#she has never expressed an emotion that has not been thoroughly and coldly calculated to only express if its relevant and furthers her goals

[ecotone99]

Perfect Murder

A new day, a new dawn. The lack of light in my room this morning instantly alerts me to the weather as I awake. Looking out the window, I see snow falling outside and everything it seemed to have blanketed overnight. I sit up with a tired yawn, lowering my feet gingerly to the cold mahogany floor. I quickly pull them upon contact, the icy floor sends shivers down my spine. “Skye! Come down, breakfast is ready!” I hear my mother’s fraudulently joyful call me from the kitchen below. I’ve never paid my mother’s mid life crisis any real mind, though it could be advantageous today. She’ll do almost anything to feel like a good mother and I have been wanting a new coat lately. I look down and spot my slippers slightly hidden in the shadows under the bed and slide them on, then open my bedroom door and make my way down the flight of rickety, creaky stairs to the kitchen. “Morning son.” My dad says in his usual stoic drawl, reading the newspaper while he drinks his morning coffee like we’re in a sitcom or the 1960s. “Morning dad.” I pull a disingenuous smile on to my face and force brightness into my tone. Most weekdays I’m able to avoid breakfast with them due to a cleverly timed, extensively long shower or the “mysterious” disappearance of my shoes, but today I’m so tired from a lack of sleep that I forgot. “So honey, what’s new at school?” “Nothing much mom, just the midterm project for Chem and a big Algebra 2 test.” I respond, able to keep half of my deceitfully happy smile as I eat the bland, cardboard like pancakes my mother makes on Fridays. I have to douse them in syrup to get some semblance of bud-awakening taste, but mom seems to conveniently not notice every time. “A big test huh son? I know my boy is gonna ace it.” He says as he lowers his newspaper to give me a grin and a wink. Sometimes, I swear my father isn’t even a real person, he’s just a comic book character who unfortunately ended up in the real world and managed to adjust. Every time he calls me his son, I can’t help but hold a condescending smile internally at his willful ignorance. I don’t actually care what he calls me, as long as I get my weekly allowance. Except today I want more. “So dad.” I say as I shift my expression to the best imitation of sadness I can muster. “Some of the boys at school have been making fun of me.” I throw in a slight pout for added effect and focus my gaze on the floor. My father’s immediately slams his newspaper down on the table, his face contorted with anger, which makes mom jump. “What?! Why?!” He says, clearly unable to keep his voice down despite his own best efforts. “They keep calling me poor because I never have more than twenty bucks every week, while they have forty or fifty.” I say, sure I’ll convince them as I blink away the most crocodilian of tears and avert my gaze. Dad’s expression softens and he pulls out his wallet, handing me a fifty. I look up from my “crying” and sniffle, slowly reaching my hand out to take the dollar bill from him. Slowly, I let a calculated smile slip onto my face, counterfeit admiration in my eyes as I look to him. “Thanks dad, you’re the best.” Is my soft reply, the bill finding its way quickly into my pocket as I stand up and hold my plate out for my mom to take. She does with a nod for me to go get ready for school with a smile of her own. I nod in return, quickly making my way back up the stairs to my room.

