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Summertime Sadness

By @BrooklynNewsie

The dead body that was sitting erect in the passenger seat of my sister’s car stank. No, ‘stank’ wasn’t exactly the word for it. It reeked, of bitter almonds and coffee and hard alcohol. And I was driving as carefully as I possibly could so that I wouldn’t get pulled over before I arrived at the police station. A speeding ticket would definitely mar my record, especially if the police found the dead girl and assumed that I had killed her.

Which, of course, I had.

Before I became a murderer, I thought that killing another human being was the absolute worst thing that someone could ever do. I didn’t realize how wrong I was until I realized how easy it was to spike my sister’s coffee with cyanide. Quite simply, I didn’t realize I was a killer until I realized that I would do anything to protect Casey.

Casey. Casey was perfect. He was my sister’s boyfriend, and even though I knew I would be the worst sister ever by pining after him, I had to. Emma told me that he was off-limits. I’ve always wondered why. Not that I cared. Or that Casey did either. We would take long walks under the stars together, listen to Lana del Rey and read each other’s favorite books. I loved him. He was perfect. He was everything. He was Casey.

He broke every part of me when I first met him. The need for him crowded out all my other feelings until love and summertime sadness overwhelmed me. My sister didn’t deserve him. Of course she didn’t. She was a sociopath. But I loved her. Yes, I loved her like no other human could. I knew Casey wasn’t good enough for her, but he was for me. And he didn’t know it. He couldn’t see that I was a girl he could fall in love with. He was blinded by my sister. And though I hated to do it, I knew she had to die.

Believe me, I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t think that I could bear looking into Emma’s eyes as I cut her throat. I didn’t think I could ever be happy knowing that the girl in which I had confided all the years of my life was dead by my own hand. But happy is overrated. Love was better. And this was his fault. Casey should love me. He would kill her by loving her. The irony. It was delicious. It tasted as good as the alcohol we tossed down while gossiping before I asked if she wanted to go to Starbucks. She said yes. She loved Starbucks.

So I did it. While sitting in the car as we went through the drive-through, I spiked her latte. She’d been drinking. Her senses were blurred. No one would ever guess it was me. Her ex-boyfriend worked there. All suspicions would be on him. And I watched as she realized that she was dying, screaming in agony. I couldn’t even think of saving her when she uttered the words I heard her say before she died.

“I love you, Ellie.”

I sobbed and screamed and wailed with the agony of what he had made me do. If Casey had only loved me, I would have never had to kill her. And now my sister was gone.

But Casey.

Oh, Casey.

I have gone mad for you.

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