𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒// 𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐙

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐎𝐟 𝐀 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫.

𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝟐𝟎𝐓𝐇, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟗

I woke up, my eyes sensitive from the morning light that flooded my room. I turned over, expecting Bill to be there, but the spot next to me was empty. I sat up and noticed his watch and necklaces left on the nightstand. My curiosity piqued, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and made my way towards my bathroom, only to find it empty. The same went for my living room and kitchen. Out the window, I noticed that his car was gone.

Feeling a mix of confusion and concern, I made my way back towards my room and grabbed my phone. On the home screen, there was a message from Bill.

BILL: "Sorry I had to leave in a hurry and didn't want to wake you up."

A smile crept onto my face as I opened the message. I couldn't help but wonder what had caused him to leave so suddenly.

VALERIE: "Heyy, good morning. It's okay. You left your jewelry here though."

I sent the message and got ready for the day, my mind buzzing with questions about why he left so suddenly, usually he waits until I wake up to tell me he's leaving.

———

After spending some time doing chores around the house and indulging in a bit of self-care, I heard a loud commotion coming from outside my house. It was a cacophony of voices and camera flashes. Intrigued and slightly alarmed, I rushed towards my window and took a peek. To my surprise, there was a small crowd of people gathered outside of my house, with news reporters in front of them, microphones in hand as they gestured towards my house.

"What the fuck." I muttered to myself, my heart pounding in my chest. The entire team of reporters was standing on my driveway, basically surrounding my whole front lawn, their presence both alarming and invasive.

Driven by curiosity and anger, I quickly ran out to my front door, ready to find out what the fuck this was all about.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" I yelled from my front porch, my voice filled with a combination of frustrations and disbelief. The reporter turns around to face me, seemingly unfazed by my outburst. She has a confident and ignorant demeanor, she looked at me like I was her next big hit. "Here is the suspect, let's see if we can ask any further questions." She says turning back to face the camera then back at me.

My blood boiled at the mention of the word "suspect." They have no right to be here and are calling me a murderer in my own home.

"Ma'am, did you kill Brian-" she starts, but before I would let her finish saying his name, I snap.

"GET THE FUCK OFF MY PROPERTY!" I scream.

They all start speaking at once, bombarding me with questions. Their voices blend into a one loud voice, each one trying to speak louder than the other. Overwhelmed, I slam my door shut. My heart races as I frantically run towards my room, my mind racing with fear and desperation. I reached under my bed and pulled out a small handgun I bought after Brian broke into my house, a desperate measure for self-defense. Gripping it tightly, I rush back out to face the reporters, who are now gathered near my door, my heart pounding in my chest.