Cherry Bomb [h.s]

18

I wake up the next morning with a pounding headache. After my initial break down last night, I spent some time just thinking. About everything. My own life, my own mistakes. And of course, the murder that I was just involved in. 

No matter how much I don't want it to be true, I was there when Harry murdered someone. In his own home, no less.

And it was planned. Probably for days or even weeks or months. I mean, the guy's wife was in on it, and there was no other reason for Harry's late night visit.

Even if I go to the police now, what's going to happen? Harry already said that the man's wife was going to destroy all of the evidence at the house. 

But what about the evidence that was still on my hoodie? And what about the fact that I knew when, where, and how the guy was murdered? 

I would still be incriminating myself. 

And being around that lingering feeling of death was really not helping, either. It made me want to smoke a cigarette at a time other than sunset, which hasn't happened in 2 years. 

A large part of me is telling me that it can't be true. Harry's just trying to scare me. It's all a big prank or something.

And at any moment, Ashton Kutcher is going to jump out of a closet somewhere and tell me that I've been Punk'd. 

In fact, that has to be what happened. Of course, why didn't I think of it before? 

Harry was just messing with me like he always does. 

There's no way he actually killed the guy. 

It doesn't make sense otherwise. I mean, why did me make me stay in the car if he actually wanted to see me murder the guy? Because it was all fake! 

I feel a sense of relief as I realize that there was no murder. No evidence to worry about, no victim to mourn. 

It was all just an elaborate scheme. 

I laugh to myself and shake my head. 

I've just figured out his little trick. 

And now I was going to confront him about it. 

I step out of my door, only having to move a couple of feet to knock on his. 

"I thought you didn't want to speak to me." Harry says when he opens the door, his tone knowing, like he expected this exact thing to happen. 

"I didn't," I say, "Until I realized that you didn't actually murder that guy!" I cross my arms and give him a knowing look. 

He furrows his brows and purses his lips, taking a moment to reply.

"So you think I'm lying?" He asks, brows still knitted in confusion. 

"Don't act like you're not," I walk into his room, and he slowly shuts the door behind me. 

He walks over to stand in front of the bed, and I face him with my back turned to the tv, which is on. 

"I know that you're just messing with me, Harold," I tell him, "You staged a fake murder to scare me and it almost worked." I shrug. 

He says nothing, just stares at me with the same dumbstruck expression. 

"You know, I don't even know how I fell for it in the first place," I chuckle, "I mean, it was a little overboard to be honest." 

Harry isn't looking at me anymore, but instead is staring at the tv behind me. 

"Are you even fucking listening to me?" I ask, "I'm over here exposing your stunt, and you can't even pay attention. What are you even watching, anyway?" I turn to look at the tv.