Concrete digs into my knees, breaking through the fabric of my leggings and then into skin, but I ignore the grinding pain as Michelle rolls out of the way and I fight for possession of the gun. The guy recovers from Michelle’s attack faster than I would’ve hoped. Knuckles sail and slam into the side of myhead. Stars—black and white stars—dance in front of me. Somehow, I manage to hold on to the arm that’s trying to turn the gun my way.
Fuck. No.My inner psycho comes roaring to the surface and takes hold of my body like she’s a goddamn body snatcher.
That’s exactly what she is, I recognize several seconds later, as my mind takes a step back and I watch as if from a distance how I lower my entire body down on the struggling man. Sitting on him, twisting his thumb back until he’s forced to release his weapon and it falls into my palm. Even though I don’t feel fully in my body, I do sense the heaviness of the gun, and… I find that I like it.
“Daisy!” Michelle’s scream is an echo in my head, one that I ignore as I bring the barrel of the gun toward the guy’s face. He looks at me. I look at him.
Beady eyes widen, pupils dilate, nostrils flare. Fear, thick and tangible, oozes out of him. The place between his legs darkens and the scent of urine wafts up to my nose. Ew.What a fucking pussy.“No, wait, don’t—”
I pull the trigger, silencing him.
The rebounding echo of the gunshot should be ringing in my ears, but it’s not. There’s a loudpop, but that’s it. It’s kind of anticlimactic.
“Holy… fuck…” Michelle’s whispered horror is background noise, but it does make me remember where we are.
On shaky legs, I clamber to my feet and stare down at the man sprawled beneath me on the ground. Somehow, between the shock of what I just did and knowing my best friend just witnessed me kill a guy, the fingers curled around the hot metal ofthe gun come loose, and it clatters to the ground. I gag slightly when the scent of shit joins the pee smell and slams into my face. Covering my nose and mouth with my hand, I grimace.
A shadow appears at my side and I jerk, ready to grab the gun again when I realize it’s just Michelle. She doesn’t even notice my movement. Her eyes are locked on the man. “You killed him.” She sounds surprised.
“Yeah.” Somehow, I’m not. Is that weird? That should be weird, right? God, my head hurts. It’s a throbbing mess.
She turns, and despite the blood on her face and the pastiness of her skin, she reaches for me. “Are you okay?” My head is ringing again, louder than her voice so I have to read her lips to understand what she’s saying.
What should be an easy question to answer isn’t. I’mtotallyfine. As I look down at the dead man at my feet, I feel about as much for him as I felt for the woman Giulio was supposed to marry or one of those cadavers from anatomy class. As if I’m not the one who killed him. The anger is gone now. Honestly, I feel a bit better now that he’s dead, but I know I shouldn’t say that. So, instead, I say, “I don’t know.”
Michelle nods as if that’s an acceptable answer. She’s not screaming anymore, at least. This has been one fucked-up, weird-ass day. The ringing is clearing away, but the headache remains.
Both of our heads turn, in unison, back to the body. “Well, fuck.” Michelle sighs. “I know I always promised to help you bury a body, but now that the opportunity is in front of me…”
I bite down on my lower lip, trying not to grin. “You don’t want to break a nail?” I guess.
The look she shoots me could set fire to a match. “Don’t make me sound like a pansy,” she snaps. “Breaking nails fucking hurts.”
Silence greets that comment, and then the two of us burst out laughing. We laugh so hard, my stomach begins to cramp, and I have to tighten and press my thighs together to keep from peeing myself.
“We’re so… fucked-up,” Michelle gasps, fresh tears leaking down her face. She, too, can’t seem to stop.
I nod in agreement. “Completely fucked-up.”
When we finally calm down, the body is still there. There’s no magic eraser to sweep this shit under the rug. I press my free palm to my forehead, feeling wetness there. My fingers come away red.That explains the pounding headache I now have, I think.
Michelle leans her arm against mine. “Thanks for saving my ass,” she murmurs.
I bump her back. “Always.”
We examine our would-be assassin in near silence. His ball cap lies, discarded, across the alleyway as if it were knocked loose during our fight. With it gone, I can see that he’s older than I originally thought. The head of dark hair over his scalp is so thin, I can see through it to the age marks and wrinkles sunk into his greasy skin. His eyes stare, empty and devoid of life, right past us.
The corpse on the ground lets out a wet, nasty sound. The dark spot at the center of his crotch grows heavier and then something leaks down the inside of the denim against his thighs. Michelle gags and then turns away, closing her armsaround herself as she breathes in through her mouth and out through her nose.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. Just breathe. In and out. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four…” Michelle murmurs as she tries to talk herself down from the verge of a panic attack. I wait for one to hit me, but nothing ever comes. Huh. Guess I’m too thickheaded for that.
I don’t regret it. Killing. Some things are just worth killing for; I don’t make the rules.
“Chelle, we should probably go,” I say as I bend and retrieve the gun. I don’t know where I’m going to take it, but it can’t stay here. It’s got my fingerprints all over it.
Michelle whirls on me, her arms dropping. “Go?” She gapes at me before gesturing to Dead and Stupid on the ground. “What about him? What are we gonna do about him?”
I shrug, wincing as that stretches sore muscles. My face hurts. “I don’t know, maybe we can call the police when we get back to the apartment, but we should—”
