I press myself against the cold brick wall in a narrow alley, panting. My hands are shaking, not only from exhaustion but also from fear. I can feel the burning in my lungs, the stabbing pain in my side. I look down at the bloody knife in my hand. Damn I'm so fucked. The rain pattered coldly on my face, wiping the blood from the scrape on my forehead.

I pull my cell phone out of my pocket, almost dropping it. My fingers tremble as I type my message to you, "I need you. Please be home." No context, no explanation. I know you'll understand. You have to.

Without waiting for a response, I set myself in motion. I don't have time to think about the consequences. The only person who can help me now is you, -my best friend. Will you help me when you find out what I've done?