A GOOD GIRLS GUIDE TO MURDER ( oneshots ! )

Snow Angel

Look in the mirror, she looks like me

White knuckles gripping the counter, fingernails scraping against it.

"Holy shit," she breathed — no, she panted — unable to look at herself. "No,"

Her eyes flickered around the bathroom. Anywhere but her own reflection. Anywhere else. The window. The falling snow. Not her hands, not her face, not her feet.

Out the window, past the falling snow, at the city where somewhere, in some alley, there was a man bleeding into the snow, lifeless eyes forever looking into the blinding white as flakes covered his body, doing Pip's job for her.

It had been thrilling in the moment, if even in the slightest. And, sure, in that moment before she'd pressed a knife to his throat, he had been backing her into the alley where he now laid, whistling and whispering about her short skirt. That part hadn't been all that thrilling, but that didn't really matter, now, did it?

What mattered was at the time, electricity was pumping through her veins. It was like she was eight feet tall. It was like she was invincible.

And sure, it was self defense, just like last time. And all the times before that — or at least that was what she told herself. Or what Ravi told her every time she'd turned around to see him splattered with blood, rather than her.

After Pip graduated, she and Ravi had made themselves comfortable in New York, with only one man's blood on their hands.

The second time they ended up with a body at their feet, it was more electrifying. At least, it had been in the moment, but once they settled into bed for the evening, the shock set in.

That always seemed to happen — it was the thrill of the kill that brought them to kill, but once they came down from that high, they crashed hard.

The third time they'd done it, they'd called a taxi a block away from the body, and once they were home, and the thrill had expired, they didn't leave.

For a week.

But half alive and twice as weak

And now, for the sixth time — not altogether, Ravi had done more damage than Pip knew — Pip was coming down from that giddiness and falling into that pit of shock.

Of course she'd done this again — the smallest threat and suddenly her face is painted with red.

Classic Pip.

And in the end, wasn't this all his fault? She wouldn't say his name anymore, much less think it, because he had ruined her life. He'd been the one to start the cycle — killing him was supposed to end it. Supposed to keep she and Ravi safe.

Except now, she was twenty-two, surrounded by death because how was she supposed to trust anyone other than her boyfriend?

One man could whistle at her on the street and she'd be suddenly certain he was going to tape her up and shove her in the trunk of his car.

Pip hadn't realized she was crying until she let herself glance up into the mirror. She didn't recognize the girl staring back.

Where had her freckles gone? How had her skin managed to go from porcelain to sickly pale? The bags under her eyes couldn't be hidden by concealer anymore. Her hair was growing out, barely skimming her shoulders, wet from the snow, and thinning. To top it all off, there was a splatter of blood on her chin that she'd covered with her scarf until she got home.