"She's dead".
She is dead. Novah was dead.

Craig's first impulse push Isla away like she was some piece of trash. The news knocked air out of his windpipe, and he wasn't ready to believe it. Isla's first impulse was to flash a smile at him, throwing her hands around his neck.

Finally, her arch rival was gone.
"What? Don't you like it? Aren't you happy? I think she never really deserved you, and you're free to bestow your love on someone else. It's a shame you were so into her when she was alive."

Just like that, Isla had erased all feeling for Novah behind her as an item of the past. Dark circles pooled beneath Craig's eyes. The pity he'd had for Isla turned to hatred.

"You. Lying. Bitch," Craig cried, tearing himself away from the ugly creature hugging him.

Isla frowned.
"I wanted to make you happy, sweetheart. And I expect gratitude from you, not an attitude. Get a life, idiot. Novah was never your type. She'd have broken your heart, anyway."

He, who had always considered her as an angel, saw all evil and no good in her. He searched her face for signs of remorse. There were none.

"You killed her," he accused.

She was amused.
"That's nonsense. She was worthless to me," she deadpanned.

"You killed her," he repeated " Each time you mocked her all the way to twelfth grade. Every time you made her cry. For every tear you made her shed, every heartbreak and humiliation you put her through. All she did was love me, and you made her life hell."

He bit his lower lip, quivering because of unshed tears for his departed love. She had been so beautiful and pure.

His mind went on autopilot. He couldn't clearly remember his next actions of running to his car, jumping in and driving at a speed that could land his ass in jail for good three months. As at then, he was consumed by hatred for himself, for Peter, and even Isla. It dawned on him how important Novah had been, and he was just too preoccupied with Isla all along. He'd never loved Isla. Their friendship had been sustained by the absence of his heartthrob. When she'd appeared, he should have cherished her. He hadn't heard the cause of her death yet, but he was double sure that it was linked to him in some way or the other.

In the hospital, Peter was a mess of his usual self. He was traumatized by the sight of Novah lying lifeless on the white bed, hooked up to so many machines that had proved useless. Incapable of saving one of his friends that he cherished most. Fine, there was bad blood between Craig and him, but he'd always had a soft spot for Novah.
The padding of shoes over the tiles forced him to tear his eyes away from her corpse. He looked up to find a beefy man with long, dark hair, poised and serious. An investigator.

"There are a few questions you'll have to answer, Mr___"

"Sean."

"Right. Mr Sean."

Then he looked back up at Peter and said, "I'm so sorry, Mr Sean."

Mr Sean just nodded. His body felt like a log of wood.  The investigator jotted down something in the notepad. Then he told Peter he was sorry again.

"There's no need to be,"  Peter said.

Sadness pooled beneath his eyes, and he studied the investigator with a guarded expression, wondering where this would lead. Somehow, he wished this were just a nightmare that he'd wake up from soonest.

"I'm Detective Thompson assigned to special juvenile cases and whatever the hell you crazy teenagers do unit."

Peter could bet his ass that that wasn't in the unit's official description, but he knew better than to confront Thompson.

"And I'll be asking you a few questions as to when and how you're related to the deceased. If, at any point, you feel you need a goddamn break, I'll fucking excuse you. Look here, boy, I don't do that shit you've heard about detectives, putting on airs and being professional. Because I've been a young lad once, and I know how much shit and motherfucking bullshit you get your asses into. Now tell me everything you know," he peered at his notepad.

"Everything,"  Peter gulped, "I suggested that we play seven minutes in heaven."

Thompson's ears perked up in interest.
"Seven minutes in heaven. Whom did you fuck in heaven? "

Peter went as white as a sheet, aghast at the detective's insinuation. He tapped his foot on the floor, heaving a sigh.
"I didn't fuck nobody, sir. But I intended to make the party fun for my girlfriend. You see, she's the one who threw the party and I kind of thought she'd need something horny to add some spice to the entertainment___"

"Why the hell would you be making a party fun for your girlfriend when you should be knee deep in pussy? "

"Knee deep? I don't even know what direction___ I guess this is such a bad idea, sir___"

Realizing that Peter was a novice to what he was talking about, Thompson didn't probe him any further about pussy.
"Never mind, boy. Go on with whatever the hell you were saying."

