Slain

I was there the night June died. We all were. I saw her body sprawled out in a pool of blood. I saw her too-still chest and I knew she would never breathe again.

Only I wasn't thinking about her while we hid in the dark, trying not to scream. I was thinking about him. I was thinking about my boyfriend, Jackson.

No, you've never met him. And no, he doesn't exactly have a perfect past. He's nothing like the squeaky-clean church boys I've dated all my life. Maybe that's what I like about him. Maybe I'm sick of all the pretending.

But that doesn't make me a murderer.

Yes, I've done a lot of things you might think were wrong. I've cheated. I've lied. I've tasted the apple and I'm never going back. This isn't some sort of come-to-Jesus story.

I'm no good girl. Not anymore. Not ever again.

But I'm not the devil either.