𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙃𝙤𝙩 𝙁𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 - 𝐵.𝐸

23 - 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘎𝘶𝘯 𝘔𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘭

I poured some lemon scented soap on my hands before washing the flour and cinnamon away. Baking was my way of getting therapy besides actually going to therapy. Which there was no way in hell I actually would unless I wanted to be cute and quirky and end up in some psych ward. Plus it helped me perfect the plan that was going to unfold this weekend.

I'm not even going to eat these. I say in my head staring at the freshly sugar coated cinnamon rolls before putting them down and walking outside getting hit in the face with a gust of icy wind.

I hugged myself trying to get warm after getting in the chilly frostbitten car that's been sitting in the high schools parking lot all night with only my light sweater. If there's one thing I hated in the world it would be jackets .

When I was in elementary school I weighed more than all of the other kids. So when winter came around I refused to wear puffy jackets of any kind because I didn't want to stand out more than I already did.

I'll never forget the time in fourth grade, it was freezing in the classroom so I didn't take my coat off in the morning like I usually did. My assigned seat was between two boys I didn't know that well and when I sat down in the middle of them, they pretended like I was a huge wall splitting them up.

The sound of them calling me The Wall played in my head every time I wore a jacket. They pretended they had to lean all the way forward or backwards just to see and talk to each other since I was in their way. So ever since then I hated jackets, I rarely wore one unless I had too.

Bullies suck ass. I never even dyed my hair the cool colours I wanted to back home, in case someone said anything, I was so scared of people talking about me negatively. That changed when I moved here. I'm not sure if it was because of Billie or that I didn't know anyone well enough to care what they thought but I made a promise to myself, I would never let it happen again.

I would never let another bully win.

I plugged my phone in to charge while I turned the GPS on to the address I found on the receipt in Scars room. Honestly I didn't know what else I was looking for.

I wanted concrete proof that Alison killed Scar, because even though I had proof it's not like the police would believe me without a confession or video evidence of her actually caught in the act. They didn't even believe she was killed in the first place. Why would they believe me?

A simple confession is what I needed from her, and that's what I plan on getting.

I wasn't sure if going to the café and the hunting store Scar went before being killed would even give me any more clues. But retracing her last steps just might.

I started the car and made my way down the road to where the brew was located, which is also next door to the place Jason said he saw Scar buying a gun a few nights before she died.

I drove down my street and onto Clearwater's square where Mr. Wilbur was killed a couple weeks ago, the yellow no trespassing tape still wrapped around the building.

Poor Mr. Wilbur, who would do something like that to a sweet old man?

I turned my head back to the road almost hitting someone before slamming my breaks.

"Fuck, IM SORRY!" I yell through the window giving them a guilty look. We exchanged smiles. Luckily they aren't that mad I almost ran them over.

I drove down the Washington streets listening to the Foo Fighters and some All American Rejects as I took in Clearwater's beauty. The mountains now had snow covering the tops like a white blanket which soon enough would cover the trees too.