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Get Away With Murder

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RIP Rachel Nelson

My fingertips brush against the cold stone of the grave, and for a brief second I feel as if I am about to cry. I was, and still am, truly in love with her.

That was why I had to kill her.

Love is such a peculiar feeling. Those butterflies which never seem to go away when I was around her. That overwhelming jealousy I felt when she was innocently conversing with another man. The thoughts of her which never seemed to leave my mind. The feeling was absolutely unbearable, to the point where it made me feel sick to my stomach. I couldn’t stand it, and I knew that I had to put an end to it.

But how?

I had spent many sleepless nights plotting. I contemplated moving out of town and never speaking to her again or committing suicide. I had immediately shaken those ideas away as thoughts of her getting over me and falling in love with another man filled my head. If I couldn’t have her, I decided, nobody could.

She looked absolutely stunning that fateful night. Her brown hair fell in loose curls onto her shoulders and she had that smile which always made my heart melt. I took her hand in mine, giving it a small squeeze. I had almost changed my mind about killing her.

But the image of my hands around her pretty little neck seemed so delightful.

I became more hesitant over dinner which I had so carefully prepared. Her last night was going to be absolutely perfect. We laughed and talked about our past week, from our bosses to interesting movies we had watched on television. I ate my dinner quickly, because each second which passed made my hands sweat more and my heart pound a little harder in my chest. I knew I had to act fast to get the deed done.

I stood up and walked behind the chair in which she sat. I reached into my pocket, pulling out a diamond necklace which I knew would look beautiful on her. I placed it around her neck, and the gasp she let out told me she liked it.

I ran my finger down her cheekbone and traced her lips. I continued to run it down her neck until I reached the chain of the necklace. I placed my other hand on her neck.

And then I began to choke her.

Immediately she brought her hands up to mine, digging her fingernails into them. They indented tiny moons into my skin, though I did not flinch. I could hear her unsuccessful attempts to shriek, replaced with gagging noises instead. She kicked the table with enough force to cause one of the wine glasses to roll off of it, shattering on the floor into hundreds of pieces. I just tightened my grip. She stopped fighting and looked at me with fearful green eyes, glistening with tears. I leaned forward and kissed her passionately on her quivering lips, which were beginning to turn a lovely shade of blue.

“Am I hurting you?” I whispered in her ear.

My eyes then fell upon the shards of glass on the floor.

“Let me make it safe and sound.”

I remembered the way I held her hand, cold and limp, in mind. I hugged her, not minding the blood that was traveling down in tiny rivers and streams down her neck and across each one of her delicate wrists.

Red was a good color on her.

I waited until the latest hours of the night before carrying her home in my arms. Her door, as usual, was left unlocked, so I just walked right in. Ever so quietly, I crept up the stairs, as if being watched by some neighbor. Gently, I put her down on her bed and kissed her on her forehead before slipping out once again into the night.

Each passing day after the murder was filled with calmness. I knew that no one would ever expect me of the crime. Why would I, the love-struck boy, ever kill my beloved girlfriend? The bet going around about how long it would be before I proposed confirmed that there was nothing to worry about. Even she didn’t have the slightest clue, although she did look beautiful at her wake before they carried her away in her casket. Silly girl, hadn’t she heard that love was dangerous?

Getting away with murder was easy.

I gently placed a red rose on the side of her grave before solemnly walking away. I really do love her.

Now that she is six feet underground.

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paige14 This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Aug. 9, 2011 at 11:58 am
I like this. It wasn't all that unique (reminded me a LOT of Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe) but you managed to describe it in a way that it seemed almost...okay he killed her. It was almost sickening the way that in the end, I never saw the narrator, the murderer, as the bad guy. Overall, really good.
.Izzy. replied...
Aug. 9, 2011 at 1:54 pm
I'll take that as a compliment (I love Poe, hence my picture) :b 
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