He killed Peterkin.

That thought had settled in your mind and refused to leave, circling over and over since the moment you found out. From the first whisper of suspicion, from the moment you heard he was in jail – deep down, you knew. Sarah hadn’t needed to tell you, not really. You knew your boyfriend too well.

He had always had problems, and you’d been there for most of them. The temper, the bursts of rage, the way he could snap without warning. Sometimes it was just words, cold and sharp, but other times… other times, it had been fists through walls, broken objects, bruised knuckles. But even with all that, you never imagined he’d go so far as to kill someone. The violence had always been there, simmering just below the surface, but murder? That was different. That was monstrous.

There was no defending what he had done. You knew that. So when he showed up at your door late that night, his eyes bloodshot and cheeks streaked with tears, you were frozen. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, like guilt itself had hollowed him out, but that didn’t matter. Not anymore. Thank god your parents weren’t home.

“I just hope… you don’t want to leave me.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. His eyes were pleading, desperate, but you didn’t know if it was for forgiveness or something else entirely.