I watched them secretively from my hiding spot behind the house. They met up at midnight every night. Under the street lamp they would sit and talk for hours.
But tonight something was different.
Her shoulders seemed to shake with her every word, as if it was killing her to speak. He stood rigid, not speaking.
I again got the feeling that something was off. Something was very wrong.
She suddenly reached out to him, touching his shoulder. However, he moved away from her, shaking his head. She ran a hand through the length of her hair and I noticed that her shoulders slumped.
What was going on? What were they talking about? I stayed put and didn't move a muscle. I was content with watching, waiting.
He wouldn't look at her. I could tell that he was avoiding her gaze. She was becoming hysterical, yelling out and crying. He continued to ignore her. She jumped at him, gripping two handfuls of his shirt. She suddenly screamed a word, that even I heard it.
It echoed down the street.
But he shoved her away, a look of pure disgust evident on his face. She stopped moving. Becoming very still, she bowed her head. He gripped her shoulders andfiercly whispered something into herear. After he released her, she simply nodded. Her shoulders sagged even more, and she looked defeated. A few seconds later I heard a car coming down the street. Her head snapped up and she spun around. A small shriek escaped her lips andshe started to run down the street. The car waswhite, sleek, new. It looked expensive and somehow important. Two men jumped out of the car, one of them was holding a gun. My breath hitched as I watched him focus his gaze on the girl running down the street. He took one shot. She dropped dead without a sound.
The two men got back in the car, and drove away.
I felt numb. Everything seemed to slow down. My eyes were trained on the dead girl laying in the middle of the street. Glancing back, I looked at the guy. He stood motionless, staring at her lifeless body. He then sunk downto his knees, put his head in his hands, and began to cry.
I didn'tunderstand what I just witnessed, didn't really want to. But I wasn't supposed to see that, wasn'tsupposed to know. I felt strangelycalm.Pressing my hand to my chest, I found my heart rate normal. It didn't matter what I had justseen, because no one knew that I had seen it. I could forget about it. So very slowly, very cautiously, I backed into the depths of the shadows.
The following night I went back. I found him there, alone, under the street lamp. I continued going as if nothing had happened. He too came every night.
I never told anyone what I saw that night.
But I continued going.
Almost taking the place of the girl who was shot.
Because when I went, I didn't feel alone, and I knew that he didn't either. However, instead of using words to communicate like he did with the girl, we used silence.
Because I knew that he was aware of my presence.
I waI wat