Twisted Lies

Don’t tell anyone.

I look at her. My hands sweat. They always sweat when I lie.

“I won’t,” I say, too soft. Too weak. She doesn’t notice.

Her eyes dart around the room. “You swear?” she asks, stepping closer. I can feel her breath on my face. Minty. Clean. Like she isn’t hiding anything.

“I swear.” It comes out too fast. Almost a whisper. She narrows her eyes at me but says nothing.

“I shouldn’t have told you,” she says. “I just… I didn’t know who else to go to.”

I nod. My mouth is dry, and my heart’s too loud in my chest.

“If anyone finds out, it’ll ruin everything. Everything.” She paces now, running her fingers through her hair. She does that when she’s nervous.

“No one will find out,” I say. Another lie. But this one sounds more convincing. I even manage to hold eye contact for a second before looking down at my shoes.

She stops pacing and looks at me. Her face softens. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

“It’s fine,” I say. It’s not. But what else can I say? I feel trapped. Like I’m sinking into the floor and I can’t breathe.

“No, it’s not fine,” she says, her voice shaking. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have told you.”

“It’s too late now,” I mutter. I instantly regret it. She looks at me, eyes wide.

“You’re right,” she whispers. “It is too late.”

Silence fills the room, heavy and suffocating. I want to leave, but my feet won’t move. I should tell her I can’t keep this secret. But I don’t. Instead, I nod.

“What if someone finds out?” she asks suddenly, breaking the silence. Her voice sharp, desperate. “What if—”

“No one’s going to find out,” I interrupt. I have to stop her from spiraling. If she spirals, I’ll spiral.

She bites her lip, looking at me like she doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. I don’t believe it either, but I have to keep pretending. For her.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to act normal,” she says, barely a whisper. “I keep thinking everyone knows. That they can see it on my face.”

“They don’t know.” My throat is tight. I don’t even know who she’s talking about. Her parents? Her friends? Everyone?

“What if someone saw something?” She’s pacing again, faster this time. “What if they saw us?”

“No one saw us,” I say. I have to stay calm. If I freak out, she’ll freak out more. “It was dark. No one saw.”

She stops pacing and stares at me. “You’re sure?”

I swallow hard. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

She nods slowly, like she’s trying to convince herself. I should leave. I should just walk out the door and pretend this never happened. But I don’t. I can’t.

“What if they find him?” she whispers.

My stomach twists. I feel like I’m going to throw up. “They won’t,” I say, barely able to get the words out. “They won’t find him.”

“What if they do?”

“They won’t.” I say it again, like that makes it true.

She starts crying. Silent tears stream down her face. I don’t know what to do. I never know what to do when people cry. Especially not her.

I step closer and put my hand on her arm, but she flinches. I pull back. She wipes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she says, trembling. “I can’t. It’s too much.”

I don’t know what to say. I should tell her I can’t do it either, but I don’t. Instead, I stand there, useless. Watching her fall apart.

“I just keep thinking about it,” she says, barely above a whisper. “I close my eyes, and I see his face.”

“Stop.” My voice cracks. I don’t want to hear this. I can’t.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. About how… about how—”

“Stop!” I say it louder this time. She looks at me, startled.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I just… I don’t know what to do.”

I want to scream. Run. Do anything but stand here and listen to her. But I don’t. Instead, I take a deep breath and try to calm down.

“We just have to act normal,” I say, forcing the words out. “We just have to keep our mouths shut, and everything will be fine.”

“What if it’s not?”

“It will be.”

She looks at me, full of doubt. “How can you be so sure?”

I’m not sure. Not even a little bit. But I have to pretend. “Because we didn’t do anything wrong,” I say. “We didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“But it did happen.”

“It was an accident,” I say, the words sounding weak even to my own ears. “No one’s going to find out.”

She nods, but I can tell she doesn’t believe me. I don’t believe me either.

“I just… I don’t know how to live with this,” she says, her voice cracking again as more tears spill down her face.

“You’ll get used to it,” I say, hollow. Cold. “We’ll both get used to it.”

“How?” she asks. She’s looking at me like I have all the answers, but I don’t.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But we have to. We don’t have a choice.”

She wipes her face with the back of her hand and nods. “You’re right,” she says, but she doesn’t sound convinced.

“I should go,” I say. I need to get out of here. I can’t breathe. The walls are closing in on me, and I feel like I’m going to collapse.

“Wait,” she says, grabbing my arm. “Please don’t go. I don’t want to be alone.”

I want to tell her I can’t stay. I need space. Need to be anywhere but here. But I don’t.

