Bludgeoning is a messy way to kill a man but I was in a hurry and hadn't really intended to end my evening in such a way. He had insulted me you see so there were very little other options at my disposal. Afterwards, in the cold alleyway in which I had felled him, the panic set in. At first it was only a nagging feeling in the back of my head but within a few minutes it had risen into an unbearable level of fear. I would surely be caught and, after a long and arduous trial process which would surely destroy the mother's already fragile mental state, I would inevitably end up in prison. I would spend my time writing letters home for the other prisoners in the vain hope this minor skill would protect me from the unsavoury aspects usually set aside for life in the public school system. My brain worked to find a solution and settled on the only one that worked.

I phoned the loved one. She who I had previously trusted with my most intimate of secrets and embarrassing private facial expressions. The only one, aside from you dear reader, who I allow to see into my soul knowing that she won't be offended or afraid at the hideous abyss within. She answered immediately, of course, and listened calmly as I told her my situation. Her nerve held and within half an hour she was at my side loading the body into the boot of the car. By midnight he was buried in the nearby woods and an hour later we had finished making love on his grave. It had been a cold evening so we stopped off at a supermarket on the way home for some powdered hot chocolate to share in bed. We made a fort out of all the bed sheets in the house. It had separate compartments linked by an intricate tunnel network propped up by chairs. We even joked about how we could hide bodies in it. She had, as she so often does, turned a mood of panic, terror or simple depression into one of calm, love and sincerity.

My previous partners, one night floozies met in bars or under bridges, had never helped me out in such a situation. A few had tried to alert the authorities but I had never been caught. I eventually learnt that, though fun in their own way, these short term relationships rarely provided me with the nurture and care that all of us need. It is all well and good going through life, stumbling from empty relationship to another but surely it all comes down to making an actual connection with someone? Someone who always knows where the shovels are kept and just how many bottles of acid are needed to fill a bath. Someone who can lie skilfully to the police about my whereabouts on the twentieth of October between the evening hours of nine and eleven.

Certainly there are other aspects. The loved one and I realised that upon moving in together we both had to cook half as often and the costs we saved on rent and bills were wonderful. We are also less likely to be suspected because, after all, we seem like such a lovely couple. There has rarely been a loner who holds dinner parties with his girlfriend.

It was a lonely life before she arrived. I rarely cook unless I have another to cook for so I would live on a disappointing range of tinned soup or frozen pizzas. I let my physical appearance fall below socially acceptable levels. Oh I still had friends and I met women now and then. I still knew how to brush up neatly for occasions but my private life became one of anger and a grim fascination with the inner workings of the human body.

I had often wondered what it felt like to be on the other end of a disembowelling and I can only assume it is like that empty feeling I have when she is not around. I can also only assume that the fluttering stomach I get when I see her is similar to the moment when they wake up and realise I am still there.

Like most successful couples we consider ourselves a team. We compliment each other in ways that nobody else can. Our tastes intertwine like the strong mesh of a taught steel wire. Our personalities melt into each other like flesh and acid. Our minds run together like two strangers fleeing a chainsaw in an intricate tunnel network propped up by chairs.

True love is the only real thing that makes life worth living. With her I can cope with all events, knowing that she is there to comfort me and help throughout the difficult times. Without her I would be nothing. Or at least imprisoned with no chance of parole.