The first long rays of morning sun broke through gaps of curtains, to race across the hotel floor and onto Jo’s face. He jerked awake, rapping his head against the wall.

“Fuck!”

A well muscled arm shot up, hand grabbing the back of his head. No damage. Mother fucker… still alive. He was nude and cold, still lying in the corner against the wall.

Slowly he got up and stretched. No sign of the horrors that took place last night. Not the suicide attempt, the murder, nothing. It took care of that.

No one would remember anything. Not the limo driver, the club patrons, the hotel staff, nobody. It would be as if the man simply fell off the face of the earth.

Poor bastard. A flood of memories filled Jo’s mind. He still smelled him on his skin.

Jo made the shower as hot as he could stand, yet no amount of scrubbing could erase the stains from his soul. No amount of water could cover up his cries. He pounded a fist into the wall, dropped his head against it and sobbed.

Next time, I’ll die for good.