waverly st. amor | d8. | fin.

I didn't mean it.

That night when the thunder echoed through the darkening sky. As I watched Mama bleed, black and blue covering her body. I couldn't stay, I couldn't hide it. My footsteps echoed through the silence of our house as I ran towards my room. Tears dripping down my face and staining my clothes. There are still bruises on my arms.

Scars on my heart that will never go away.

I didn't mean it.

As I grabbed the pillow and met Weston in the hall. No words were spoken, neither of us dared to breathe. We had talked about it before, just once or twice, but tonight was the night. We would find freedom for ourselves, no matter what the cause. I closed my eyes shut as I placed the pillow over his face.

I was going to stop.

I didn't mean it.

The body thumped as we dragged it across the yard, to a hole that we had dug earlier that day. It was just deep enough to cover his toes. Just deep enough that he would be no more.

The rain started to fall just as the shovel fell from my hand.

I didn't mean it.

That's what I used to tell myself.

But I knew I really did.