“I’ll stay,” I say instead. My voice sounds robotic, like it’s not even me talking.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her grip on my arm loosening.

We sit on the couch. She’s still shaking, and I can feel the tension radiating off her.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she says after a while. “We were just having fun. We didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“I know,” I say, though I’m not sure I do.

“He was so drunk,” she says, voice shaking. “He didn’t even know what was happening.”

“Stop,” I say again. “We can’t talk about this. Not ever.”

“But—”

“No.” My voice is firmer now. “We can’t talk about it. We have to pretend like it never happened.”

She stares at me, eyes wide with fear. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You have to.”

“But what if—”

“There are no ‘what ifs,’” I say, cutting her off. “It’s done. It’s over. We can’t change what happened.”

She’s crying again. I don’t even know what to say anymore. I’m exhausted.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she whispers, voice cracking. “I didn’t want him to get hurt.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to push him so hard.”

“I know.”

She looks at me, face pale, eyes red from crying. “What if he’s still alive?”

“He’s not,” I say quickly. Too quickly. I don’t want her to start thinking like that.

“But what if—”

“He’s not.” I say it again, trying to keep my voice steady. “We both saw him. He wasn’t moving.”

She shakes her head, like she’s trying to erase the memory. “I didn’t want to hurt him.”

“I know.” I don’t know what else to say. I keep repeating the same things over and over because there’s nothing else to say.

“Do you think they’ll find him?” she asks, barely audible.

“No.” Another lie. My chest tightens, and I feel like I’m drowning.

“Are you sure?”

I nod. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t say anything. We sit in silence, the air between us heavy with all the things we’re not saying.

“I just keep thinking about his face,” she whispers. “The way he looked at me right before he—”

“Stop,” I say, sharp. “You have to stop.”

She flinches but nods. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“I can’t do this,” I say suddenly, standing. “I can’t… I can’t be here.”

“Please don’t leave,” she says, desperate. “I need you.”

“I need to go,” I say, my voice shaking. I feel like I’m going to explode.

I need to get out, need to breathe.

“Please,” she says again, standing up and grabbing my arm. “I can’t be alone.”

I pull my arm away, harder than I mean to. She stumbles back, eyes wide. I take a step toward her, then stop.

“I’m sorry,” I say, but the words feel hollow. Meaningless.

She doesn’t say anything. She just stands there, looking at me like she doesn’t recognize me anymore.

“I just… I need to go,” I say, backing toward the door.

She nods slowly, tears still streaming down her face. “Okay,” she whispers.

I turn and walk out the door. I don’t look back. 

As soon as I’m outside, I take a deep breath, but it doesn’t help. The air feels thick, like it’s suffocating me.

I start walking, my feet moving faster and faster until I’m almost running. I don’t know where I’m going. I just need to get away.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I don’t check it. I can’t talk to her right now. I can’t talk to anyone.

I keep walking, my mind racing, trying to make sense of everything. But it doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense.

How did we get here? How did everything go so wrong?

It was supposed to be a party. Just a stupid party. We were just supposed to have fun. I didn’t know things would get out of control. I didn’t know he would…

I stop walking and sit down on the curb, my head in my hands.

I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine. It’s not fine. It’s never going to be fine.

I should go to the police. I should tell them everything. But I can’t. I promised her I wouldn’t. I swore I’d keep it a secret.

But what if they find him? What if they already know?

My phone buzzes again, but I still don’t check it. I can’t handle talking to her. Not right now.

I take a deep breath and try to calm down, but my mind keeps racing, spiraling out of control.

What if someone saw us? What if someone already knows?

I can’t think straight. I feel like I’m going to pass out. Or throw up. Or both.

I stand up and start walking again. I don’t know where I’m going. I just need to keep moving. If I stop, I’ll have to think about what we did. What I did.

And I can’t do that. I can’t face it.

I keep walking, my feet hitting the pavement harder with each step. The noise drowns out the buzzing in my head, but I can’t shake the feeling of her eyes, the panic in them.

I pull out my phone, finally, and see her name flashing across the screen. I don’t answer. Instead, I keep walking, letting it go to voicemail.

I know what she’ll say anyway—more tears, more fear, more apologies. She always apologizes. For everything.

But the truth is, she’s the one who’s scared. I should be the one apologizing. She wasn’t the one who did it. She wasn’t the one who pushed him.

I was.

I stop walking and lean against a lamppost, my heart pounding so loud it feels like it’s about to explode out of my chest. It all comes rushing back, clearer now than it was before.

The party. The shouting. His hand grabbing my arm, yanking me backward. My instinct kicking in, my hands pushing him away. Harder than I thought. Harder than I should’ve.

