𝐧𝐨 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲, 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞- 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧

10.

    News spread quickly and people were bickering about Trevor's body's location. People knew someone killed him because of the dent in his head and the water in his lungs. Rafe reassured me that there couldn't be DNA on him because the salt water would wash it away. It's been longer than 72 hours which is supposed to be the approximate time it takes.

Now I'm in his room, watching him pace back and forth. He slammed his fist onto his desk, causing me to flinch. He sweared under his breath. For someone who kept reassuring me, he wasn't too good at reassuring himself. That made me worried. He looked more nervous than the night we killed Trevor.

We've gotten no where with the suspects minus the Pogues. I still have the note crumbled up in my phone case. I wanted to throw it out so bad, but the fear of one of my parents finding it was strong. Someone could trace it back to me, right? No. Now I'm too paranoid.

"Okay, okay." Rafe started, placing his hands on my shoulders. "Where did you put the weapon?"

"It's in my underwear drawer." I admit.

"Is that where girls hide everything?" His face scrunches up in disgust.

"No one goes through underwear drawers." I shot back. "I wasn't going to give it back either. We killed someone with that."

"We have to get rid of it." Rafe ignored my reasoning. "If they search houses for clues, they won't think twice about going through your pink underwear stash."

"Pink? Who said my underwear are pink?" I scoffed.

The two of us go silent, realizing that this conversation was too weird for us to talk about. We talked about murder, yet here we are cringing at our conversation about underwear. He shook his head.

"Okay, we'll go to your house, get the weapon, then drive out to the woods to bury it. We'll bury it away from the scene." He decided.

"Okay." I agreed. "Okay."

Sure enough I was sitting in his car at 11pm at night with the hammer in the inside of Rafe's jacket I never gave back. It has a perfect pocket on the inside that fit the hammer, but it was also warm to keep me from shivering over the dead corpse.

Rafe got out of the car, going around the side to grab the shovel. We were well into the woods on a path that led deep into the trees. I got out too, shoving my hands into the jacket pockets. Rafe took the gun from the compartment and shoved it into the back of his jeans.

"Come on."

We didn't talk during our walk. We walked for about 30 minutes before stopping by a large tree. It was still hot, the beanie on my head not helping with the heat. But Rafe insisted that we had to stay at hidden as possible as if a hat would cover our faces.

He began digging into the dirt. The leaves were thrown to the side along with the blocks of dirt he dug up. We were about 4ft down before he stopped. I took out the weapon, setting it down in the hole he dug that perfectly fit the hammer.

I helped him bury it, stomping on the dirt to keep it in place. He wiped the sweat off his forehead, breathing deeply from his work. I just buried my fathers hammer in the ground because I had the nerve to wack someone over the head with it.

We started back for the car. It was as simple as that. Walk, dig, bury, walk back. This time we had a small conversation about the summer. He mentioned the one time he stole my hairbrush from my bag and threw it away because he was mad I used the pool floaty at his house. I rolled my eyes, calling him a child. I was searching for that brush for days.

"I can't believe I'm doing this with you." I huff over the roots of the trees.

"You'd be the last person I'd want to do this with, but here I am." He agreed.