The Good Lie

William S. Burroughs once said that no one owns life, but anyone who can lift a frying pan can create death.

“I’d have gutted him like a fish,”

“The day before I killed him.”

That Jay had been abused as a child, and that something about taking pain and innocence from someone else gave him peace.

Randall Thompson was a pawn, one who deserved to rot away in a jail cell for the rest of his life for what he did to Brooke.

An awful foreboding hit in the center of my soul like a knife as the possible implications sank in.

John and Brooke Abbott.

John and Brooke Abbott.

I woke up naked in his bed, tucked underneath layers of silky sheets and down feathers. It felt like a cocoon, one that I never wanted to move out of.

We were a wrecked car, barreling down the highway without lights, our steering locked into place. I could put a seat belt on. I could reach out and jab the hazard lights on. But I couldn’t turn off the car, and I couldn’t seem to open the door and fling myself out.