When You Kill Your Crush's Mother

"I quit! Please, just let me go!" Her voice is shrill and scared.

I hold the knife over her throat, letting it slip enough that drops of blood linger on her skin.

"Please!" the woman cries. "Please!"

"Someone might hear," I whisper. "Shhh."

"Please, spare me! I'll do anything!"

Wanting to be done with her, I jab the blade into her neck. A strangled gasp escapes from the woman's mouth as I feel her body turn cold.

"It's all right now," I breath. "You're safe."

One more sound, twisted and chilling, leaves her lips. "They'll find you."

I sneer at her and twist the knife back out of her flesh. "Don't lose sleep over it. They never do."

"Mom?" The moment I see my mother's body on the ground, I know something's wrong. "Mom?" My hands are shaking.

"Mom, please wake up." That's when I notice the slit across her throat. My entire body freezes as I touch her.

She's cold.

"Mom!" I scream. "No!" Tears blur my vision and I sink to my knees. I heave with big, racking sobs. "No, no, no!"

The crisp November air bites at my ears. I throw my coat over myself and cry, rocking side to side, wishing that my mother could have lived another day. Her hands are freezing, but I grasp them anyway.

It may be the last time I ever touch Susan Blake in my life.

I run my finger along the bloody edge of the knife, watching the girl cry over her mother's corpse. Such a simple thing, sadness: one small death and the tears start. If I felt such a thing, it would've killed me long ago. But I don't feel remorse. I never have. Watching my mother be abused by my father, I didn't want to be her. Ever. So I murder anyone who gets close to me. And the thrill of the kill tempted me, and I end lives for the adrenaline now. It doesn't matter who, though drunk men on the street feel best. If I squint, they could be my father. 

The scream of police sirens pierce the stillness. The blade jolts into my hand, leaving a bloody slash. I curse. 

The girl's head turns towards the blanket of shadows I'm hidden under. She sweeps the alley with eyes full of anger. 

"Who's there?" she hisses. I turn to run, but as I do, the moonlight shines on my silvery hair. 

"I see you," says the girl quietly. "You know I do." 

I glance at her. Somewhat short, butt-length blonde hair, faded Cape May hoodie. Our eyes connect, her hazel ones meeting my pale blue pair. "I know you," she murmurs. "Why?" 

Her eyes search me. I run, but not before I hear her call out, "Alyssa!"

Alyssa. Why was she here? I can't place how she looked in that shine of dusty light, with her choppy silver hair and that black cloak. Almost like... Almost like a killer. But Alyssa wouldn't do that. Would she? 

Two policemen enter the alleyway. “Hello. We heard there was a murder here…” 

“Yes. My mother.” I try not to cry, but a few tears ooze out. 

“Oh, hon,” says the female cop, squeezing my hand. “I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry won’t bring her back,” I tell her. 

She ducks her head and steps back. “You’re right. It won’t.” 

Neither one of the officers says anything to me after that, except for, “Did you see the murder?” 

“No,” I say. Softly, I add, “But I did see the murderer.”

Sweat trickles down my back. That girl couldn’t have seen me, known me. It’s not possible. But yet the moment she called my name, I remembered her. That was Nyomi… the impossibly beautiful blonde I’ve been on and off with for years. 

“Shh, shh, Alyssa, you’re okay,” I whisper into the inky cloak of darkness clouding the night. “Someone might hear.” 

I had learned not to feel long ago, but it sent a lump in my throat when I recalled the words I had said to the woman. The woman I had killed, the one I had shyly met too many times to count while sneaking up to Nyomi’s room. Why hadn’t I recognized her? A sob chokes me. Is this feeling? 

I run my fingers through my jagged short hair, dyed silver. The tangles hurt my hands. Tears bud at the corner at my eyes, and I blame it on the pain. But there’s a hollowness to my heart that wasn’t there before. Sadness, I think, is the term. 

I remember.

I’m taken by the police to be interrogated. They need to know stuff about Alyssa, but all I can think about is how solid it felt when I called her the murderer. Like it was true. And I’m hoping with all my heart that it’s a mistake, because who knows what happens if it isn't? The hot girl I’ve kissed so many times, spent so many night cuddled up in a bed together, naked except for our bras and underwear. I need it to be a lie. Otherwise I’ll be destroyed that she was capable of such things. Did she hate me all along? Did she just want a chance to kill my mother? I cry quietly in the backseat. I’m not the prisoner, but I’d rather be jailed then find out everything Alyssa did was true.

I fear the day that they find me. I’ve killed so many, just for the moment’s taste of excitement. I’d probably be locked away in a dingy old cell for the rest of my years. Not that anyone would care. My parents are gone. My sister is dead. My friends aren’t friends anymore. There’s no one to give the slightest notice to the fact that I exist, let alone bother knowing I’m behind bars. 

They won’t find me anyway. I’ll be dead before they can. High school doesn’t pay the rent, and who would sell an apartment to a seventeen year old anyhow? I’ve been living on the streets for months, but my little alleyway of a home won’t keep out the cold. 

Every night, my stomach groans from emptiness, but there’s no money to be spent on food. 

Murderers don’t get hired for many babysitting jobs.

“So you said her name is Alyssa Tang?” they ask. 

“Yes. We were… lovers, I suppose.” 

“Hmm. And did you have a fight, some reason why she would want to kill your mother?” 

