WARNING: Dark humour. Avoid like the plague if you are not immune to it. 

I live life by two words, and they are "Hakuna" and "Matata". My modus vivendi being guilt and worry -free does not essentially mean that I don't have problems. I do, but they're quite different to what the average person may refer to as problems. My issues may sound a tad bit comic than problematic to the point they put sit-coms to shame. After all, my entire life - in summarization, is a joke. Allow me to demonstrate.

Where do I even begin? Ah, yes.

A few years ago, I, quite naturally, ended up being hospitalized for a kidney infection. Okay, okay, I suppose I do have normie problems; but plot twist – that wasn't my problem.

My problem was with a few overly curious individuals, otherwise known as medical students (read: minions of Satan). Of course, I had to be transferred to a teaching hospital, of all the bloody places in the universe. Now, I could have tolerated being poked and prodded at for the sake of science, but unfortunately, they decided to bombard me with questions instead. One of them in particular comes to mind.

'Do you have a boyfriend?' they would ask me.

'No,' I say. This should be easy. And man, was I wrong.

They visited me at least thrice every single day for an entire week, only to ask the same exact question without fail. I would have understood if it were different people at every turn, but no, it was the same folks. Suffice to say, I thought I was dead and was being tormented in hell, before even in my half dead state, I came into realization that the torture human beings are capable of inflicting precedes that of hellish torture.

I think what students in school should be taught is to answer stupid questions like this without going insane, instead of math problems where some gormless fellow attempts to eat seventy thousand kilograms of cabbage to fill the void where his brain should be.

Ahh, I miss it though. I feel like I should have said yes on a few occasions just to fuck with them. Then there was the last time they dared to show their face again. That day, like most others, I had a big- ass syringe injecting me with what I hoped was heroin, but instead it made my blue veins a furious red and had me squirming in pain. These clowns turn up on the assumption that I'm ready to give in, oblivious to the fact that I was feeling better and my smart mouth was on unrated mode.

They sent my mother outside, to have a 'word in private' with me. Their hopes of having me confide in them were crushed when I quite colourfully worded out where they could direct their questions at. Even today, my mum brings this up at family dinners to point out what an absolute charmer her daughter is.

How a relationship gets in the way of contracting an infection that is not an STD and finding a cure for it is number one in my list of questions I don't have answers to. I would kill to know why.

Which brings us to this moment. You might want to buckle up real tight. With a piña colada and five dozen bottles of vodka for good measure.

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The closer we get to the hospital, the more I wish I had driven the knife into my heart instead of my shoulder. I am in no shape or form ready to answer what ever it is they might ask me this time. You might start to wonder "what the hell happened here?" and you have every right to, so stay tuned for the encore of "Shit, I stabbed myself".

I arrive at work, and it didn't take me long to figure out that I had left my laptop at home. By 'home', I mean my boyfriend Blaine's house, where I moved in the previous day. My house is in dire need of repairs courtesy of a surprise visit by my dear friends, the termites. I'm not thrilled about moving in with him – he's a little allergic to being messy. On top of it all, I don't want our parents to know about this. Like with every parent, me having a boyfriend makes them hear wedding bells, and now that we live together, I know that they would finish picking baby names for our kids.

Blaine mentioned that he would be taking a day off from work, which I'm certain was so that he can arrange my things into their pre-assigned places, knowing that I wouldn't unpack even if my luggage was on the verge of creating its very own ecosystem. I decide to walk into the office, because my high and mighty royal couch potato-ness needed exercise and tell my secretary that I will be working from home for the day. She tells me I have a meeting at eight in the evening. Just what I wanted.

To tell that what I came home to surprised would be the understatement of the century. When I tried to open the front door, I found out that it was jammed – not locked, even though the locks were perfectly functional last I checked. Why would Blaine jam a door when he can lock it like a normal person? Then it dawned on me. Blaine was preparing a welcome home party for me!

Not.

My attempts at unjamming the door were too pathetic for it to even be mentioned – it's a disgrace to humanity. I go around the house and find the back door. It took me a while to figure out what key worked on the lock. Once I entered the house, I stop myself from calling out Blaine's name.

I heard grunts and moans. Is Blaine going freaky on himself? Not that I had a problem, of course. What bothered me was that another person was in the equation. That, from what I have heard is not okey dokey if you're in a relationship. This is bad. Very bad. Where will I live now? With the termites? In my office? Or worse, on the streets?

