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I Solved A Murder But Oops I Slept With All My Sources So I Can’t Print It

I Solved A Murder But Oops I Slept With All My Sources So I Can’t Print It

By: Sophia Birks

Being a female journalist is hard, especially when you’re an alcoholic, haunted by the demons of your past and you’re just so horny all the time! Everyone wants me and I want everyone to give me the scoop by any means necessary. 

After a forced sabbatical due to excessive drinking on the job, my boss/father figure sent me to my small hometown to cover its first ever child murder (read: the first one anyone cared to solve because it was a white kid). Boss Daddy and I both knew this was just the getaway I needed. With my suitcase packed exclusively with pills and vodka filled water bottles, I was ready to confront my past, get the story, and bump uglies with a few hotties along the way. 

My first week was a blur of booze and childhood trauma flashbacks. I confronted my mother, slept with a guy for revenge because he harassed me in high school, and wandered the streets in a dreamlike stupor after taking too much ecstasy at a teen house party. Cocktails became Molotovs and fires set at the police station became long nights touching parts with the town sheriff. The trail was hot but I was hotter. I was right on track to bring this kid’s murderer to justice. 

By the second week I was sleeping with the lead detective and the primary suspect, but boy were they both clingy! I was having a lot of sex and doing the best investigative writing I had ever done, but something felt wrong. I needed a drink.

I was about to seduce the bartender by asking him questions about the murder when I suddenly realized I had been drugged and kidnapped by the killer. It turned out to be the person I least suspected but was the most attracted to. I was shocked and being shocked because they were torturing me, but honestly in a kind of sexy way. Thankfully my surrogate father and editor-in-chief noticed I hadn’t picked up my phone and got the cops just in time to save me and stop the murderer. Of course, I’d slept with the killer multiple times so I can’t publish any details but just know this story was riveting. 

Anyway, my boss adopted me even though my parents are alive and I’m in my 30’s. I guess it’s like the t-shirts say, “Life is good”. 

 

Word Brothel