I stood in the middle of nowhere underneath the moonlight; wet, alone, and strapped for time. My hands clutched onto my arms tighter as the cold wind whipped past me, right through my wet clothes, as if wanting to dry them for me. The only clothes I wore was a thin white spaghetti strap, which revealed my white bra underneath thanks to the river I had just been in moments ago, and knee length shorts. I thought the walk would have dried me a bit but my clothes still clung to me like a piece of gum in hair. No matter how much you try to pull at it to get it off, it won't let up. I wanted them dry, to make sure the blood stains I worked hard on rubbing clean were gone completely.

My grasp on my only hope was getting tighter by the minutes, unsure if I should make the call or not. I only got one call before I needed to dispose of the phone. There were only miles of sand near me now, I had left the river way back, having guilt as my only accomplice, and determination carrying me forward. I needed to get out of this predicament I put myself in, and soon.

So with a heavy sigh, I dial the second number I knew by heart, and hear it ring. I had never been a religious person, but now, as I bit my nail in anticipation, a silent prayer leaves my unholy lips.

It took a total of three rings, but for me, it felt like an eternity with each single ring, reminding me they might not answer. Why would they ever want to hear from me again? But the click sounds notifies me they're listening, letting me rest for a moment as the pounding in my head becomes unbearably louder. I try to speak, but my mouth is so dry not even vasaline could help it regain its vitality. I try to lick my dry lips and they manage to let me speak. My voice is hoarse and comes out in a small whisper as I stammer out, "I normally wouldn't ask this from you-but-," deep breath, "can you come pick me up?"

I am met with completely and utter silence, so defining, that it only increases the pounding in my head more.

Wincing, I add hurriedly, "I'm past the town limits if you just keep driving straight you'll find me." I pause, "I really need your help."

More silence.

"Please," I choke out, the word tasted like acid in my tongue. I, Brianna Anders, have never asked for help before. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

I wait for a response, but instead, the phone goes dead. I gulp.

With that last ray of hope going down the drain, I go down with it. I fall on my knees with a groan and allow the tears to run their course to the cool ground. What was I expecting? I was on my own. Again. I look at the pathetic phone in my grasp and start pounding on it with my fist until it is left as a tiny crumble mess in front of me. I push back the dirt, the tears clouding my visions, but no one must have any evidence of what happened tonight. I bury what I can on the floor and scatter the rest for the wind to take, hopefully somewhere far and unreachable. Once that is done, I can only do one thing, look up at the ground, disconsolate.

I'm not sure how long I stayed there, zombified, but my clothes have nearly dried. It's the blinding headlights of a truck that catched my attention. I watch as it rolls to a halt in front of me. I look up to see the familiar gray truck and relief seems to find me. Normally, I wouldn't want it near me, but this time, it was my savior. My feet are numb to the bone and I can barely muster the strength to get up, but I do. My need to be as far away from this place as soon as possible was stronger than my agony.

I open the door and the voice is quick with judgment, concern for me has never been known in it, "you look like you just crawled out of hell."

"You have no idea," I responded as I climbed onto the truck. My head instantly falls on the headrest with a thud. My eyes can't help wondering to look outside as the truck starts moving. It was such a beautiful night, sadly, I ruined it. Once the place I stood is far from eyesight, I allow myself to turn to the driver and ask, "why did you come? I thought you hated me?"

"You're my little sister," she shrugs, her grip tightening on the steering wheel as she musters a fake smile, "how could I not come?"

"You never did before," I state.

"Where were you?" she asks a bit shakily, ignoring my comment.

However, I'm not offended, this is who she was. I pay attention to the way her grip keeps getting tighter and her eyes keep fluttering to me briefly, with raised eyebrows, as she waits for an answer.

I shrug, "Don't worry about it."

Next thing I know, my head is being slammed against the dashboard and I curse. Should have worn a seatbelt, I chastise myself.

"Dammit, Brianna," she slams her hand on the wheel as she yells, "you cannot just call me at four in the morning to pick you up in the middle of nowhere looking like a damn zombie who just rose from the dead."

You have NO idea, I think to myself. Her voice was starting to cause another headache. I knew it was a bad idea to call her, but she was my only option. I did what I had to for survival, even if it was temporary.

