Page 59 of Shy Girl

By the time I stop, the room is silent except for the sound of my ragged breathing. Nathan’s body is unrecognizable, a mangled, bloody mess of flesh and bone. I sit back on my heels, my hands coated in blood, my face slick with it, my stomach full and heavy.

The rage leaves slowly, like the last embers of a fire. What remains is something hollow, a calm so thin it feels like the edge of a blade. I look down at what’s left of Nathan, his body slack and unrecognizable, blood soaking into the floor in broad, blooming circles. The room smells of copper and ruin, the kind of smell that burrows into your skin and stays there. This will stay with me forever.

Suddenly, the door swings open, and her voice cuts through the silence.

“Hey, how’d it go? Did she take the money?”

Her words are casual, light, as though she’s arriving at the aftermath of a business meeting. She steps inside, and her heels click against the floor. I hear the sound before I see her, and then there she is, framed in the doorway like a ghost from my past.

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It’sher.

Cupcake.

I know her immediately. I’ve burned her face into my mind over the years, etched it into memory. She’s here, alive, wearing a tan trench coat that clings to her waist, blonde hair perfectly straightened, her heels unmistakably Louboutin. She looks every inch the woman I imagined her to be—elegant, untouchable.

And now, she’s staring at me. Her eyes widen as they take in the scene: Nathan’s body, lifeless and open like a dissected animal. My hands, my face, my clothes—all dripping in gore, evidence of what I’ve done.

Her scream cuts through the room, jagged and raw.

“No, no, no!”she cries, stumbling backward, her hand flying to her mouth. The sound is high-pitched and guttural, like something breaking in her chest. Tears pour down her face, tracing paths through her carefully powdered cheeks.

She looks at Nathan, then at me, her expression flipping between disbelief and devastation.

“Why’d you do that?” she wails, her voice cracking. “I loved him!”

The words hit me like a slap. Loved him?Loved him?

“He was letting you go!” she screams, her body shaking with the force of her grief. “Hewas letting you go!”

I straighten slowly, my joints stiff, my muscles trembling from the exertion. Blood drips from my fingers onto the floor, each drop marking time, and still, her words echo in my head.

“He didn’t deserve to live,” I say, my voice low and steady, though my own chest feels like it might cave in.

She takes a step forward, unsteady on her heels, and kneels beside Nathan’s body. She doesn’t touch him—her hands hover, trembling, wanting to touch but afraid to make contact with the

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carnage. “He changed my life,” she says through her sobs, her voice splintered. “He gave me everything! Oh god...”

I stare at her, my mind reeling. “But... he held you captive,” I say. My voice quivers despite my attempt at control. “He kidnapped you.”

She shakes her head, tears falling faster.“He let me go!” she screams, her throat raw with grief.

I step closer, feeling the distance between us tighten like a noose. “How many years did he take from you?” I ask, my voice rising. “How many?”

Her lips tremble, and her shoulders collapse inward. She whispers, “Ten. Ten years.” Her knees buckle, and she sinks to the floor, her head hanging low. Her voice drops to a whisper. “But I loved him.”

The words linger in the air, and I feel the weight of them press against my ribs. Ten years. Ten years of this.

I stare at her as she cradles his arm, the only part of him not bloody, she grips it like it is still alive, her tears pooling on his body. “We were going to get married,” she says softly, her voice distant. “After he let you go. He told me he was going to stop all this.”

I shake my head slowly, my throat tightening. “He didn’t mean it,” I whisper. “It was just another way to control you. To keep you quiet. I’m sure he tried to bribe you to not go to the police.”

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