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“Go. I got this,” he said, and I trusted that between him and Bo, they would get it done. There was no other choice.
Amelia
All I could do was watch.
3:17 a.m.
3:18 a.m.
3:19 a.m.
The numbers changed right before my eyes, and I could do nothing but watch, clenching the pillows under my head. Two hours. That’s how long it had been since I killed … murdered … my mother. Noah hadn’t come in the bedroom since then, and I was too scared to leave. I’d taken a shower, but I wasn’t even sure if I was supposed to get dressed. My head felt like it was spinning, and resting in bed seemed like my only choice. But the moment I laid down, I felt like the whole world was now on my back, smothering me. I cried, and if my throat hadn’t ached so much, I was sure I would be sobbing as well.
I didn’t mean to.
I swear to god, I didn’t mean to kill her.
It didn’t matter, did it? Whether I meant to or not, a murder was a murder. There was no undoing shit like that.
What happens now?
What do I do now?
I heard a door open and shut—I heard a lot of things. But again, I didn’t move.
3:29 a.m.
“Amelia.”
For the first time since I’d lay down, my eyes shifted from the clock to him. He stepped in from the doorway, dressed only in his boxers. Where his clothes had gone I wasn’t sure. He came over slowly, and I was grateful for that for some reason. Lying down to the right of me, he rolled over on his side, blocking my view of the clock and forcing me to stare into his eyes.
“You. Did. Nothing. Wrong,” he asserted clearly, so clearly I almost wanted to believe him.
I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out.
“Amelia, you did nothing wrong,” he repeated. “If you’d called the police, they would have taken you in. You would have gone through a public trial and been ridiculed and torn apart by every TV personality, radio host, and blogger. Your career would be over. But in the end, you’d be found not guilty. They’d say it was self-defense. So I see no reason for you to go through all of that. I find you not guilty and refuse to let this destroy you.”
“H—ow…” my voice cracked and it took me a second to get the words out. “How do you know? You weren’t even here.”
“Because I know you,” he said, smiling as he placed his hand on my waist. “Amelia, you are not just a good person—you’re a beautiful one. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be so distraught right now. You need to know you are not a murderer. You are a woman who fought back and won. There is no shame in that.”
“She was my mother,” I said, stumbling over the past tense.
“That never gave her the right to abuse you.”
For some reason, that one statement was like a light bulb being switched on in my mind. I would never have to hide from her again. I would never cry because of her again. I was free. Slowly, all the guilt, anger, sadness—everything—just faded into the background, and my tears stopped.
I only had one question.
“What happens now?”
He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. I copied him. It was like he wasn’t sure what to say.
“Noah, I need to know,” I pleaded.
“Austin and I came up with a plan.”
Austin? “What?” I sat up immediately. “You told Austin?”
