Page 152 of Loving the Liar

“Ella,” she croaks, holding her hands to her chest.

I take off into a sprint, running to meet her, and she crashes in my arms, smearing blood all over my beige coat.

“H-help…help…” But she’s too heavy, and we both collide onto the damp forest ground.

My hands hover over her chest, and I try to press on the wound in a panic, but there are too many. She’s holding a knife. Did she do this to herself?

I take it out of her hands, putting it beside me, and that’s when I see the small piece of ripped paper crunched in her fist.

I can’t stop hearing it. The sound she made a few seconds ago.

The bloodcurdling scream of someone being murdered is like nothing I’ve heard before.

During those long, horrifying seconds, only the sounds and smells stick with me.

The gasping of her emptying lungs. How she chokes on her blood with dire gurgling noises I will never forget.

Blood smells strong. So strong I can practically taste it in my mouth, dying along with her as crimson liquid spills from her lips. A cough and it splatters on my face.

The images don’t stay. They’re flashes of blurriness my brain already tries to erase. To protect me from.

She’s on the ground. I know she is because I am too, kneeling next to her on the forest soil.

She’s dying.

There’s mud and blood in her black hair. That I notice. And her hands come to scratch her throat, her bloody lips. She’s ripping into her skin, coughing over and over again.

She’s dead before I get myself out of the haze.

I can already see the headlines.

College queen bee turns out to be a murderer.

Is this how I’ll go down? For the murder of the woman who had become my ex’s new girlfriend?

What was the point of becoming picture-perfect, of being the popular, flawless girl if my downfall all comes down to this? The murder of my enemy.

My left fist tightens around the note in my hand, hopelessness growing within me.

It’s just a tiny, bloody, ripped piece of paper carrying simple words.

Victory belongs to the most persevering.

“Megan,” I rasp. My throat tightens, reality hitting me harder than a punch to the gut. “Oh my god, Megan.” A sob bursts out of my mouth, my breaths coming in shallow pants.

I hear leaves ruffling behind me, someone stepping close, and a mighty presence settles beside me.

His hand comes to the top of my head, pressing dominantly and forcing me to lean against his thigh.

“Oh, Sweets,” he purrs. “What have you done?”

I’m shaking from my forceful cries, and I retch dryly as my gaze roams over her dead body.

“You did this,” I whimper. “You did this…you did this…”

“Hm, yes. I did.” He caresses my hair, and I weirdly don’t fight him, taking in the reassuring gesture. “But this picture truly shows you did.”

Something drops between my knees, and I glance down at the lit-up screen. The picture clearly shows me, holding the knife from when I took it from Megan’s hand, and looking down at her dying body.

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