𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄🔪🃏🥀

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 1

"HOLY SHIT, I CAN'T believe we're doing this,"

"Just drive, Gianna!" the wheels screeched as my best friend since grade school, Gianna Palmer, cranked the wheel of my little Audi coupe and sped toward the exit of the school parking lot. "So Dean's house? Really?" She asked me, slowing to a stop at the intersection before turning onto Thief Creek's central road. "Yes, really!" I cried. I was burning up under my jacket, and I just knew my skin was glazed with sweat from my nerves. "We have to talk to the guys. And we have to get everyone out of that house. For all we know, they could be in serious fucking danger." 

All of a sudden, a pair of wide, hazel eyes popped out toward the backseat—Quinn, our younger friend, who was riding shotgun as Gianna drove my car. "And what about us?" she asked as she wiped her spilling tears. "What's gonna happen to us?" I sighed, closing my eyes for a moment and trying to shove the racing thoughts away. The body. The blood. Me and the body. The screaming. The running—my lungs still ached from the sprint to the car. "Nothing is gonna happen to us, Quinn, as long as we stick to the plan." I was about to reach for my phone when I was alarmed by a loud gasp.

"Marley! Your shirt!" Quinn cried out, jabbing her finger at me. I looked down, my heart sinking as I reminded myself why I chose to sit in the backseat to begin with—to focus on scrubbing away the blood. "Oh, shit," I groaned, my head throbbing at the sight. Quinn's hand was clamped over her mouth, still processing my bloody tee-shirt, and Gianna was shooting me a side-eye in the rearview mirror. 

"Get that shit out. Now." She demanded, stepping harder on the gas. The engine growled and the car jerked forward as I rummaged around in my Thief Creek High School duffel bag, searching for the sweat rag I keep in there for cheerleading practice. What? Captaining is hard work, especially with the routines I like to choreograph. When I found the rag I doused it with water from my water bottle and slapped it on my stomach, pushing hard into my skin. I felt my insides shrivel up, startled by the cool water, and I prayed desperately that I could at least mute the potent, cherry-red stain before walking into Dean's mansion. I wondered how it even got there, but, admittedly, the way I abandoned the morbid scene left much to be desired.

My body jerked forward again, either from my lack of a seatbelt or Gianna's panicked driving, and I placed a hand on the back of the driver's seat to hold myself in place. "Will you be careful?!" I snapped, feeling my eyebrows strain as they furrowed. "Nothing matters if we die before we get there."

"Oh, come on!" Gianna replied, raising her hand in an 'are you serious?' manner before slapping it back on the steering wheel. "Is this how you treat all of your getaway drivers?" Her voice was raising in both volume and pitch. I scoffed. "I wouldn't need a getaway driver if you were helping me hold the body like you were supposed to!" The words came flowing out of my mouth. "Oh, hell no," Gianna was shaking her head, her shiny, black braids swaying with her disappointment. "I know you did not just say that, little miss 'don't call the police'. I swear to God, when we get out of this car–"

"Guys!!!! Stop!!!" Quinn's shrill cry silenced us, and all I could hear was the Audi's purring motor as she sobbed. "Let's just shut up, please, and get this over with." For her sake, I bit my tongue and shoved down my digs, but it only fueled the fire in my lungs. My breathing sped up and my chest tightened, almost like a hand was slowly closing around my neck. I had to put the rag down for a second, shivering as the cold breeze grazed my soaked torso. "Shit," my hand dove into my purse on the floor, trembling as I rummaged around inside. "Where is it?" I muttered frustratingly to myself before finally feeling the cylindrical shape of my inhaler. I yanked it out of my bag and sent a couple of puffs into my body before tossing it aside on the leather seats. I held the medicine in my lungs as I looked down at my shirt. The white cotton was stained a faint pink, and I didn't think it would get any lighter than that. Maybe I could pass it off as wine?