The creak of stairs alerted me.
My heart starts racing and I hide my backpack under the bed.
The steps are now on the carpet that covers the entire floor. A muffled sound that makes my anxiety spike.
I pick robe, to cover my self, from the closet and ran to the bathroom, as I hear the door opening.
- Honey, do you want something eat, the dinner it's still gonna take a while?- My mom says.
- No mom, I'm good, thank you.
She leaves and I let my breath. My hands are shaking and my pressure dropped.
I looked at the mirror. My clothes stained with blood to the point of not being able to see the original color. The knives inside the backpack on the same state.
I don't know what it's worst, the fact that I killed someone, or the fact it had the same face as me.