“Not that I know of. She was happy as far as I could tell.” 

“Was your relationship that of romantic partners or was it sexual?” 

“We on and off flirted. Sometimes she’d come over to my house and we’d…” I trail off, a faint tinge of pink spreading across my cheeks. 

“You’d have sex, I presume?” 

I flinch. “Um, I guess?” 

“So did you have any bond, or were you just hook-up options?” 

“Well, we did ‘dates’.” I make air quotation marks. “Like we’d go to Starbucks and hang out. We kissed and sometimes held hands. But she wasn’t my girlfriend.” 

“Ah, I see,” says the female officer that had attempted to comfort me. “Did Alyssa seem uninterested in your relationship?” 

“No.” 

“Did she seem angry?” 

“No.” 

“Were your families in any fights or debates?” 

“Her family is dead.” 

The policewoman nods and jots that down under “possible motives”. 

“Why is her family being dead a motive?” I ask. 

“She might blame you.” 

“I don’t think she knew it was me. She didn’t recognize me.”

“Ohh, really?” she says, seeming to perk up. “Is she a… hitman?” 

“Not that I know of.” 

“All right. Thank you for your help.” The police officer pushes back her chair, stands up, and stretches. “We’ll call you back if we need additional information. This was very useful, Nyomi. You have my thanks.” 

I nod and push open the door to leave.

I cry for three hours, calm down, and pull myself together. I still can’t get over the fact that I murdered my crush’s mother. The gross feeling inside refuses to go away. I want to die and escape from this pain. But I can’t. Each time I try to hold my breath, my lungs refuse and I live. I try to drive the knife into my neck, but my hand seems to be paralyzed. 

Her cry echoes in my head, but worse is the shocked look in Nyomi’s eyes when she saw me. My heart throbs. Did she know that I did it? 

A rustle around the corner. The voice, sleek and thin as silk, seeps into the alley. “I know you’re there, Alyssa.” 

A strangled gasp escapes. “No,” I plead. “I didn’t mean to, it was…” 

“No excuse can save you,” says the voice. It’s feminine and extremely sexy. I recognize it. “Nyomi.” 

“Yes,” she replies. 

I start to cry. “Please, please. I love you.” 

“No, you don’t. Someone who loved me wouldn’t kill my mother.” Her voice quivers at the word “mother”, but it doesn’t break. 

Dammit, I want to kiss her so badly. But I know she’d push me away. So I stay put. 

“Quiet, fox,” Nyomi mutters. I delight at this, as she whispered that when I was, and I quote, “looking too damn sexy”. I stretch, attempting to appear hot. It works, because I hear her mumble it again. 

“Ugh, you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” she asks. 

“Maybe.” I say it in a flirty tone, then remember I killed her mother and she’s probably not in love with me anymore. 

“Come here. I want to see you.” I oblige, mostly because she sounds like an incredibly sexy demon right now. 

I reach her and she purrs. “I didn’t think you’d listen,” Nyomi admits. 

“Of course I would. It’s… you. The ferociously hot girl I’ve loved since middle school.” 

She laughs. “Oh, I know. But you killed my mother. I wasn’t sure you still liked me.” 

I duck my head. “I didn’t know it was her.” 

“Why? Why do you kill them?” 

“Who?” 

“Them. The world. Me, it sends a shard of glass into my heart every time you smile and I can’t kiss you, but that can’t kill me. My question is…” She pauses and looks away. “Am I next?”

“No!” The words rush out of her mouth like molten lava. She musters out a sob, then shuts up and looks at me with big watery eyes. “Please know that.” 

I don’t believe her, but part of me wants to. “I can’t. You lie to me.” 

“No.” Alyssa’s eyes are desperate. 

“Yes,” I say. Her pale blue eyes, so big and framed with beautiful thick lashes, are filled with tears. “No, I just want to love you, Nyomi, please. Just let it be like before.” 

“But it’s not like before!” I shout, banging down my fist with sudden anger. “You killed my mom! It will never be like before!” 

Alyssa screams and starts to sob. “No, no, I just want-” 

My voice drops to a whisper, and I fix her with an unwavering gaze. “You know what? I don’t care what you want.” And with that, I disappear from the alleyway, my wrap fluttering behind me.

My head hurts. I wish that I were dead, as she walks away from me, but more than that I wish that she loved me. I want to love her more than anything, but one-sided love never got me a thing. It’s over. It’s over and it’s never restarting. 

“Just shut up!” I scream at myself and hurl a rock against the wall. It provides little satisfaction, but I pick up another one and it speeds towards the wall, shattering with a loud smash. 

I throw stone after stone after stone, letting the sound fill the empty place inside of me. After there are no more rocks to destroy, I reach inside and find anger. It pours out like a flood, leaving a hollow space. 

I cry, then, all my emotion gone, I just sit.

Why are things like this? All I ever wanted was to love Alyssa, but now… how could I, when she killed me mother? I want to hate her. I do. But there’s no hate to be had, only the throb of a broken heart. Please just let the pain stop. Please.

With each day, I ache more and more to run to Nyomi. I don’t, though. I hate the look in her eyes when I hurt her.

Can we just forget each other? Let our lives separate, untangle from the knot we’ve tied them in? I don’t think so. I want to say yes, but I’ve decided I’ll never lie again. Nothing matters anymore. 

I should have never killed that woman.