Carter Reed

hands pushing him off. His body fell to the ground, as much as the bones and tendons allowed. His knees were still bent, but the blood seeped from him slowly. It formed a pool underneath, and as I stood there, it grew and grew.
    Still screaming, Mallory scrambled from him and collapsed to the ground not far from his body. She scooted against the wall until she found the farthest corner and curled into a fetal position. She was sobbing, hysterical, as more screams ripped from her throat.
    I went to her, but instead of soothing her like I should’ve, I put my finger to my lip and made a ssshing sound. When she quieted, I whispered, “You have to be quiet. People will hear.”
    She nodded but gulped for breath as her sobs grew silent.
    Then I turned and slid to the space beside her. I couldn’t look away from him. The pool of blood encircled him now. It seeped under the couch.
    Absentmindedly, my hand found Mallory’s exposed and bleeding knee. I patted it to soothe her, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from him. I had killed him. I had killed someone. I couldn’t think it or comprehend it, but everything was wrong. I should’ve been at the gym. I should’ve been trying to flirt with the new trainer, but I had been tired. I skipped the gym, just this once, and came home instead. When I saw his car, I almost turned around. I hated Jeremy Dunvan. He was connected to the local mob and he treated Mallory like crap. Still, I hadn’t gone back to the gym. I figured I could sneak inside. They were always in her room anyway.
    Jeremy’s face had fallen towards us somehow. I remembered that she had shoved him away from her so his body bent at an awkward angle, but his eyes looked at me. He was dead so they were vacant, but he could still see me. I knew it. A shiver went down my spine as I looked the guy I had murdered in the eye. He was damning me to hell with those eyes.
    “Em,” Mallory sobbed.
    This time her crying broke through my walls. The sound was now deafening to me. My heart picked up. I worried that they could hear in the next apartment, maybe below us or above us. They were going to call the police. We should call the police, but no—I had killed someone. No, I had killed Jeremy Dunvan. We couldn’t call anyone.
    I found her hand and gripped it hard. One of them was cold and clammy. Mine. My hand was pale while hers was warm with blood. I turned and saw she had her other hand to her mouth. She kept taking gulping breaths as she tried to contain her sobbing.
    “We have to go.”
    My voice sounded harsh to my ears. I flinched from the fierceness in it.
    She nodded, still sobbing, still gulping, still bleeding.
    “We have to go.” My hand squeezed hers. “Now.”
    Her head jerked in another nod, but neither of us moved. I didn’t think my legs worked anymore.

    Everything after that was blurry, only remembered in flashes.

    We were sitting in a gas station parking lot as we looked at each other. Mallory needed to be cleaned up. Did we go to the hospital? Did I need a camera to prove that she’d been raped? Then she started crying some more, and I remembered who I had killed. Jeremy’s father would come for us. No police would help us, not when half of them worked for Jeremy’s father, who worked for the Bartel Family. His body would be found in our apartment, I hadn’t the stomach to dispose of it.

    The bathroom was connected to the outside so I had to get the key. She couldn’t be seen like this. One of the two lightbulbs didn’t work so the lighting wasn’t the best, but I used my phone as I inspected every bruise on her body. She was covered from the top of her head to the two large welts on her calves. When I saw them and looked up, she whispered, “He kicked me.”

    I got Mallory sunglasses and a scarf to cover her head. She looked like she was from a different country, but it hid the damage. No one spared us a second glance as we went into a diner and ordered two coffees. My stomach growled, but I couldn’t eat. Mallory’s hands shook so much she couldn’t pick up the cup so both of our coffees grew cold as we sat there. I’d grown numb long ago, but her lip still quivered. It’d been quivering for hours now.

    It was past midnight. Neither of us ordered food. When the servers changed, I ordered a new coffee. This time I could finally sip it. Mallory gasped. My eyes shot to hers and then I felt the warmth in my mouth. I had burnt myself, but I barely felt it. After my second cup, I