Safe and Sound | TWD

Chapter 12

"I am not wearing this."

Marissa has decided that I wear a backless tank top filled to the brim with rhinestones, low waisted jeans that could easily come off with a hop, and the most uncomfortable shoes on the planet to a party she has decided to throw now that her parents are out of town.

"Oh cmon, you look totally sexy in it!" She argues, looking at me through the mirror while I check myself out.

"That's the problem. This outfit isn't me okay? I don't wear things this..revealing."

She scoffs, seeing which bag goes best with the color of the top. "Tonight is the night to be something you're not. Cmon Bella B, live a little huh?" She bumps her hip against mine, making us both let out a laugh. "I'll live, but not in this outfit."

We both compromised. I told her i'd wear the jeans, as long as I can wear my own shirt and shoes.

"How did your parents let you come anyway?" She asks as I change back into my original shirt.

"I told them it was a sleepover." She laughs at this.

My parents trust me. They know I won't do anything crazy or dangerous. But with a friend like Marissa, sometimes lying is the best option.

"Tonight is our time. To be someone else. To have different lives and interests. I'll be a...fashion designer who got accepted into a high end fashion school in New York." She smiles giddy, choosing which necklace goes with which earrings. I laugh softly.

"Alright. I'll be...an aspiring author who uses her lack of a love life as inspiration for an even better one on page."

Marissa smirks. Setting down her jewels, she turns to me. "That isn't much different from now, Bella B."

I gasp and throw my jacket at her head, which she gracefully dodges, laughing her ass off. "That is so not true!"

"It kind of is! I mean, a poet isn't much different from an author." She argues, I roll my eyes.

"Well what do you suggest I be then?"

She thinks about it for a moment, placing her index finger on her chin as she ponders what my fake self would be.

"I got it!"

I raise my eyebrows, "A murderer."

I furrow my eyebrows, a confused smile spreading across my lips. "What?" A nervous laughs escapes me.

"A murderer."

The air has changed. What was once light and fluffy, turned dark and cold. Her face is stone cold.

"What are you talking about?" I ask her warily.

"You know. The little girl you killed? Sophia?"

"I—how do you—"

"Cmon Bella B. This is the night we're someone else right? You're not a poet anymore. You're a killer." She steps closer. Everything about her has changed. Her airy voice is deep, her warm eyes are cold.

"I didn't—I'm not a killer."

"You shot her, right in the head."

"She—she was already dead Marissa." My voice is shaking with the pain and shame of that moment.

"You keep telling yourself that Bella B. You were supposed to protect her. You were supposed to be with her on that highway. You let her die. You killed her."