I didn’t even think. It was all a blur—his body hitting the ground, the sickening thud that seemed to echo in my head for hours. And then the silence. The awful silence.

It was my fault.

But she took the blame.

She took the blame for me.

My phone buzzes again, and this time I look at the message.

"Please don’t do anything stupid. We’re in this together. Don’t tell anyone. Please."

I stare at the text, the words blurring in front of me. My stomach churns, bile rising in my throat.

She doesn’t even know. She doesn’t remember.

I glance back at the road, at the long stretch of street disappearing into the night. I could keep walking. Keep running. Get away from this. From her. From the truth.

But I can’t.

I turn around and start heading back toward her place, my mind racing. She thinks she’s protecting me. She thinks she’s covering for both of us. But the guilt is crushing her, and I can see it eating away at her every time we talk. Every time she looks at me.

I reach her door faster than I expected. My hand hovers over the doorknob, hesitation tightening in my chest. But I push it open without knocking.

She’s sitting on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, eyes red from crying. She looks up at me, and for a second, relief washes over her face. But then she sees something in my expression, and the relief fades.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice small.

I don’t know how to say it. I don’t know how to tell her that everything she’s been holding onto is a lie. A lie I’ve let her believe.

“I… I need to tell you something,” I say, the words choking in my throat.

Her face crumples. “No. Don’t do this. Don’t—”

“I pushed him,” I say, cutting her off. My voice is shaking, but I force the words out. “It wasn’t you. You didn’t push him. I did.”

She stares at me, frozen. “No,” she whispers. “No, you didn’t.”

“I did,” I say again, louder this time. “I pushed him. You didn’t do anything. You weren’t even close to him. I don’t know why you think—”

“Stop!” she shouts, standing up. “I know what happened! I remember! I pushed him! He was grabbing me, and I… I pushed him.”

I shake my head. “No, you don’t remember. You were too drunk, and you were upset because of what he said. You were crying. I saw him grab you, and I pushed him off. It wasn’t you.”

She’s staring at me, her face pale, her lips trembling. She looks like she’s about to collapse.

“Why are you saying this?” she whispers.

“Because it’s the truth,” I say, my voice breaking. “I’m the one who did it, not you. You’ve been living with this guilt for nothing. I let you believe it, and I shouldn’t have. I should’ve told you from the start, but I was scared. I didn’t want to lose you.”

She shakes her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “You don’t understand,” she says, her voice barely audible.

“I do understand,” I say. “I should’ve told you before, but I—”

“No.” She steps closer to me, her eyes wide, frantic. “You don’t understand. I remember pushing him.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the words die in my throat as I see the look on her face. It’s not just fear. It’s something else. Something darker.

“I pushed him,” she says again, her voice trembling. “Because I wanted to. I wanted to hurt him.”

I take a step back. “What?”

Her eyes lock onto mine, unblinking. “He didn’t just grab my arm. He wouldn’t stop following me, wouldn’t stop saying things. Things he shouldn’t have known. Things about you.”

My heart skips a beat. “What things?”

“Things you told him,” she says, her voice quiet but sharp, like a knife. “About us. About me. He knew everything.”

My head spins. “I didn’t… I didn’t tell him anything.”

“Yes, you did,” she says, her voice growing louder, angrier. “You told him about us. About what we did. He knew everything. And when I found out, I snapped. I wanted to push him.”

I shake my head, backing away. “No. That’s not—”

“I remember it all now,” she says, her voice cold, steady. “I didn’t just push him. I made sure he wouldn’t get up.”

The room feels like it’s spinning. I can’t breathe.

“You didn’t—”

“I did.” She takes a step closer, her face twisted in something between anger and satisfaction. “You didn’t know, did you? You thought I was protecting you this whole time. But you were the one I was angry with.”

I can’t speak. The floor feels like it’s dropping out from under me.

“I pushed him because of you,” she says, her voice low, her eyes never leaving mine. “Because you lied to me. You told him everything, and you didn’t think I’d find out.”

“I didn’t—” My voice is a whisper. I’m shaking all over, but I can’t move.

“You let me take the blame,” she says, her voice sharp as glass. “But the truth is, I was never protecting you. I was protecting myself. And you were too blind to see it.”

I feel like I’m going to be sick. The room is closing in on me, and I can’t breathe.

“I thought…” My voice cracks. “I thought I did it. I thought I killed him.”

She smiles, but there’s no warmth in it. Only darkness. “You didn’t. But I let you think you did.”

My legs give out, and I collapse onto the floor. Everything I thought I knew—everything I thought I remembered—was a lie.

She was never the victim.

I was.