Page 31 of The Editor’s Choice

“It’s all a little fuzzy to be totally honest with you. I know I killed her. I just don’t remember all the details of how it happened.” She takes a minute, doing her best to recall the details. Closing her eyes, tiny wrinkles appear at the edges as she squeezes them tight, focusing on every detail she can remember.

“I remember hearing her explanation. All those vile things she spewed at me. I remember the anger building up, feeling like my chest was going to explode if I didn’t release it somehow.” Her eyes cloud with the memory, pulling her back to that night once again. “I was shocked and hurt. Betrayed. I pushed her backward, causing her to trip over a tree root and land on the ground, hands out behind her to brace the fall. It’s fucked up, but I remember thinking how weak she looked in that moment.”

Can’t deny that’s kinda hot. My outrage at what she did has completely vanished, replaced by a feeling I can’t quite place. It’s almost as if I’m proud of her after finding out what actually happened.

“Her face was twisted with anger. I had never put my hands on her, no matter how bad the fight was. I wasn’t able to contain myself that night. Once she was on the ground, she was fuming. The next few minutes are all a blur. I can’t remember anything in particular really. I just know we kept hitting each other, over and over and over. I kept getting more and more angry, like every hit was stoking a fire in my blood.” She stops to chance a look at me, relieved when she finds no judgement in my eyes.

“Next thing I know, I’m straddling her on the ground, hands wrapped around her throat. I picked her head up, slamming it back into the dirt beneath her several times. Five, six maybe. I remember my hands finally giving out from the effort of squeezing her throat for so long. It didn’t really hit me that she was dead though, even as her glossy eyes stared up at the sky above me. Not until I rolled off of her, collapsing on the ground next to her and there was total silence. Not a single sound. That’s when I knew.” She suddenly looks ill, like she might throw up at any second, though she does her best to school her features and appear calm.

“Fuck,” is the only response I’m capable of giving. The tears streaming down her cheeks slow before she wipes away the last of them. The weight of the spoken truth seems to lift from her, though the reality of the situation is still grim.

Chapter Seventeen

Jade

He didn’t run.

That’s the first coherent thought running through my mind when I finish retelling the story of that night.

I told him every horrid thing I did, all the gruesome details I could remember, and not once did he offer to run or tell me I’m a monster or threaten to go to the police.

I told him everything, and he chose to stay.

The reality of that hits me hard, knocking the air from my lungs. There’s gotta be something wrong with this guy’s head, I think.

“So that’s it?” he asks, hands steepled in his lap, eyes focused on the tips of his fingers as they press together.

“Yeah. Basically,” I confirm, too ashamed to even attempt to look up at him.

“Why did you cry to me that night in your apartment? Tell me all about your best friend being murdered and the cops not doing shit to find the killer? You’re either a hell of an actor, or something isn’t adding up here,” he counters.

“Honestly? I was drunk and in complete denial,” I say, determined to lay everything out on the table. He already knows what I did. There’s no sense in hiding anything now. “At that point, none of the details were clear to me. I had blocked every memory as soon as it happened apparently. It wasn’t until I started having the nightmares that the pieces started to click for me,” I explain, shuddering at the thought of those damned nightmares. They’ve been haunting me almost every night since the murder.

“Nightmares?” he asks, eyebrow cocked.

“Yeah. A couple nights after all that, I started having recurring nightmares about what I did. They’ve gotten more clear as time goes on, but there are still fuzzy details in there.”

“So that night at the apartment? It was sincere? You really didn’t know who had killed her then?” he asks, sounding skeptical for the first time. Hell, I can’t even blame him for that one.

“Hand to God, I didn’t remember at that point. Until the dreams came, I sincerely thought Dawson had killed her. He was acting super sketchy about everything after she was found. It made sense that he would have done it. Or at least that’s what I thought then,” I shrug, not knowing what else to say.

“Fuck. That’s a lot to take in,” he sighs, leaning back into the couch, exhaustion etched across his face.

“I’m still trying to figure it out myself,” I confess. “Sometimes I want to go turn myself in, get it off my conscience. But other times,” I pause, shrugging.

“I don’t think anyone could blame you, given the circumstances. The bitch was trying to sell you for fuck’s sake! If we could prove it, it’s easily a case of self-defense in my opinion. Self-preservation really, I guess,” he adds easily. “Anyone would have done the same if they were in your shoes, whether they’ll admit to it or not.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t know what I had been expecting, but that wasn’t it. I’ve spent this whole time trying to justify my actions to myself, but to have someone else put it into words is an incredible relief.

“While we’re at it,” he begins, “I guess it’s my turn to confess.” He eyes me cautiously, waiting for me to give the go ahead. When I nod slightly, he continues.

“I’ve been investigating her murder since you told me about it,” he starts.

“I knew that. You told me you were going to ask around, use your skills from debt collecting to see if you could dig anything up,” I say, confused about how this is supposed to be a confession when I already knew he was looking into it.

“Right. So, I enlisted the help of a sort of private investigator. To your credit, you covered your tracks well, intentionally or not, because I was convinced, up until ten minutes ago, that Dawson had killed Emily as a sort of revenge plan for losing you,” he says, a small smile playing at his lips.

Though everything still feels incredibly heavy, I return the smile, feeling slightly better than I have in weeks.