Project Living (girlxgirl)

Epilogue

I sit with my legs tucked beneath my body as I stare into the television in front of me. The low buzz and static carry me into dissociation. It's been six months since we left. Still, I remember watching our segment on TV like it was yesterday.

A woman who couldn't be bothered sat in front of a million monitors. She droned on, "The remains of three young students were discovered by firefighters late last night. Hundreds of miles from their homes, it's unknown why or how they found themselves in New York, to begin with. It's believed a student's mobile phone has been recovered and is currently being investigated," our highlighted names flashed at the bottom of the screen, "If any further information is known please contact Walla Walla police department at..."

I've watched it over a hundred times. The woman's monotone voice has yet to stop ringing in my ears.

I killed a man six months ago. I stripped a human being of life and here I sit watching some pathetic hallmark special. Sav and I haven't spoken of what happened since we left. Six months ago.

I wonder if she wakes covered in his blood the way I do. I wonder if she stands in the shower scrubbing for an eternity just to rid her body of evil the way I do.

I wonder if I've gone crazy.

I shake all thoughts from my head and sigh. Picking up the remote, I change the channel. Savannah groans beside me as if I've inconvenienced her. Reaching across her, I pull a stray blanket across the both of us. I wish I could say it helped much.

Savannah worms herself deeper into the crook of my neck as I flip through the channels of various dramas and documentaries. With the mass of free space beside us, I would normally shrug her off for the sake of personal space, but keeping the heat off in the apartment saves us money. I'm freezing.

"Can you please make up your mind?" Savannah remarks.

I hand her the remote, "Have a field day, love."

I begin to get up from the couch. Sav throws me an annoyed glance as I continue into the kitchen.

My bare feet meet the cold tile, causing me to shiver. We hardly use the kitchen for anything other than storing food. It's an eerie part of the house that I'd rather steer clear of. The bare walls and cold atmosphere gave a sense of loneliness. At least the smell of mildew faded months ago. I could, at the bare minimum, breathe in peace now.

I pull a chair from the rickety table that sits in the middle of the room. Sitting down, I collapse with my hands holding my head. Before I can feel a single thought come back to me, the sound of Savannah's footsteps echo from behind me. I sigh as a pair of arms wrap around my torso.

Savannah brushes her nose against the back of my neck, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Sav. Go cover up again, it's cold."

She says nothing, but I feel her tense up. She places a soft kiss on my neck before resting her chin on my shoulder, "I can't remember the last time I didn't see you stressed. Please talk to me, Wren."

I pull out the chair beside me and beckon her to sit. Running my fingers through my hair, I close my eyes to avoid hers.

I inhale, "I'm going to hell, Sav."

I open my eyes to find her expressionless. She opens and closes her mouth.

I continue, "I'm going to hell. Whether we talk about it or not, I allowed us to murder a man. Not only that we but we ran from it. I'm sick. I could throw up with how disgusted I am."

She nods slowly as she searches for her words. I watch as her fingers twitch.

"We've been to hell, Wren. I don't mind going again if it means you'll be there too," She says lowly.

I shake my head, "You're missing the point. I know you're trying to make me feel better, but it's not the time. For fuck's sake, Savannah, we murdered someone."

I bite my tongue to refrain from raising my voice any more than I already have. Her arms cross themselves and I can tell she's uncomfortable.

So be it.

"I know what we did. I know what I did. I'm aware," She admits, "But I quite frankly don't give a shit."

I scoff in disbelief, "How do you just live with it? How do you fall asleep at night?"

"With you beside me," She cuts in, "I sleep with you next to me. I live with it because I have you. Were you there when he controlled me?" Her voice cracks as she goes on, "When he beat me? When he raped me? When he took blades to my skin? No, you weren't. You'll never quite understand why I can live with myself after doing what I did, but I at least expect you to try."

I'm taken aback by her words, "I do try. I've seen abuse and I understand the deep lust for blood when you're experiencing it. I just... I can't keep living like I don't have that blood on my hands."

I grind my teeth together. I always thought I was stronger than this. I, of all people, losing it because I broke the moral code.

"I can't keep pretending like I haven't been playing God. We decided his fate that night and now we're on the exact same boat as he is. Fuck, we laughed while doing it. We made jokes. Like it was just a game. I'm revolted," I finish.

She purses her lips as her eyes darken. I glance at her balled fists before reverting my stare back to hers.

"That's fine. You can be revolted all you'd like. I'm just not sure what the fuck you want me to do about it. Take it back? I'm sure you've at least realized I can't do that. No one can."

Her sarcasm strikes a different chord within me, "You're unbelievable."

Savannah's expression is blank, "You should have pieced that together a long time ago, Wren." Her hands grip the table, pushing herself up from her seat. "I'm done with this conversation." 

With that, I don't turn to watch her walk out of the kitchen. I don't even turn when I hear the front door open and close. I wait and listen for her footsteps to fade into the hallway before allowing myself to cry. 

It's the first time in about a year and I guess it's for good reason. I wish I could have told her I loved her before she left. She'll be back, she always is. I just don't know if I'll be here to welcome her this time. 

I don't feel myself stand. I don't feel my feet move. I can't even see myself lift the corded landline through my tears. I do, however, feel my fingers dance across the dialing pad. That damned news segment made great for memorization. 

The tones emitting from the worn phone vibrate against my insides. 

A man's bellowing voice greets me, "Walla Walla Police Department."

I blink through my clouded vision and stare into the wall in front of me. 

"Hello? This is the police." He drones.

My breath hitches as I find my words, "I'm... I'm calling."

Silence follows. He's waiting for me. I don't realize I'm biting my lip until I feel liquid cascade down my chin. 

"I'm calling in regards to a closed case of yours," I choke.

"A closed case, huh? We wouldn't be able to give out any information the press hasn't spoken of." I hear the flipping of papers through the phone. 

"I'm Wren Mitchell."