"Un-freaking-believable," I say as a look of disgust embeds my beautiful face at the small group of people who had gathered for the memorial service. The memorial service took place somewhere I was not too happy about, to say the least. I glared at them from inside the safety of my car, not wanting to get out. Of all the places to hold a memorial service, they had chosen the cemetery. I guess in a twisted sense it made sense, wanting to be close to a loved one, but why would you want to be outside when inside was far better?

With a huff of annoyance, I get out of the car and watch as the wind lifts my dress a little. My attire was fitting for the attention I was expecting. I wore a simple black silk dress that reached just right below my ass and showed more cleavage than necessary. My hair was up in a perfectly styled bun with dangling gold earrings in my hair. The platform heels carried me to stand a few inches from the group, in front of her photo, as the pastor read a verse from the bible. No one had noticed me as they all sat in their chairs, mindlessly following along.

The small memorial service was decorated with a banner that hung above her grave that read, "Gracy Hall," while chairs littered the small area. As I look out into the crowd, I can make out many faces who I had passed by briefly in my life but had never given Gracy a second glance unless it was out of pure hatred. Now they were all adoring faces all thanks to the media coverage received and multiple printed articles. When her body had been found in the river, there was nothing the cops could do to keep it quiet. The lifeless body of one of the most hated, now turned most loved, killed by the hands of the one most loved, now most hated. I despised our role reverses, even in death she was a bane in my existence. It was my own fault really, taking her in like a wounded bird, only for her to turn on me and use her sharp talons to ruin me. Just remembering made my body shiver and not in a good way.

I remember sitting in the interrogation room, the media was having a field day with the news. Evidence of foul play was found everywhere, and most importantly, proof that I had done it was there. I had tried to be so careful yet managed to fuck up along the way, and they were able to catch me in a matter of hours. The room was dimly lit as I sat tied to the metal table as if I were a hardened criminal. A girl fucks up once and now she's labeled for life.

"Brianna, can I get your statement about what happened tonight? Do you have anything to say to the town?"

I give the reporter a blank look. He was a young guy, guessing in his early 20s, and wearing an old-fashioned hat paired with a simple brown suit. The camera slung on his neck, that I could see the burn marks from wearing it too long, pen and paper in his hand as he stared at me thirsty for information. But I didn't have any new information to spill. So instead, I chose to toy with him.

"Why don't you sit down and keep me company instead?" I say and bite the side of my lip giving him hooded eyes filled with lust. He wasn't ugly but I wasn't attracted to him, just bored and fed up with the questions.

He sits down but his pen is ready at a moment's notice on the notepad as he stares at me with anticipation. "Why'd you do it, Brianna?" He gives me his wide sickening eyes, after the scoop of the century. "A bright girl like you with her whole life ahead of her, decided to kill her best friend? I don't buy it," he tells me then lifts an eyebrow, "unless you prove me otherwise."

I can't help but let out a heartfelt laugh that caused a single tear to trickle down my face. It had been a rough night and laughter seemed spared to me, but at this moment, it was all I could do. He stares at me with shocked eyes, not believing that I could have killed someone hours ago and be sitting here laughing with him as if we were old friends and he had told the joke of the year. Once the laughter died in my throat I clasped my hands together and leaned in closer to him. "You want me to sit here and tell you what went down? What spurred me to kill her." I shake my head, "she had it coming long before me. The whole town hated her but I was the only one who had the courage to pull the trigger, literally, because she crossed one too many lines." He enthusiastically writes and I scoff because I knew it didn't matter what I said, that wasn't the story he was going to print. So I continue my tangent, "You asked me to prove you otherwise but did you ever consider, why would I take the fall for killing if I hadn't done it? I gain nothing from this but lose everything. My reputation and the power I had gained even at my age has all crumbled because of-" I lean on the chair now, "Gracy freaking Hall."

The next time he visited was later that day, with an article fresh from the printing press. I could feel warmth at the touch and the smell of ink as if he had printed right in front. I could still feel the thin paper and hear the crinkle it did when I grasped it so tightly in my hands, absorbing every word written. It was a mockery of what we had talked about, but this only made me laugh because I expected nothing less. There were paragraphs littered with praises and everything she had done for this community followed by words of heartfelt acknowledgment and sadness that someone could have done it. Not just someone, me. It talked very little about me but what it said served its purpose. He didn't have to bend my words as I told him everything he needed. I was like a canvas in his hands, he painted me like a mosaic of heartless emotion that hid behind my innocent eyes. I was the true evil lurking in the shadows everyone should have been watching out for instead of Gracy.

