down.”
AMY ELLIOTT DUNNE: June 26, 2011
After much deliberation, I’ve decided to kill myself.
Now hold on, before you go start calling the suicide prevention hotline, just let me explain. I’m not really gonna kill myself. I’m just gonna disappear and make it look like Nick killed me. It’s gonna be so fun! I get to leave Missouri, and Nick gets to go to jail.
What, this seems cruel to you? Unbelievably mean? Wouldn’t I have to be a completely awful person to even think such a thing?
Well I’ve got a confession to make: I am completely awful. If you thought otherwise, that’s because you, like pretty much the entire male population, is under the delusion that the Hot And Not Completely Awful Girl exists.
Every guy wants the Hot And Not Completely Awful Girl. They think it’s actually possible that a girl can be hot and not be completely awful. So hot girls like me are forced into living a charade, into pretending we’re not completely awful just to get a guy. I initially didn’t play along. The idea of being a Hot And Not Completely Awful Girl offended me. I’d see men—friends, co-workers, strangers—dating these hot girls that weren’t being completely awful, and I’d want to grab these men by their lapels and say, “The bitch isn’t making your life a miserable hell yet because she’s pretending !” But they never would’ve listened.
For years, I waited and waited for guys to wise up, because I didn’t want to live this lie of not being completely awful just to have a boyfriend. But it never happened. So when it finally became apparent that I had to have a boyfriend to win the hot girl status game, the charade began. My first few years with Nick, I wasn’t completely awful. I’d have sex with him on occasion. I’d decide what restaurant to go to or what movie to see once in a while without making it into a giant fight. I’d periodically respect our budget and not make him buy me things we couldn’t afford. But this was just Hot And Not Completely Awful Girl bullshit.
It had to stop eventually. There was a Real Amy in there, and I knew that one day Real Amy would need to come back out.
That day was today.
Ok, gotta run! Need to start framing a murder!
NICK DUNNE: Five Days Gone
When I checked my messages after leaving Desi’s, there was one from Gilpin: “Hi Nick, we need to ask you some more questions. Meet you at your house at four, okay?” I could tell it was serious, because it was the first time Gilpin hadn’t said “pretty pretty pretty pleeeeeease” when asking me to meet. (“Nick, I’m sooooo sorry to bother you, but is there annnnny chance you could meet us for breakfast so we could ask you a few things? Pretty pretty pretty pleeeeeease?”)
I headed back to the house and sat down with Gilpin and Boney in the living room. The summer motorboat show—a parade of powerful large boats speeding down the river—was taking place just outside, and because of the constant motorboat noise we had to all sit on the same couch to even hear each other. Also, every minute or so a wake from a passing boat tossed the house up and down several feet.
“Look Nick,” said Boney, “the thing is, besides you, we’re kinda running out of suspects.”
“Well what about this guy?” I said, pointing at Gilpin. “Older creepy dude, owns a gun, probably hasn’t hooked up with many hot girls, if any, and thus has a deep resentment toward any reasonably attractive girl for perceived injustices.” I looked at Gilpin. “Am I right?”
“No comment,” he said.
Then I pointed at Boney. “And let’s not forget about his lesbian partner, full of rage at Amy Elliott, the straight girl she couldn’t turn gay,” I said.
“I’m not a lesbian,” Boney said.
“Sure, and you’re not a murderer, either.”
“Nick, there’s no need to be defensive,” Gilpin said. “We want to clear you of this. We just need some more information.”
“I’ll give
AMY ELLIOTT DUNNE: June 26, 2011
After much deliberation, I’ve decided to kill myself.
Now hold on, before you go start calling the suicide prevention hotline, just let me explain. I’m not really gonna kill myself. I’m just gonna disappear and make it look like Nick killed me. It’s gonna be so fun! I get to leave Missouri, and Nick gets to go to jail.
What, this seems cruel to you? Unbelievably mean? Wouldn’t I have to be a completely awful person to even think such a thing?
Well I’ve got a confession to make: I am completely awful. If you thought otherwise, that’s because you, like pretty much the entire male population, is under the delusion that the Hot And Not Completely Awful Girl exists.
Every guy wants the Hot And Not Completely Awful Girl. They think it’s actually possible that a girl can be hot and not be completely awful. So hot girls like me are forced into living a charade, into pretending we’re not completely awful just to get a guy. I initially didn’t play along. The idea of being a Hot And Not Completely Awful Girl offended me. I’d see men—friends, co-workers, strangers—dating these hot girls that weren’t being completely awful, and I’d want to grab these men by their lapels and say, “The bitch isn’t making your life a miserable hell yet because she’s pretending !” But they never would’ve listened.
For years, I waited and waited for guys to wise up, because I didn’t want to live this lie of not being completely awful just to have a boyfriend. But it never happened. So when it finally became apparent that I had to have a boyfriend to win the hot girl status game, the charade began. My first few years with Nick, I wasn’t completely awful. I’d have sex with him on occasion. I’d decide what restaurant to go to or what movie to see once in a while without making it into a giant fight. I’d periodically respect our budget and not make him buy me things we couldn’t afford. But this was just Hot And Not Completely Awful Girl bullshit.
It had to stop eventually. There was a Real Amy in there, and I knew that one day Real Amy would need to come back out.
That day was today.
Ok, gotta run! Need to start framing a murder!
NICK DUNNE: Five Days Gone
When I checked my messages after leaving Desi’s, there was one from Gilpin: “Hi Nick, we need to ask you some more questions. Meet you at your house at four, okay?” I could tell it was serious, because it was the first time Gilpin hadn’t said “pretty pretty pretty pleeeeeease” when asking me to meet. (“Nick, I’m sooooo sorry to bother you, but is there annnnny chance you could meet us for breakfast so we could ask you a few things? Pretty pretty pretty pleeeeeease?”)
I headed back to the house and sat down with Gilpin and Boney in the living room. The summer motorboat show—a parade of powerful large boats speeding down the river—was taking place just outside, and because of the constant motorboat noise we had to all sit on the same couch to even hear each other. Also, every minute or so a wake from a passing boat tossed the house up and down several feet.
“Look Nick,” said Boney, “the thing is, besides you, we’re kinda running out of suspects.”
“Well what about this guy?” I said, pointing at Gilpin. “Older creepy dude, owns a gun, probably hasn’t hooked up with many hot girls, if any, and thus has a deep resentment toward any reasonably attractive girl for perceived injustices.” I looked at Gilpin. “Am I right?”
“No comment,” he said.
Then I pointed at Boney. “And let’s not forget about his lesbian partner, full of rage at Amy Elliott, the straight girl she couldn’t turn gay,” I said.
“I’m not a lesbian,” Boney said.
“Sure, and you’re not a murderer, either.”
“Nick, there’s no need to be defensive,” Gilpin said. “We want to clear you of this. We just need some more information.”
“I’ll give
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