I’m tired, so tired. Not just from fucking but from reliving the trauma I’ve tried so hard to keep buried. My eyes can barely stay open, yet I know I must hold on. No matter how hard they wish to close, no matter how hard my brain wishes to forget. I must know the truth that’s right in front of me.
All I need to do is ask.
“How … did you get that knife?”
The question hangs in the air for so long that it feels suspended in time. His body no longer feels warm against mine but cold to the bone, and I shiver in place.
“I found it in your home,” he says.
The words reverberate over and over in my mind.
In my home.
He was in my apartment.
He was there when it happened, that night.
My eyes are wide open. I’m awake. I’m fully aware.
Memories flood back into my mind of the day I found myself lost in the woods and stumbled back home, when I looked out the window and saw a man leave. He was leaving my apartment. Eli.
But why did he come to my apartment when we’d only met a couple of times before? Even if he knew where I lived, he couldn’t have possibly known what was going to happen … that I was going to kill my own boyfriend…
Unless…
He did.