Murder Mystery - H.S

6

Juliet.

Growing up, everything was always handed to me, from my first phone and my first car. I was privileged; I knew that. But it wasn't always what I wanted when I was younger.

I sometimes wish I could earn my gifts and materialistic things. Instead, they were handed to me because they needed to get rid of money. That's probably why I grew up wanting nothing to do with the cartel.

I simply wanted to live a normal life like my friends. Or as natural as it gets.

I knew there would be a time in my life when I would be drawn back to the cartel, whether I liked it or not. I tried my best not to get involved.

Never killing anyone

Never robbing anything.

Trying my best not to hurt anyways feelings.

Everyone is going through something, and offending them may be the turning point for their bad day, which I don't want.

Except if your name is Styles.

If that's his name at all. Who would name their kids Styles?

Something about him irritated me. The way he spoke to me, the way he looked at me, the way he demanded me. He's very entitled.

I'm not sure how he's supposed to protect me from my "mother's killer."

All of this is most likely a lie.

It was as if everything I had worked for had vanished in the blink of an eye. My first car, which I purchased with my own money, was wrecked.

Leaving the first apartment, I ever purchased. I was aware that it wasn't perfect; Styles were right. But because it was my first apartment, I felt a sense of success.

I felt accomplished.

I had the idea that I could accomplish anything on my own.

And then Styles show up and destroys everything I've ever worked for. Taking my dreams of success away from me

I hated him.

I intended to move today. The man, whose name I haven't yet learned, is supposed to help me move today.

Have I begun to pack?

No.

Am I trying to avoid what might happen?

Yes

Instead, I was drunk. A bottle of almost empty tequila on the ground, and a pile of pictures near me. Images of my mother

As soon as I got hold of the "do not open box," I decided against starting to pack. I found myself lying on the ground, taking in all the nostalgic images. Memories that are both good and horrible.

I was startled by the sound of heavy footsteps, spilling the tequila bottle to the ground and cocking my head in the direction of my closed bedroom door.

My heart began to beat rapidly, but my thoughts felt lethargic. "Juliet."

The man

He entered my apartment again.

"She's not here." I cried out, collected all the pictures that were on the floor, and putting them back into the box while attempting to clean up the liquid that had spit on the floor.

Who is this man coming in here like he lives here or something? As my bedroom door opens, I scoff.

"Maybe don't speak up if you're going to pretend you're not home." I laughed, turning to face the man in front of me.