She continues her tangent after getting no response from me. "You have dried blood on your wrinkled clothes and are shivering like crazy." That answered my question from earlier, the blood didn't completely wash away. Pity.

I roll my eyes, thanks for pointing that out, Captain Obvious.

But on that note, I finally speak in a stern but unbothered tone, "Just drive, Matilda."

She huffs out a breath of annoyance but does as told. However, it isn't long before she speaks up again in a calmer voice. "Where are your friends tonight?"

I ignore her and continue to look at the familiar road. After tonight, I wouldn't be seeing it for a long time. Not that I wanted to anyway.

"What are their names?" She asks herself, and I respond by rolling my eyes. She never did know when to shut up. "Sydney, Itzel, Belinda, and-" my breath hitches for a moment hoping she doesn't say, "Gracy?"

I turn to look at her, making sure to give nothing away. She was a piranha, and could end me in seconds. So I responded as calmly as she was acting, "They went to a party. And I don't know a girl named Gracy."

She mulls this over, trying to find a lie, but gives up. "Well then how did you end up in the desert, miles away from home all on your own?" She asked the question I've been praying didn't come up. "Covered in blood?" She adds.

And I stand corrected. That was the question I didn't want asked. The thing is, I knew how I could stop all of these questions.

So I play along and ask, "What do you want so you can shut up already?" This question has a double meaning that we both knew. It meant, she would stay quiet about tonight and stop pestering me and it would be like the night never happened. If only it hadn't.

"Your box," she says without missing a beat.

I cock up an eyebrow and sarcastically say, "you're not even going to try and play the whole older sister role of coming without any ulterior motive then to make sure I was okay?"

She laughs and shakes her head lightly. However, I know it was a nervous laugh. Her fingers tapping on the steering wheel gave her away too easily.

"The box and that's it. This night never happened," I agree.

"This night never happened," she repeats in a sort of trans like state.

It isn't long after that she finally pulls into our house. "Home sweet home," my mother had sing-song when we first moved here. It was a simple white two story house with a banister all around the outside and was now a little too big for two people, but it was my home. The flowers that used to be planted had all withered away now. I can see the giant windows as they pierced through my soul. I always hated them. I didn't need the watchful eyes of others.

The first thing I do when she stops the car is sprint to my room and fish out the box. I grab a lighter and lighter fluid and run back outside as my sister gets out of the truck. She quirks up an eyebrow at me before her whole face morphs into shock and anger as she watches me spill the content of the box on the ground. I cover them in the fluid and without hesitation, throw the lighter in the center. Almost instantaneously, the papers light up and turn to ash. She runs over in a panic and starts blowing on them. The desperation is in her whole demeanor. So much that she places her hands inside the small pile of fire. I in turn remove them, managing to burn myself as well. "Fuck," I cuss under my breath as I start shaking her.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" we both say to each other at the same time, our eyes locking.

"You burn them," she says with misty eyes, "you- you promised me your box."

I grab the box I had tossed aside from the ground and shove it into her hands. "This, is what I promised you.

"This isn't what I wanted," she says in disbelief.

"Well next time be more specific, huh?" I look at the fire and think, but there won't be a next time.

"How can you just burn the papers," she questions.

"Trust me. We're better off without them."

"NO. I NEED them," she says full of desperation, it's hard to watch. She reaches once again for the fire which seems to be never ending. I do the only thing I can think of in the moment and slap her as hard as I can. I would be lying if I said I had never thought about doing it, but I would have liked it to be under better circumstances. Not to try and knock some sanity into her before-

"What the hell was that for?" She yells at me as she brings her hand up to her cheek.

"Get a grip of yourself. It's so fucking hard to watch really. And that's coming from me."

I see the bright blue and red lights light up the dark night and curse. "I thought I had more time."

"What is happ-" Matilda's words fall flat as the cops call out.

"Brianna Anders, you are under arrest for the murder of Gracy Hall."

"Fucking Gracy Hall," I roll my eyes and raise my hands in surrender. One of the police officers comes to my side and places my hands behind my back. "I'd watch her," I nod towards my sister who stands there, dumbfounded.

"I thought you said you didn't-'' Matilda starts.

"Gracy was a bitch," I yell in malice, holding no regrets for what I had done tonight, as I'm dragged away and shoved into the car I continue, "and death was far too kind for her."