ARIA
The news anchor's voice was a dull, buzzing insect. The words were separate from their meaning, floating in the sterile air of the hospital room.
"Sarah Brown's dark past revealed... admission to mental institution at age eight... suspected involvement in murder of Cain Matthews..."
My stomach didn't just drop. It plummeted, leaving a void where my organs should have been.
This was not happening. This was a play on a screen, a story about a stranger. I was a spectator, floating somewhere near the ceiling, watching a girl who looked like me sit on a stiff hospital bed.
But it was real.
The memory of Sarah's voice, flat and empty, was a shard of ice in my gut. "Maybe he secretly wanted it."
A hot, sharp self-loathing pierced the numbness. How could I have been so stupid, so fucking blind? What kind of fool builds her entire world on a foundation of lies and calls it friendship? Why couldn't I tell that something was off?
