“Shit….fuck….SHIT! I’ve really done it this time, I just confessed to murder to a priest. What was I thinking?” I cursed to myself as I made my way home, checking every corner for any sign of being followed.
I walked through the front door, making a list of everything I would need and silently thanked whatever divine being was watching over me that there was no one home to witness my epic mental breakdown. When I made it to my room, I dropped the largest duffel bag we had in the house on my bed and began to dump anything and everything that was in my dresser into it. I froze when I heard an authoritative knock on the front door.
“FUCK!” I growled at the ceiling, stopping what I was doing to make my way to the stairs. “I have to answer that. Why couldn’t I have waited until there was someone else here to back up the web of lies I’m going to have to tell to get out of this mess?”
It felt like the stairs were covered in wet tar as I trod down them to the door.
Opening the door, I was met with the most charming smile I had ever seen and sun-bleached brunette hair. I felt like an idiot standing there staring but the rest of my body wouldn’t respond to any commands my brain sent out.
“Bella?” The stranger asked, as he peered around my shoulder and into the hall way where several bags sat, obviously forgotten.
I took a closer look, realizing that the man standing on the front step wasn’t a stranger at all. “Peter, it’s nice to see you. Dad’s at the station already, if you’re looking for him.” I said. My nerves kicked into high gear at the thought that he might be here to talk to me.
“Oh I know your dad’s at the station; he’s actually the one that sent me here after we got some identifying information on a body this morning.”
I listened to Peter describe my handiwork as the images from that night flashed through my head. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from smiling, because honestly, who in their right mind would smile while being told that their significant other was never coming home.
I put my acting skills to the test as Peter sat waiting for me to react. A few thousand tissues and tears later, Peter finally left. I rushed up stairs to finish packing and cleaned up my face, since my crocodile tears had left mascara running down my cheeks.
No comments:
Post a Comment