Remembering the article made my blood boil because if anything, I had saved this town and everyone from the displeasure of ever laying eyes on her again. However, even though I wanted to keep her image buried, she was front and center of the article. Her photo is plastered just like the one before me now. Her porcelain skin tinged with her always rosy cheeks, one would think she applied blush but they were always just like that. Her catlike hazel eyes had a mixture of constant fear and happiness. It was only a look she could pull off because only she saw what others didn't. Her hair came down in waves of dark blonde twirls down her back with bangs to the side. Even in photos, she annoyed me. I thought I had crushed all her happiness but these photos haunt me at the fact that there was a time before I had.

I look down, irritation creeping up my back, as I scoff at the written words below her face. "In memory of our fallen angel." I can't resist the eye roll that followed that blatant lie. I really hated this bitch.

Suddenly I am thrust back into one of the nearby trees, shielding me from everyone except the three sets of eyes looking at me. More like staring me down and hoping I wasn't real. I can't help the small smirk that infiltrates my face as I look at the familiar eyes filled with hatred. The light blue eyes that popped with her ebony skin and black kinky curls framed her face. Sydney. There were the light green eyes with her almost transparent skin but her fiery red hair that was tied in a tight ponytail seemed to give her more life than what she had. Itzel. Lastly, those dark brown eyes that mimicked my own in their reckless wave made anyone question whether they were too close to a snake, she had her tanned complexion being of Asian descent and her blonde hair was cut right below her ears, freckles dotted the side of her cheekbones only, she was the tallest and thinnest of us all. Sweet little Belinda.

They all wore respectable outfits that matched their personalities perfectly. Sydney wore a black pantsuit and sneakers, probably picked out by her husband. Itzel was more conservative since she was of an extreme religious nature and last I heard, in a convent, with a long black dress that reached her ankles and flats. Belinda was the only one who matched me in what others would deem not church-appropriate with the simple fact that she wasn't wearing black. After her brother's funeral, black was her least favorite color. I remember the day after when she threw all black clothing from her wardrobe. So now, she sported a simple dark blue jumpsuit.

I can't help but groan in annoyance at how hot these bitches were. Although it made sense, I only made friends with those I deemed worthy and their being hot fit my criteria.

From behind me, I could hear the deep voice of someone familiar and found myself turning from their stares to look. There was the mayor in all his glory coming to the memorial service of Gracy. He was still as ruggedly handsome as I remember when he would run for election. He had brown hair and dark brown eyes. His wife stood to the side in a black pencil dress holding an umbrella. Her black hair was straight down her back and she was sickly thin. To her right, stood Mason, seeingly kicking the grown. He was the mayor's son? Interesting. However, my focus was on the fact that I couldn't believe they had gotten him to stoop so low and spit nonsense about her. From the priest? I expected- he had to lie and he was praying for her soul that was probably currently staring up at me. The mayor? I guess being a politician also consisted of standing in front of a group of people and consoling them. "Three years ago we lost a kind soul-" he started his speech, but that was all I needed to block him out. The lies everyone kept spitting were making me nauseous.

"Why are you here?" Belinda hisses at me as I give her a raised eyebrow.

"What does it look like? I came to do balloon animals for a children's birthday party-" I sarcastically replied and with a smile added, "I also do face painting for an extra fee, but I'll do yours for free since you clearly need it."

"Always the funny one," she responds with an eye roll.

"I try," I grin.

"You shouldn't be here," Itzel responds looking down on the ground, her voice coming out in a whisper.

I turn my attention to her and see her lift her eyes to meet mine. "Why not? I lost my friend too."

"You killed her," she spits in malice.

I nod my head, "that I did, but I still wanted to say goodbye."

"Didn't get a chance as you shot her?" Sydney sneers from her side.

"Obviously not. I was a bit preoccupied pulling the trigger to get sentimental," I responded in a duh tone.

"You shouldn't be here," Itzel speaks up a bit louder this time. "Her mom wouldn't want to see you."

