The Virgin Murders

  I never thought Meg would die quietly. I kind of expected her to die and for me to kill her but never once did I think she would just lie down and disappear. It was kind of sickening how happy I was to see her pale skin and her eyes empty and wide. There was something in me then that decided someone had to do it. I couldn't see Meg growing up past high school anyway. My mom always said she just bloomed early.

        But there was the blooming Meg, laying on the ground. She didn't know I was in the house before. It wasn't hard to slip in since she gave me a key a while back just in case she was ever sick or something happened where she would need immediate attention. But she had been sleeping up until I knocked on her bedroom door, which was gaped open. She looked so peaceful, so happy, even with her face intense. Her jaw was tight and I see the mouth guard the dentist told her to wear on the bedside table. Meg always said wearing the guard was like wearing a plastic cap over your teeth that was uncomfortable no matter which way you set your jaw. I wasn’t sure if it really was as horrible as she made it seem since she complained about everything.

        "What are you doing here, Tess?" Meg asks. It seems like an innocent question but she adds a horrible edge to it that makes me bubble with anger. I'm the only one she outwardly bitches about. I'm either hearing how horrible I am or hearing how horrible someone else is.

        "Didn't you go to that party last night?" I ask.

        "That didn't answer my question."

        "Well I have a drink to help your hangover," I tell her. "Why do you think I never wake up with one?"

        The honest reason I never wake up with a hangover is because I don't drink. I've never once had an alcoholic drink at a party or anywhere else. I'll act like I'm drinking or act like I'm drunk but never actually. After my first party I decided not to drink until I’m of legal age or until I can handle alcohol. Seeing how people look at parties is disgusting and not something I want to look like. Ever.

    Meg is the messy kind of drunk. She drinks too much and accidentally admits random facts she doesn’t want anyone to know. She told me once that she has to get drunk so she can handler having sex. I never thought she would have to do anything like that, since she seems to open about it. She flirts with any male who crosses her path. I guess there’s a difference between flirting and actually doing something.

        "Oh," Meg groans and lays down.. "Hand it over."
        
        I hold the mug for a second, thinking about this. Thinking about the consequences. If she dies right now I'll have no best friend. If she dies right now there will be no more Meg. If she drinks the bleach. she'll die almost instantly. Almost, anyway. She'll suffer for a few moments.

        And that thought brought me odd comfort. The kind that made me uneasy.

        "Are you going to let me have it? God you bitch. Don't keep it to yourself," Meg says and that was the final straw. Something in me clicks and decides maybe it's untrue what people say - some people deserve to die. As I'm handing her the cup my mind flashes with murder charges and life in prison but I keep mostly calm. She takes the mug in both hands and sits there for a moment with her eyes closed. And then she sips it.

        "What the fu-" she's about to ask when she grips her throat and looks like she's about to cry. She stands up and stares at me for a second before collapsing to the ground, almost like a building. She fell with her knees to the side first and then the rest of it. All just in a silent heap. She looks like she wants to say something to me, or do something but nothing happens. No words came from her mouth, no sounds were made as she laid there on her plush carpet. Her eyes give me this look I’ll never forget, filled with something I thought Meg could never have.