Instinctively, I grab a decorative wooden dagger hanging on the wall. I'm not much for decoration, but I was thankful that this decorative thingamajig existed. What I was not thankful for was that it was made of wood. Sure, this will be effective if vampires decided to confirm their existence to the world, but given its unlikeliness, I wished it were made of Vibranium instead.

I finally reach the source of the sounds I have been hearing. There is a woman on top of Blaine, who sees me and calls my name. Her head turns and our eyes meet. She makes her way towards me, knowing I was about to attack her.

I put my three-step defence list into action, even though I have never tried it before to know how effective it would be. I jab her eyes with my fingers, making her scream and jerk her head back in reflex. I then introduce my good friend the elbow to her now exposed neck, which cuts off her screaming, and bring the dagger to skewer her torso, right below the ribcage. That shouldn't be fatal.

I don't intend to kill her, and I have no intention of going to prison for manslaughter just yet, so I push her aside and make a beeline for the kitchen. I hear Blaine thanking me and the non-existent forces of the universe. Why is he thanking me? He's next.

I grab a knife – a real one made of steel that I sharpened this morning and face my second target. He was a tricky one. If he really needed saving from that woman, he could have fought back like he was doing now. It's as if he wants to seek vengeance because I attacked his side-bitch.

I throw myself into him, hoping that he runs away from me without tempting me to kill him. What I didn't think about was him defending himself and overpowering me.

He deflects the knife by pushing back my elbow and I could hear the words "bad idea" inside my head repeatedly. My arm swung the opposite way and stabbed me in my left shoulder. Karma sure is a bitch with a big ass watermelon on top.

Blaine soon starts to apologize and starts crying, while half-dragging me into the nearest seat available. Why on Earth is he helping me?

He says he will call an ambulance soon and goes back to his room to get his phone. He lets out a high-pitched ear-deafening scream, and I drag myself to his room to confront the woman again.

Except, she was dead. Very dead. She probably didn't get the memo which said taking out objects you were stabbed with will knock you out for eternity. This is no Bueno.

I stop Blaine from making the phone call. There is no way we can call an ambulance now – not with a dead woman, no. For some reason, I found that a part of me felt good about it. Killing someone was no longer a fantasy that was confined in a corner of my mind – it is now reality. I could get used to this. I was running out of things to do to feel alive anyways.

Why my boyfriend is driving me to a hospital comes as something I cannot fathom. Afterall, he is the sole witness to a crime committed minutes ago by yours truly, and almost a victim too. Was "drive the person who tried to kill you to a hospital" taught in an ethics lesson I happened to miss out on? Maybe a mental hospital, yes. I hope he doesn't expect me to accept this as a gesture of his icky mucky undying love for me or something.

Let's round up a few things here, before I lose my sanity. Chances of him ratting me out? 60/40. Chances he will take my side? Nil. Can I trust him? Undecided. To hell with it, I don't even know if we're still a thing. I am definitely fucked, aren't I?

On our way, I let him know a few things he should remember to do, and steer clear of, given our situation. He was still crying, and I have no idea how he saw through his eyes at this point. He also told me some interesting things about what happened before I entered the house. Turns out it wasn't his side-bitch. He said that she entered the house and attempted to molest him. Of course he didn't bother defending himself when it was her. It had to be me that he blocked the blow from. But in hindsight, it seems he did  it for his own good. There's too many women forcing themselves onto men and make false claims afterwards. And society? They're blinded by a bogus concept that has styled itself to be considered as feminism. 

After what felt like forever – listening to his incoercible blabbering on what went down, I start to feel light-headed. Either I have lost a lot of blood, or I'm being pulled into my after life out of pity for my ears. Why is it getting dark at this time of day?

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'Miss Ortega, are you awake?'

Who's talking? Who's Ortega? What kind of freakshow did I wake up to? Where am I? Why is there so much light? Argh, my eyes! Get me out of here! Help!

'Miss Ortega, would you like to tell us what happened?' Someone who looked like a front facing eagle asked me. It suddenly dawned on me that he was talking to me. I'm Ortega! What Ortega though?

I'm disappointed. I was passed out for god knows how long and they ask me what happened? They should be briefing me before I lose my last semi-functioning brain cell! I decided at that moment that I dislike health care workers, but for some odd reason, I feel like I have always hated them.

'What's going on? Where am I? Why can't I remember?' I tried to sit up, with my mind still occupied with trying to figure out what my name is, when pain shot from my shoulder. What the heck happened to my shoulder?

'You're in the hospital. You were brought here a few hours ago by your boyfriend with a knife in your shoulder. You lost consciousness after losing a lot of blood. Would you like to talk to him and try to remember what happened?' He could have led with that. Plus, I have a boyfriend?

