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by Komen
Rated: 13+ · Non-fiction · Crime/Gangster · #1220728
A story displaying guilt
         The bed shook as it took on her sudden weight, and then vibrated as she couldn’t control her own shudders. Shock slowly faded away as cold metal bars wrapping around her mind in its place. Heavy, stark-black bars.
         With an effort that cost her a lifetime to give, she dragged herself over to her wrinkled up coat, digging out her latest-styled sparkling pink razer phone. Her hands shook as she punched in the number for her friend, and it took several tries until he picked up.
         “James!” she gasped, and her hands tightened in a death grip around the cell. “D-did you see the news yet?”
         “Daphne, what’s wrong? You sound freaked,” came James’ distant static reply.
         “Did you see the news or not?” she asked again, standing up and starting to pace. Her high heels clicked on the marble floors, and she turned suddenly, as if she was sure her shadow was about to get her.
         “Yeah, some kid was ran over.... happened after our winter dance was out.”
         Daphne cut him off before he could continue. “Yes, that exactly! James...” Her glossed lips fluttered for words, but there was no way she could powder down her words, or cut off the harsh reality. “I... did it.”
         The confession was met with dead silence on the other end. Daphne strained to hear for his usual comforting words, his hearty forget-the-present laugh. But a soft click was only what she caught, and the line went dead. She dropped the phone from her pretty, manicured hands, and let out a sob.
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