My Boyfriend's Last Kiss

Emma's POV

At a late-night party, when the bottle spins to my boyfriend Tyler, he picks dare.

"Kiss anyone here except your girlfriend," the host announces with a smirk.

Tyler barely hesitates. He walks straight to my best friend Sienna and kisses her for a full seven seconds in front of everyone.

When he comes back, he leans close to my ear. "Don't sweat it, we'll have fun when we get home."

When it's my turn, I choose truth. "Tell us a secret nobody knows."

I look around at all these drunk college kids, then say calmly, "I killed someone."

The room erupts in laughter.

"Holy shit, that's good!" someone whistles.

Tyler's lounging on the couch, raising his beer. "My girl, future Oscar winner!"

He thinks I'm joking. They all do.

"You know what? Let me tell you this secret like a story," I say with a smile. "Wanna hear it?"

"Hell yeah, let's hear it!" The crowd's eating it up, like it's some kind of show.

I look at Tyler and begin. "My family used to run a farm. Dad would get up at four every morning to work, and Mom would wait for him on the porch. When I was eight, he taught me how to drive the tractor. I'd sit on his lap and hold the steering wheel. Summer evenings, we'd drink lemonade and watch the sunset."

"Dad told me that when I grew up, the farm would be mine. He was going to send me to the best college to study agricultural science."

Tyler impatiently spins his beer can. "What does this have to do with killing someone? Fast forward already."

"Then the 2008 financial crisis hit." I pause. "The farm went bankrupt. Dad started gambling, said he was trying to win it all back. Then he got into drugs, said they helped him stay sharp and make better decisions."

"Mom sold everything—farm equipment, Grandma's necklace, the land deed my great-grandfather left us. She begged loan sharks on her knees for more time, but Dad kept saying the next bet would win everything back."

I remember how Dad used to lift me up, put me on his shoulders, saying "Hold on tight, princess." I remember his laugh, those nights he taught me constellations.

"Eventually Dad disappeared. We thought he'd run off," I continue. "One day I came home from school. Mom was still at work, but there were strange men in our house. They wore expensive suits, completely out of place in our rundown farmhouse."

The party noise is dying down now.

"Dad was practically groveling in front of them, this eager smile plastered on his face. He told me excitedly that he could finally pay off his debts, that he'd be able to send me to college. I was too young to know any better. I just hadn't seen him that happy in forever."

"He handed me a drink. Said it was to celebrate."

I was so stupid back then, actually believing Dad had found a way out. I took that glass of juice, watched his trembling hands, thought he was shaking from excitement.

The moment I drank it, I saw something flash in his eyes.

Not love. Not guilt.

Relief.

When I wake up, I'm lying in my own bed, my whole body hurting like it's been torn apart. My memory comes in fragments—bloodstains on the sheets, strange smells filling the room. I try to remember what happened, but all I can recall are blurry shadows and harsh laughter.

I struggle out of my room.

Mom's screaming from downstairs. She's fighting with Dad, her voice so raw it sounds like it could bring the whole house down.