Once inside, I rifle through my drawers for an outfit I like “What to choose…” I say quietly before I spot a navy blue turtleneck and gray shirt, deciding to pair it with navy, curve-hugging jeans and a pair of gray boots. “Hmmm…” I audibly remark, wondering what it is that’s nagging at the back of my mind, what it is that I’ve forgotten. I suddenly realize that I nearly forgot to shower and proceed to power walk down the hallway, throwing my clothes onto the pristine marble countertop, stripping my pajamas off to get in. I turn on the shower and the heat of the water floods the room with steam, the light pitter-patters of my feet echo throughout. I’m about to get in when I catch a glimpse of my bodily reflection and step back to get a better look. I let my eyes travel up my body from my feet to my head and take note of my form’s duality. Slim legs with decently muscular thighs lead up to curvy, defined, and noticeable feminine hips, following further up to a toned but slim chest and arms with lithe, noticeable muscle. My own form has always been something I approved of. It’s feminine but also masculine, never leaning too much towards a single one. It serves a purpose and it performs it efficiently. I refocus my attention back to the task at hand and step into the shower. The water brings warmth and relaxation, though I barely have time to enjoy it. Grabbing a hand towel and soap I quickly wash my body off before moving on to my hair, running water through luscious black curls as fast but thoroughly as I can. Shutting off the water, I step out of the shower and dry off with a green towel before I pull my clothes on. My outfit must’ve been heated by the shower’s steam, my chosen clothes wonderfully warm as I slip into them and my muscles relax further. Unable to rest in the peaceful comfort of my heated clothes, I make a B-line from the shower to my room once I leave it and quickly sweep up my books, pencils, and notebooks into my bag then stuff necessities like my wallet and keys into my pocket along with my knife, finally rocketing down the stairs and out the door before I waste time on parental goodbyes. I’m greeted with the pleasant chill of a twenty degree morning as soon as I get outside, the cold refreshing as I begin the eleven block walk to school. I wait at least two blocks and then look back to see if mom or dad were peeking out the window to watch me. “No one.” I say, reaching into my coat pocket.“Perfect.” I pull out a cigarette along with my lighter and quickly light it before taking an enormous drag, then pull it from my mouth with two fingers to exhale a cloud of smoke. Cancer never tasted so good. The fallen snow soaks up much of the cities’ ambient noise, leaving me in the pleasant quiet of my own breath. I walk the next six blocks rather fast and decide after looking at my phone’s clock that I have enough time to head to the park across from my school and smoke another cigarette before I head in to first period. I look both ways, then cross the icy, slippery street and head into the snowy, barren park. Frozen, leafless trees that were once verdant beauties are now stone-like monuments to seasons gone-by. Wiping off a five foot stone pillar with my glove, I hop up onto it and set ciggy number two alight to take another drag, exhaling a wispy cloud into the chilly morning air. As I start to daydream, I nearly jump off the pillar in surprise, a familiar voice startles me. “Skye! Hey! Skye!” It’s the voice of Darren, my toy. He utterly dwarfs my five foot four inch height at six foot two, jogging over. He smiles warmly and I keep my own expression calm and devoid of discernible, specific emotion.. “Hey..” I dully reply. My annoyance at his meaningless exuberance makes it difficult to keep my voice monotone, though I keep my focus on what I need from him and that helps. I have always kept my relationship with him a secret, namely because he’s friends with the rest of the heteroagressive jocks and if they knew we were dating then they might pick on both of us. That’s not something I normally would care about, as my last bully Jake Marino conveniently went missing last summer and hasn’t been found. This is all subverted however, when he sweeps me off my feet and carries me like a princess, as if I’m weightless, pulling me close and pressing his lips to mine. I twitch in surprise and excitement flows through me for a moment before it fades. With his lips still firmly pressed to mine, I consider the ramifications of him going public with our relationship. Through my thoughts I feel a memory bubble up to the surface: the night Darren and I first met. It was at the popular girl Dejah’s junior prom house-after-party. I’d never really been friends with her but the party was open to everyone, much like Dejah that night, so I decided to go and soak up any drunkenly released secrets, figuring I could use them for blackmail if I needed to.. I picked out a nice outfit: a skirt, shirt, leggings, and boots that all had the same black and pink color scheme. A few people at the party commented on the edginess of my outfit, which I wholly ignored. After hours of listening for anything useful and coming up with little, I eventually found myself sitting in a tree, gazing up at the stars through a gap in the branches. That’s when he first spoke“Hey!” I ignored it at first, as I thought he was talking to someone else nearby, but when he called out again I looked down. “Hello.” I responded coldly, uninterested in wasting my time with another homophobe. “Come on down from there? I wanna talk.” He asked, a friendly smile on his face. Intrigued as to how I could use this to my advantage, I came down and he struck up a conversation with me. Topics ranged from the party to our classes to personal interests, none of mine being real of course. As the night went on, we ended up in one of the house’s many guest rooms, probably after our drunken classmates had pushed us off so many couches that we decided a more private spot would give us the space to have a more fleshed out conversation. Once we had sat down on the room’s queen-sized bed, I looked over at him and observed his features: plush lips, angular face, blonde slicked-back hair and, to anyone else, striking green eyes. Handsome, acceptably so. I was about to tell him I should head home, as I saw no further use in continuing our conversation, but then he kissed me. I was mildly surprised when he did, though I suspected he was going to try something with the way he kept staring at my lips. Seconds passed, as I considered if this was something that I should logically pursue. After I came to the conclusion that there were more pros than cons, I pushed into it and closed my eyes. Through the night we fell deeper and deeper into each other, his hands roamed my body, appreciating every inch of me. “Darren.” I’d stopped him right before he was about to mark my neck with a bite. “Yes Skye?” He asked with an adorably innocent smile and an inquisitive tilt of the head. “Are you into exclusivity?” I asked. Darren shrugged. “I’ve never done this with a guy before so….” He said in a half-whisper. “First, I’m not a guy for future reference. Second, that’s not an answer.” “No, I’m not exclusive, but if you want to be, I’m down.” I made a quick decision, noting that Darren could be useful and keeping it exclusive, at least to his knowledge, could make him more loyal down the line. I imitated passion and kissed him again hard, pulling him down on top of me. Flashing back to reality, I break from our kiss in the park. “I thought you wanted to keep this private.” I say, raising a brow. Darren grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, but I….I don’t want to hide it anymore. I think we should go public with-” Darren is cut off suddenly by another voice behind us. “Darren? Darren Waters?” It’s Dejah, her tone incredulous as well as her expression. He whirls around to face her, his stance stiff and caught off guard. “Dejah? What are you doing here?” He asks, as I wipe my lips with my thumb and walk up next to him. Dejah is dressed in her usual red and blue outfit, her expression as cocky as ever. “I was just heading off to class when I saw y’all over here.” She says, the confidence in her actions bleeding out of every pore. “I see after four years at this damn school you’re still just as incapable of minding your own business as freshie you was.” I say, folding my arms. I never particularly liked Dejah and often found myself considering her as a potential obstacle in the path to success. “And after four years you’re still just as much of a faggot.” Dejah responds. I remain expressionless, formulating various ideas for how to take care of her.. “Dejah, I think you should go now.” Darren says sternly. “Alright alright-” Dejah says with a smirk, turning to walk off. “I wonder what your football friends are gonna say when they hear about this.” She says, confirming what I suspected moments ago. Time seems like it’s slowing down, as I watch her walk off to the crosswalk, taking note of her surroundings as well as mine. Green traffic light. Icy sidewalk. Speeding school bus. I know what I have to do. To finish high school sans any hindrances. To succeed. I push Darren’s arm out of the way and walk towards Dejah, taking a book from my bag and holding it out to her to take it, as I know that’ll make what I’m about to look entirely accidental to anyone watching. Once I’m close I “slip” on the ice and fall forward into her, pushing Dejah into the road as I shift my own expression to one of appropriate shock and surprise. I land hard on my hands and knees, ignoring the pain as I quickly look up to see the bus slam into her. But all I see is a red streak on the frozen street.

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