'Yes, please.'

Someone enters the rooms and makes his way towards me. My first guess was Rudolph the Red Nosed Human Being, but it looked like a man who has clearly gone through a lot.

'P-p-please d-don't leave m-me,' he says between sobs. For a man, he seemed quite jumpy. Now where have I seen that before?

'Blaine?' The word escaped my mouth and I knew I messed up. What kind of name is Blaine?

'Yes, I-it's me! Isla, you had me so w-worried!' Ah, so I didn't mess up. I am yet to find out what his parents were on when he was named and what I was on when I decided he would be a good partner.

At least I know what my name is. Isla. Isla Ortega. Cringe.

The doctor and a few others who I assume are nurses leave the room, leaving us to own, probably under the assumption that this would turn into a sappy declaration of love in the minutes to come. Either way, I felt more comfortable without them.

'What happened?' I ask Blaine.

'You don't remember?'

'I didn't know my own name until you mentioned it. Cheer up, no one died.'

At that, his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and his look alone brought a few things back to me.

Surely, they had to be blotched because I seem to remember stabbing some poor, unfortunate soul. I do fantasize killing people I loathe, but this face was new. It wasn't someone I was familiar with.

'Let's take it from the top. I feel like my memories are too fucked to make any sense of it,' I say. 'And stop crying this instant, or I might have to kill you.' Thankfully, the sob rate drops by 0.0000001%.

He explained to me what went down, and everything in my head started making so much sense. He even told me a few things I had told him to say if anyone got overly curious. Just around the time we were done catching up, the doctor from before enters the room. He asked me if I feel better and to take my time to explain what happened.

'Oh, that's easy. I tried to swat this fly around that kept landing on me. I got carried away with getting rid of it and forgot I had a knife in my hand. Speaking of which, can I have it back?'

'Have what back?' I point to the knife that was now laid on the nightstand beside me with my eyes. 'May I ask why?'

'Sentimental value?'

'I don't see why not then. As long as you don't make a habit of stabbing flies with knives.'

'Thank you. I won't.' Hey, I am a nice person. A nice person who caused someone's death, regardless, but who cares?

He gives me a few painkillers and tells me I must rest awhile in the hospital. I tell him I could rest better at home, although that would be a fat lie. If I go home, I'd have a corpse to get rid of. A corpse which is at this moment rotting back at Blaine's house. At this rate, having to get rid of it would be the least of my worries. I'm sure it would be fossilized or something. That would be a lot to look forward to than maggot infested flesh falling off the former whore's coarse bones.

You know what? Maybe she still is a whore. In hell.

Two insurance agents arrive sometime afterwards, and they attempt to coerce me into saying I was abused by Blaine. It was more or less the opposite, though. I should have figured that out the moment they kicked him out of the room to 'talk' to me. It was déjà vu all over again.

'Miss Ortega, all you have to do is tell us if he was being abusive. We can get the police involved and make a claim, you won't have to worry about anything.' Easy for her to say. The man drove me out here even after I tried to stab him. I don't have the heart to betray him.

'I am not making false claims. Either you cover the goddamn bill or tell me if you can't.'

'Well, we're sorry but this isn't covered in any of the policies we offer. We can mayb-'

'Well, then get out of here! And cancel my policy while you're at it!'

I need to have a word with the person who hired these two Neanderthals. They are now staring at me as if I just shot a bird and swallowed it raw and whole.

'Out!' I say once more.

They scuffle outside. Blaine tells me he will deal with the bill so we can leave soon and retain my defunct sanity.

When everything is settled, I am told we can make our way back home. It seems that I might need insurance after all. As of yesterday, I could afford a car and still have the big bucks in the bank; but now, I might have to mortgage my pest infested house to buy lunch.

Once we get in the car and take off, Blaine is all business. Whatever happened to the person I once knew, I don't know. He wouldn't shut up about all the possible things we could do to get rid of the you-know-what. I tune myself out of his monologue and agree to everything he is going on about. I need to get some food in me to get my noggin in the works.

'It's settled then. We'll burn it.'

I came into my senses at that. 'What?'

'You said burning the body was the best option we have,' Blaine clarifies.

'I said what now?'

'Well, I said it and you agreed to it.'

'Are you insane? I'll – I'll think of something, just do me a favour and stop at a supermarket.'

Awkward silence reigned, and the songs on the radio didn't fit the mood one bit. What I had to do next was bound to happen at some point. It just happens to be a terrible time but fitting too.

'Are we still a thing?' I blurt out.