18 I realised that I could work from home and found a job doing telemarketing to start with, but I soon understood that I didn’t have to be within close proximity of people to affect them. I then tried becoming one of the 0800 sex-line models. I made so much money on those calls initially, the company who employed me thought I was an absolute marvel to start with -my calls were the longest they’d ever had, and every minute was a premium rate. The calls were so long because all the women had fallen asleep a few seconds of ringing me!That fell through though when the complaints came in.

I tried talking to the Doctors about my condition but that didn’t get me anywhere either. I could make an appointment via text or email but the moment I tried visiting the Doctor the same thing happened. It didn’t matter how detailed my email was, no one seemed to believe me! I soon gave up trying to talk to people and living like a recluse seemed to suit me.

One day I took one of my regular jaunts up the town to catch up on my weekly shop. I had figured out that I could write my instructions on a small dry-wipe board using a marker and mime to people that I couldn’t speak to them. It was surprising how effective that was; most people were very understanding and even had a go on my whiteboard -the amount of times I lost playing tic-tac-toe was embarrassing.

Then Amelia let me win, but I should have known better. She knew what the whiteboard was for and her need was actually genuine. In some ways our should have been a match in heaven. She was deaf and had been since birth.

She read lips and nothing I said made her feel drowsy or made her pass out, or sick to the stomach… She even encouraged me to speak my mind, especially when we were on our own. Whether her deafness lent her an elusive quality, I’m not sure, but she felt ethereal to me; too good to be true (which, of course, she would be). She had long waterfull hair, blond and translucent in the morning sun. Her eyes were like diamonds on a moonlit night. I could finally wax lyrical; become as literary as I wanted. Her kisses tasted of lychee and her tongue was teasing and gentle.

She was fascinated by my talent, as she called it; and loved to see me practice it on people. She thought it was a gift as well, could be used to distract and dissuade; break up arguments and dissolve tricky situations. Her favorite trick was introducing me to her parents. She delighted in watching me be really polite and obsequious to them only for them to blanch upon falling asleep. They would then apologise profusely to Amelia and promise her the stars on a stick. Amelia would play on their guilt and blame them for all sorts of foulness over the years. This was her chance to get her own back; and I could see no reason why not. I was so topsy over her that I wasn’t thinking straight -passionless sex will do that. Not that I knew the difference. She was purely going through the motions with me; her groans were more out of her inability to vocalise articulately rather than being in the throes of ecstasy.

Nor did I think anything of us visiting her older sister. She pretended that I was deaf initially to get us in the door; and her sister seemed very shocked to see her; especially with me standing next to her. Amelia could sign but chose not to; she used her own whiteboard to deliberately annoy people -which she was doing now. In actuality her speaking voice was pretty damn clear and coherent for someone who had been deaf from birth; she had been tenacious in becoming proficient in it -she just didn’t allow the majority of people know about it. Her parents and sister were among those who were not in the know. 

Ten minutes of mounting sororal annoyance Amelia finally said, “My sister is getting het up again,.., why don’t you put her at ease?” So I finally introduced myself to her. The shock and dismay was soon overtaken by the yawns and eventual somnambulism. Amelia clapped her hands in glee and told me to go back to the car and get the engine running.

This was strange but I did as I was told; went outside into the chill morning and into the car to get the engine ticking over. I felt as if I’d just helped rob a bank. Five minutes later Amelia walked out the front door, almost skipping, carrying a plastic bag. She opened the car door and put the bag in the well next to me, slipped in and shut the door, but not before kissing me suggestively on the cheek -slipping a bit of tongue as if tasting me,

We drove home in silence.

I didn’t need to ask what she’d done. I slyly looked into the bag on the way home and noticed jewelry, lots of it .  “She stole it from me. It should all have been mine but she was always daddy’s favorite… You should have seen the way they judged you! It’s alright, she’ll never do anything about it -who would believe her?”

It was my turn to keep quiet. What was going on? I wasn’t the brightest of the bunch; a match who had been struck prematurely; but even I was pondering on whether Amelia was using me for some reason. My subconscious must have been leaking for Amelia confronted me once we returned to her flat.

“I know you must think me wicked, but I need that money… For years I’ve wanted to hear… I know it sounds corny but you can’t understand how much I’ve always wanted to… Well, there’s such a thing as a cochlear implant -and no, it’s nothing to do with having an penis enlargement!” I shrugged. “Mommy and daddy never wanted me to have it; they always gave their money to baby sister… but now it's mine.”

