𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄, original story

one, i know what you did

Callum Makins was the only life I had ever taken. If anyone tells you otherwise, they are lying. It was a purposeful, planned out kill. If I were to kill anyone else, I'd never be as successful as I was here. I had gotten insanely lucky, despite the slip-ups. Callum's life was the only life I intended to take.

There had been many theories about how Callum was killed. Ranging from murder to his idiocy. I liked the one where he jumped off the cliff ledge because he realised what a shit person he truly was. That wasn't the truth.

Only I knew the truth. And that made me all powerful, like a goddess.

I had always loved having power over people, and Callum had taken that from me. We, as a couple, had always done what he wanted. I wanted to watch Black Widow and he wanted to watch Mission Impossible. Guess what won, I dare you.

It doesn't take a spy to figure that it was fucking Mission Impossible. That was his favourite movie, one of the things I had to know about Callum as his doting girlfriend.

Anytime I tried to reach out to Mum about it, she told me that's how men were. Anytime I tried to talk to Callum, he'd raise his voice as men do when they want to be obeyed.

That's why men raise their voice, because they need woman to obey them. Women raise their voice when they think they aren't being heard, just like Miss. Richards was right now, "Maddie! Your late!"

I wanted to make a witty remark about having to light on fire the last piece of evidence from murdering my boyfriend. Instead, I settled for the grieving act and turned on the waterworks and said, "Miss... I— I was busy sorting the last of Callum's thing—"

"—Sorry, dear, go take your seat," Miss Richardson interrupted, letting me walk into class with nothing other than a slap on the wrist. As soon as I turned my back on her, I was smirking like a cat who got the cream as the final tear cascaded down my cheek.

No one dared check if I were still crying, they all cared about my privacy despite the fact most of them were gossips with big mouths.

I respected it nonetheless.

The grieving act was something I started doing when I was almost caught out by the Police, I accidentally let it slip that I wasn't studying in my room and had snuck out — which, admittedly, was a very stupid thing to do. I had burst into tears, removing a part of my soul with each fake tear, pretending as though they believed I was some sort of cold blooded killer.

They weren't wrong, but it would've been stupid to tell them that.

I slunk into my chair at the back of class, letting out a breath through my mouth as I dug inside my handbag to find my pencil case and maths book.

It felt like torture to have to study on a Monday morning, especially maths. Yet, here I sat like the perfect, grieving student. Except instead of paying any attention to whatever boorish revision Miss, Richardson was teaching, my eyes were purely focused on the window next to me, watching the Year Tens play tennis outside.

The moves weren't accurate, nor precise but it beat listening to whatever calculations I'd soon have to be doing. I'd memorised all the formulas — or most of them — on study dates with Callum. Despite his jock stereotyping, he wanted to get good grades so he would get into the college he picked in London.

It made no sense to go somewhere in the capital considering we lived three hours away in the small village of Ardsey in the middle of Norfolk. I was going to a college nearby, in a town. Mum had suggested it, and I only agreed as I wanted to get her off my back and it seemed okay when we looked around in November.

It was now March, springtime without Callum was something I was told would be a struggle. As it turned out I was quite enjoying it, on the inside that is. The outside appeared dull, lifeless.

Just like Callum, that thought was enough to make a girl smile. And yet I repressed mine.

I heard a sigh, then felt someone tap me on the shoulder, bringing me out of my haze with a nervous jump. I was always worried of being caught, always jumpy.

It was only Poppy next to me, tapping me on the shoulder without reasoning. I glared at her, but clearly my usual icy glare was now just a soft look of sadness due to her softened expression, brown eyes went from wide to closed slightly.

"You okay?" I nodded, trying not to speak too much, I didn't want to come across as 'too chatty' or 'perfectly fine'. I didn't want the police to slap a pair of handcuffs on me. She passed me a pink post-it-note, one of those fancy stationery things that only the smart kids who give a shit have.

"Who's it from?" I asked as I opened it, seeing her shrug vaguely out of the corner of my eye.

I know what you did. Meet me outside the bike sheds after school — HB

My breath was caught in my throat, heart-rate speeding up with each re-read. That couldn't be right. I was careful. I had done everything right, studied my material. At least the sender had left some form of indication who it was.

"What's wrong?" Poppy asked just as I raised my hand, clutching the note tight in my hand so no one could see. So no one could suspect me.

"Miss, can I go to the loo?" She nodded and agreed, letting me pick up my bag.

Luckily, Miss. Richardson was one of those teachers who understood periods, unlike Mr. Barrett who had told a girl to take paracetamol to ease her cramps. Dickhead.

I waltzed out of the class, making a beeline for the toilets so I could make a plan. I knew whoever had sent it was in my maths class. There's no way that the note would be passed through the entire school before it got to me, someone would've taken a peek at it by now.

There was no one, to my knowledge, with the initials HB, unless a pencil counted. Which was why I was grateful I had a best friend who seemed to know all the gossip at all times. I stood at the sink in the bathroom, there was another girl in there actually using the bathroom.

I pulled out my phone from my bag, sending a text to Lily.

maddie: do u know anyone w the initials HB??

She started typing back effective immediately, chances are she was on her phone during French because... well, French is a bit boring, isn't it?

lily: not in the school, why??

maddie: dw abt it

I heard the other girl unlock her stall and so I put my phone and the note lazily into my bag, turning on the tap and pretending I was washing my hands.

"Your that girl who lost her boyfriend, aren't you?"

I think I was going to be the "girl who's boyfriend died" forever, but the best being "Callum's girl" by a long shot.