I sink into the bed, my muscles finally relaxing after the longest day I think I would ever have in my whole life. I wipe the tears from my eyes and let the ambient light from the full moon full the room.
My eyes long to close but I know sleep well not come easy. After all, today I saw the body of a dead girl, and she was definitely not in a coffin.
The phone rings and I know who it is but I refuse to answer. After all, I’m supposed to be sleeping now, finally. And thinking of an alibi. For us both.
I reluctantly get up, and think of taking a shower. I know there was dust there, where we left her body, and I know it will be found on our clothes, on our skin, in our hair. But instead I find myself pouring a cup of tea. Calming tea.
My hands are shaking when I lift the steamy mug to my chapped lips. I breathe in deep, preoccupied with the wonder of whether it will be too hot to drink, or will it be too cool to be soothing. I wonder if I should use a spoon, to test it before I burn my mouth. But I realize I’ve used up my decision making powers for the day, so I just lift and sip.
It’s just right.
My mind clears. It really did happen. And even if we didn’t actually kill her, we know who did. And, I think, sadly shaking my head, that makes it worse. Much worse.