Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"AMARA?!"
The aforementioned girl stood on the doorstep of Robin Buckley's house at half-past one in the morning, her bike abandoned on the grass by her feet. Her pale complexion was glistening with perspiration, a stark juxtaposition to the majority of townspeople who were currently asleep (including Robin, who had awoken at the sound of Amara ringing the doorbell), she had the faintest traces of blood smeared above her eyes and lips, and she was loosely holding a bloodied crowbar.
"Did you just murder someone?" Robin speculated, huddling further into her yellow pajamas in response to the tempestuous wind. "I know you're my best friend but I'll have you know I'm absolutely terrified of serial killers."
Amara couldn't help but smile, only just recognizing how much she had missed Robin during the past week of distancing herself to aid Jonathan and Nancy. "Oh, that's my own blood," she gestured at the crowbar. "I didn't murder someone. Someone almost murdered me."
"Well you're lucky my mom's out of town tonight of all nights," Robin grinned, motioning for Amara to come inside. The warmth of the Buckley household was a wonderful contrast to the bitter cold outside, and Amara was more than willing to indulge in it after numerous brushes with death.
Amara hadn't entered Robin's bedroom in four days – a record for her on all accounts. She peeled off her jacket and plopped herself on the bean bag in the corner, sighing in contentment as she stretched out her aching limbs. Not caring that Amara had woken her so late at night, Robin joined her on the carpeted floor.
"So, care to explain why you're awake at this unearthly hour?" Robin teased, bumping her arm against Amara's. "You look like absolute hell, by the way."
"Gee, thanks."
"Sorry, I didn't mean it that way," Robin rushed to apologize, dragging one of her hands through her short hair. "You know I struggle with social cues. Sometimes I wonder if I have autism myself."
"Robin, it's fine," Amara assured her best friend, unhooking Robin's hand from her hair and taking it in her own. Even if their relationship was completely platonic, physical touch was a remedy they used to help loosen each other's nerves. "I promised you I would tell you everything that's been going on this week, and I'm ready."
Robin's eyes lit up. "Really? I mean you don't have to if you don't want – "
"No, you deserve to know," Amara interrupted, conscious that she would likely go insane if she continued to hide the truth from Robin. It was the least she owed to her. "You might not believe me, though."
"'Mara, no offense but you're a really bad liar," Robin jested, causing Amara to giggle as some of the tension evaporated from her shoulders. "Whatever it is that happened, I promise to believe you."