Sure enough, after selling the jewelry via a few pawnbrokers she finally had enough to afford the implant. For a couple of weeks the Doctors said that she was doing brilliantly and she pushed for the early activation of it as there was virtually no swelling. I was there when it was switched on and all the arguments had been worth it upon seeing her eyes light up after hearing something for the very first time. To be fair, it wasn’t my voice, obviously, just the doctor counting to ten, but it was the mere fact that it worked. It would take around another three months, probably longer, of speech therapy, listening exercises and auditory mapping of the nerves and fine tuning, It was an intense time to be sure. She became very tenacious, very demanding of me and she was in constant discomfort, which meant that we could no longer share a bed together, I understood… of course I did.

She did occasionally ask for me to speak to her, but only at the end of the day if she was in too much pain, I acted as the perfect anesthetic to her. And I obliged. I knew that I was in a loving relationship and she would have done exactly the same for me.

Three months later her sister got in contact with her again; going so far as to turn up unannounced. She wouldn’t even look me in the eye, she was that mad. There was a huge row; her sister had finally tumbled what had happened and knew that her jewels had become the down payment for Amelia’s operation. She hadn’t told the parents yet but would do unless certain conditions were met….

I could tell that Amelia was threatened by this and there was a very good chance that she could become violent. I had never liked confrontations and did my best to break this one up. There was no point me signing so I found our communal white board and suggested a compromise. Yes, the money had been for the operation but it was only because it was so important to Amelia. Now it had been successful we would do our best to pay it back over time, Amelia agreed to this immediately, which surprised me… And her sister agreed as well and by way of an apology, Amelia suggested that we all go out for a meal the next day. 

We were going to take a taxi to the new Chinese that had just opened, and that should have been the first warning bell. We picked her up in the taxi. I was already wearing my seat belt but Amelia helped her sister with hers. Whilst on the dual carriageway we overtook lots of cars, the driver eager to earn Amelia’s tip. Amelia casually asked me to help her with her auditory exercises.I agreed without thinking and she joked with her sister that she had me well-trained.

It wasn’t noticeable at first, I thought the driver was simply nodding his head to the radio, but there was no music on. I was still speaking slowly and methodically so Amelia could hear me and I saw her sister slump and suddenly realised what was happening. I looked back at Amelia and was puzzled to see her relaxed, coveting a smile and a glint in her eye. The driver slumped forward but quickly regained his balance and tried desperately to stay awake. I had stopped speaking but it was too late now, the steering wheel slipped out of his grasp and there was nothing he could. His full weight was on the car horn, like a death knell, as the taxi jack-knifed, slamming into the partition before careening into the oncoming traffic. I couldn’t see what happened next but I was the only one still awake amongst the wreckage.

Both Amelia and I survived; our seat belts had held. We were battered and bruised and in some degree of pain but we were ok. The taxi driver was dead; dead upon impact. Amelia’s sister was crumpled like a pile of rags; her seat belt had failed completely. She too was dead. It was clear that I had been used to effectively murder Amelia’s sister; there could be no doubt about it. However to everyone else we were victims of death by fatigued driving.

We spent hours at the police station; obviously both of us had to go right to the written statement. Amelia explained that her cochlear implants had failed and I just lied my guts out. No one would have believed the truth anyway. It was then that I formulated my plan. I had to get out of the relationship anyway I could.

That night we argued; this time with something more genuine and fraught than most nights. I think Amelia just enjoyed the sound of her own voice too much now. I found it grating and hostile. I asked her when she would allow me access to her beautiful body again, to which she just laughed. I now knew she had been stringing me on for months; she’d gotten exactly what she wanted and would probably dump me before too long. 

I took her by surprise and managed to pin her arms behind her back whilst finding her implant. I’d spent so long helping her out with the fine-tuning that I knew exactly how it worked. I turned it on, and turned it up. 

“I love you so much, baby.” I said. “You’re mine now.” And with a groan of disgust and defeat her eyes closed.

Yes… I tied her up. Yes, I turned her implant to maximum and when she woke up she was horrified to find herself naked. And so was I. I started whispering as I made love to her. Each time she started to drowse off I’d stop and allow her to gain consciousness again. I kept this up for hours; an hour for each of the stinking months that she kept me strung up and used me; making me accomplice to her crimes; her lies; her degenerate life. This was payback. I did nothing to her that I hadn’t done before but I also knew that I had crossed a line. The deaths could not be pinned on me -the sister and that poor, unfortunate taxi-driver.. But she could easily testify against me now and nothing I said would make any difference. She looked at me and understood exactly what I was going to do.

With the implant still on maximum I started to sing to her. I knew her favorite song in recent months had been ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ by Queen and it was rather apt for it to be used as an eulogy. This would surely puzzle the coroner as there was no real way of determining her death -sleeping sickness, perhaps? I didn’t care. She had enough money in the flat to get a full tank of petrol. The moral line had been firmly crossed now -it was so far behind me that it looked like a dot. There was nothing stopping me from getting what I wanted when I wanted it. A robbery here; a bit of comfort there…. I mean, if you were in my position what would you do?