Murderer

I killed her. Just like that. She forced me to do it of course. By her actions, her tendencies, her personality. All led inevitably to her death. At my hands.

I had to do it. I really had no choice.

I didn't actually push the blade through her expensive designer dress. I didn't feel the pressure on my hand as the blade was pushed, severing silk and then flesh. But I felt it. Inside. 

She loved those designer dresses. 

The blade cutting through that exquisite material on its way to severing her major arteries would have hurt her as much if not more. And of course it was silk. Thai silk. I know that. Because I know her too well. So well that she had to die.

Now what do I do?

My head is in my hands and my mind is empty of ideas. I hadn't planned to kill her. But her actions led to her death. I could find no logical way around it. She had to die. She had brought herself to the point at which her death was inevitable. 

Forced into a corner, I had to let it happen.

I'm staring at the flashing curser on a blank page on the monitor. It's beating the visual equivalent of the cackling laughter of a mocking hyena. Where do I go from here?

Fifty thousand words in, and I've killed off my main protagonist.