What you did last summer … part 1
There she lay. Lifeless. Eyes rolled back, mouth parted as if she still had something left to say. Three shots to the torso. One to the head. Clean. Final.
The memory hit India out of nowhere—sharp and unforgiving—like glass cutting through skin. Last summer. The heat. The way the car door vibrated under her palm as she leaned halfway out of it, arm steady, heart anything but. She could still smell the gunpowder, still hear the scream that cut off too fast.
India swallowed hard and slid back inside the car, pulling the door shut as if that could seal the memory out. Her hands were shaking now. She pressed them into her lap, nails digging into her thighs.
“Girl, you okay?!” Sarighly laughed from the driver’s seat, music blasting, bass rattling the windows. “We outside this summer!”
India forced a smile, nodded like nothing was wrong. Like she wasn’t seeing a dead woman every time she closed her eyes. Like she hadn’t ended another woman’s life over a man who didn’t even bleed for her the way that girl had.
That was the part that sat heaviest.
He moved on. Didn’t even look back. Meanwhile, blood soaked concrete, and India carried the weight of it everywhere she went.
Las Vegas lights flashed around them—neon, reckless, alive. Bodies crowded the sidewalks, drinks spilling, laughter echoing off casino walls. Everyone was celebrating something. Birthdays. Freedom. Forgetting.
India stared out the window as the Strip blurred past, wondering how the world could keep spinning when hers had stopped that night. She was supposed to be having the time of her life. That’s what it looked like from the outside. Cute outfits. Expensive drinks. Stories worth posting.
But guilt has a way of riding shotgun.
It whispered to her in the quiet moments, crept in between songs, showed up uninvited in mirrors and reflections. No matter how far she traveled, no matter how loud the music got, the truth stayed close:
She didn’t just kill a woman that summer.
She killed the version of herself that believed love was worth that kind of blood. 🩸
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