I step closer to Itzel and run my hand down her jaw, cupping her chin, and lifting it up to meet my eyes. "Always so pathetic aren't you." I can see that her breathing has become rigid and her eyes narrow in anger. "I'm surprised she even lets you attend. Considering-"

"Leave Brianna," she says, her voice a lot stronger this time. She avoided eye contact when realization dawned on me.

I can't help the triumphant smirk that places itself so neatly in my face like it always does when I can't help feeling like a wolf about to chow down on a helpless lamb. I clapped my hands together, only loud enough for the girls in front of me, I was still at a funeral and that was something I respected. "Don't tell me she never found out-" I start teasingly.

Itzel's eyes shoot up instantly, daring me to keep going. Her gaze was filled with murderous intent that told me, I wouldn't be the only killer here. Not that I was, anyway.

I shrug it away. "Anyway, I just came to make sure little Gracy was resting peacefully in that coffin and I'll be on my way," I tell them, stepping out of their vision line.

I'm much closer to the memorial service and frown, did they not showcase her body at these things?

"You didn't actually expect them to unearth her and have her on display, did you?" Sydney says in her snarky tone.

My movements falter as I turn back to them, a pout on my lips. "They don't?" Pity. I sigh, "Then why the hell am I here?"

"Beats me, but you should leave," Itzel warns.

"Not enjoying seeing me again, Itzel? Still mad that I shot her?" I huff in annoyance, "honestly. You should get over it already. It's been 3 years. She's dead and this world has one less bitch in it." I can see their breaths stop as their eyes widen, taking me aback for a moment. They have heard me say worse things than this, so why were they acting like that? My eyes zero in on Itzel whose whole demeanor changes in guilt as she looks down at the ground, fingers intertwined, and she whispers a prayer. That's when realization hit.

I do a half turn with a wide smile as I greet. "Mama Hall," I say but my greeting is cut short by a hard and painful slap making it through my face as if she wanted to punch a hole through me. I could swear I could hear the echo of the slap through the graveyard for a few seconds. I turn to look at the old hag with her gray hair and wrinkled face. She was around 50 years old but her life was nothing but unpleasant, and it seemed to have chipped away at her will to live and left a sad version of who she once was. The funny thing? I could see Gracy in her eyes and demeanor. They both held the same expression of wanting to be happy but fearing it all at once as well as shying away from anyone who made too much contact.

I place my hand on my cheek as I know we have caught the attention of everyone at the service. I can see the mayor looking at us with a hard expression, looking at me, knowing I shouldn't be here. His bodyguards tell him something and he nods, but points to us, before leaving. I could only guess he was telling one of them to come and de-escalate the situation. When I think about it, it's funny to know that even the mayor knew me. You always look up to those people who govern your town like celebrities, they're so close yet so far, and now even the mayor knew who I was and what I had done. It was quite a sight to believe and one to live in.

"That was uncalled for," I told her.

"You-" she spits out, "bitch-"

"Now that was uncalled for," I tell her clearly offended, "when we both know your daughter was no saint."

She goes for a second slap but I manage to step back from it. "How dare you kill her and still come to her service years later." The bodyguard from before now has her wrapped in his arms as she struggles to break free, kicking, clearly wanting another shot as hitting me. "You killed her and now you came back to what- dance on her grave? Spit on it?" Tears start prickling in her eyes, but all that leaves me is a satisfied smirk.

I can't help crossing my arms and rolling my eyes at her dramaticness. "Dancing was so 3 years ago and now I'm sad I didn't get to do it then, but spitting-" I tap the cheek that's not currently stinging, "I like the idea, but alas, don't want to waste good spit on your sorry excuse of a daughter."

"I'm going to kill you-" she says and starts clawing her way from the security guard's grasp, making him struggle to hold her. This seemed to be my cue to leave.

"Get in line-" I tell her and flip my hair. I turn and walk away, the three girls lined up as if saluting me, watching me leave. I hold my head up high as I walk past them. Sydney, Belinda, and Itzel who seemed to have gathered the courage to look up from the ground to make sure I was leaving. All of them had the same disbelief expression on their faces.

I shrug. What could I say? I loved to make a scene.

>>>> 

This one is a very very long chapter so I apologize but well, tell me what you think. 

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