Page 26 of Morally Grey

That’s when the camera feed cuts out, and the screen displays an error message.

Chapter Sixteen

Briar

It’s been forty-eight hours, and I think it’s time I admit defeat. He isn’t coming back. My bigger concern should be losing my house and having my crimes brought to light, but that isn’t what has me so gutted. It’s that I trusted him. I cared about him. And just like Sid, he fucked me over.

Out of obsessive compulsion, I check the camera feed for the fortieth time today. Nothing has changed. The butterfly painting is back in its correct orientation, but it’s been that way since the feed came back an hour after going down.

I tried tracing my phone, but it’s been turned off since the cameras went offline. Because of the exact timing of the total technology crash, I can only assume something jammed all the signals going in or out of that house. At first, I thought the feds had captured him, but something would have been on the news by now, and he’s not even mentioned anymore.

That can only mean one thing. Yes, the total disconnect was planned, but not by the feds. This was all orchestrated by Grey. All along, he was just using me as a place to crash until he got hisshit together. That was the plan from the beginning, sure, but I was also included in the endgame. My needs were considered—or so I thought. Somewhere along the way, he changed his mind about sharing the money.

I close the laptop and tell myself I don’t care, that none of this matters anyway. Nothing has changed. I’m still in the same position I was in before I met him. The hole in my heart is a little larger, sure, but life is just as hopeless as it ever was.

But no matter how many times I repeat this new mantra, I can’t make myself believe it. He didn’t just take the money. He took a part of me when he ran off. I gave him that part of myself, thinking it didn’t matter, but it does. It matters so fucking much. The part that he took with him was my last shred of hope for a future that doesn’t involve a jail cell or permanent solitude.

I stand from the kitchen table and meander toward the bathroom, where I run a tub full of warm water. I dump in the last of a rose-scented bath oil that’s supposed to soften my skin. My skin should be pretty soft by the time I’m found. That’s if it’s still attached to my body.

After placing three razor blades on the lip of the tub, I remove my clothes. I fold each garment into a neat cube and place it on the closed toilet seat. When I’m discovered, I don’t want anyone to think I was a slob. Not that it will matter much once they find the dead body in the woods. Then again, I wouldn’t want anyone to think I killed myself because of pining for that piece of shit. Maybe I need to make sure my voice is heard once I’m gone.

Naked, I hurry to the living room and go straight for the desk drawer where I keep a pad of paper and some chewed pencils. I spend the next forty-five minutes drawing up a suicide note that explains why I had to do this, though it’s specially curated to only reveal what I want to reveal.

That I’m so far behind on my mortgage payments that I see no way to keep my house.

That I killed a man who abused me emotionally and physically, and I see no way to make a jury of my peers understand that.

I see no way. That’s the common thread here. That’s what my letter says. I see no way, so I’m stopping the journey here. I want off the ride now.

The letter doesn’t include anything about Grey. I left him out because if there is any chance he escaped, I don’t just want him to survive. Despite everything, despite fucking me over, I want him to thrive. A mention in a suicide note might give them the tip they need.

Then again, there’s a shitload of evidence on my computer, plus the entire car in my garage, and both things will tie him back to me. Hell, the media might even find a way to spin this that blames him for my death, and I can’t have that.

The suicide note flutters from my hand and falls to the floor. Fuck, there is no way to do this that doesn’t potentially tie Grey back to me. I’ve been too rash. Before I off myself, I need to ensure any trace of Grey is wiped from my home.

I hurry to my computer, then begin factory-resetting everything. My phone can’t be helped, but nothing terribly incriminating would have been on it. Nothing that would harm Grey, anyway. As that’s busy removing all trace of activity, I go to the bedroom to dress. I’ll need to get rid of the car, and I can’t do that in my birthday suit.

Getting rid of Grey’s car won’t be that difficult. The cops already saw it turn down this road, so when they eventually find it in the abandoned barn a mile away, it won’t seem that crazy. Once I drop it off, I’ll hurry back here and...Well, I’ll do what I need to do.

This isn’t my first choice, but it’s my final choice. I’m left with no other options. Grey was my last hope of anything. When he took that money and ran, he took any chance I had of ever having an ending other than a jail cell or a grave.

I want to be angry with Grey. As I pull on my pants, then fasten my bra, I search deep inside myself for some rage or indignation. He was the one who offered me hope and pulled it away. But I only feel sad.

I grab Grey’s car keys from the kitchen drawer. I tucked them there after parking his car in my garage. He could have easily found them and taken off, but he had to hang around for that money.

He certainly didn’t hang around for me. I know that now.

I’m about to step into the garage when a thought crosses my mind. Though I’ve completely wiped the computer, all the data can probably be retrieved if someone wants it badly enough. When they find the dead body in the woods, that will certainly up their drive for answers. Maybe I should burn it...

And maybe I’m just procrastinating because I really don’t want to die. I just don’t want to live anymore.

With a huff, I snatch up the computer—and all those polaroids, sketches, and printouts of Grey—and trudge into the backyard. I walk until I’m far enough from the house that I don’t fear a stray wind carrying an ember onto the property and burning the structure to the ground. While that’s not the worst idea, I would prefer to buy Grey a little more time, just in case I’ve forgotten anything else that might incriminate him.

I don’t know why I’m still protecting him, but I want him to escape. In some weird way, if he makes it, we all make it. He’ll carry a little piece of everyone who’s been fucked over by the rich.

I drag the burn barrel over from the side of the house and drop some wood into the bottom. After dumping the laptopinside, I hurry into the house and grab Grey’s clothes. Anything he’s worn in the weeks he’s been here goes into my arms, where I tote everything outside and drop it on top of the computer. I douse everything in lighter fluid, then toss a match onto the pile.

Flames burst from the barrel, and I take a step back. That’s when I hear the guttural scream from inside the house.

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