"When I was paired with her, I was pretty scared because she's taken by my arch enemy, Craig. But there was no way I could back out. I'd overheard him earlier threatening to castrate me if I messed with her. You don't get it, Detective Thompson. He's ruthless. And nobody dared mess with Novah because she's his girlfriend."

"Hmph," was all Thompson interjected.

"Our friends wanted us to kiss. When I made my move, she backed away from me. Before I knew what was happening, she'd run out. I felt so stupid."

Peter's eyes darted around the room like a deer in the headlights. He couldn't see anything there, however. His mind traveled back to the past. He was reliving the horrible scene all over again. The scene of Novah's death.

Thompson shook his head. He pitied the boy.

"I never saw her after that. I only heard the screeching of car tires on the tarmac. She screamed so loudly. I'd never heard anything like it before. I don't think I'll ever be able to get it out of my head." He broke down, letting his tears loose.

He'd held them back for too long. It wasn't as easy for him as he was saying it. The images of Novah being crushed by the car was imprinted on his memory, weighing him down completely. She ran. She screamed. Then died. The sequence of events kept replaying in his head over and over, pushing him to blame himself for what happened. She didn't deserve to die. She deserved to live and enjoy life to it's fullest.

For the first time in months, Peter wept. He sobbed like a baby that night, and his hiccups almost pissed off Thompson.

"Pull yourself together, boy. Stop behaving like some wet-ass pussy." He chided Peter.

"See, you've got some friends, eh? " The detective studied a muscular figure at the door.

When Peter turned his head slightly to have a view of whom it was, he froze. Craig. That glare of his worsened Peter's fears. He seemed to blame Peter for all that had transpired that night as if he himself took no part in it.

During his drive to the hospital, Craig had braced himself for whatever he'd have to face. His hands had turned white from gripping the steering wheel so hard for so long. And as for his thoughts, they flew in a thousand different directions. All the way, notifications of Isla's messages kept popping up on his phone.

Tigress xxx:
Can we talk? 9:00pm.

Oh, so she was asking now. Had she forgotten how she'd rejected his offer of peace in the bathroom? He hissed, giving her message the middle finger.

I didn't mean any of what I said, please. Was just overthinking. 9:01pm.

Indeed?

Fine. Go to hell. I'm offering you this one chance to patch things up with me and you're blanking my texts. Screw you. 9:10pm.

He could sense her anger through the texts. One thing about his Isla was that, even in writing, she'd always been so readable. Craig couldn't figure out why he hadn't deleted her phone number yet, after all the fights they'd been through. On the day he'd saved it as Tigress xxx, she'd saved him from being humiliated by Peter in the hallway.

The latter had mocked him, "Can you come over to help me tie my shoe laces sometime, Craig? I bet you still need a great deal of practice."

His friends had laughed as Craig's ears turned red. He'd gripped her hand for support and was about to pull her away, but she wasn't going to take that shit lying down helpless.

"Shut up, dumbass." She had tackled Peter.

His friends had laughed out louder, enjoying his humiliation. Craig recalled admiring Isla's guts that day. She was a fiery tigress. But thinking of that couldn't change anything now. Their friendship had gone downhill and collapsed before they could mend it.

But, taking in the sight of Novah's body on the bed was too much. Too real. He knelt down beside the bed in reverence, memorizing every single detail of her body, in case he never got to see her again. In spite of how he tried so hard to shift the blame on someone else who happened to be Peter, his own guilt haunted him. When he'd denied his love for her just to calm Isla's nerves, he'd assumed that there would be another chance to make amends. That chance never was. It pricked his conscience. At the last minute before her death, he'd denied her. She'd left the world with hatred, not love. She'd been hated to her death. The reality of it all made Craig lose his mind.

Dipping his hands in his jeans pockets, they closed around the velvet box he'd been meaning to give Novah after the party that night. His fingers trembled as he took out the sapphire ring, glittering in it's beauty. The gem sparkled at the center of the ring, giving off shades of royal blue. It had been his grandmother's.

As tears slipped down his face unbidden, he slipped the ring on Novah's cold, stiff ring finger. If she couldn't have it when she was alive, then she'd have it in death. But, as much as he longed for her eyes to flutter open and widen in admiration of the gift, they remained shut.

Forever.