It wasn’t her fault. It couldn’t have been. I had known Maeve since we were babies; she wouldn’t do something like this.
I wasn’t going to sit and listen to these bastards tell me my best friend was a criminal, so I ran. I ran off to the hill where I used to do my best thinking. Maeve was already there, waiting for me.
“Did ya’ hear their lies, Kearny? They say I killed Lorcan! Can ya’ believe it? Can ya’ goddamn believe it?”
I didn’t want to, but after hearing Maeve say it, second thoughts were flooding my conscious.
Lorcan was her husband. He was a fisherman; gone most of the year. He loved her, but she was far from ever loving him. Whenever Lorcan would leave, rumor has it Maeve was cheating with the village baker, Hugh. Since we were young, Maeve always kept a keen eye out for Hugh.
“I was there, Kearny! I saw him die! Nobody killed him, he died!” Maeve was yelling, tears streamed down her rosy cheeks. I honestly didn’t know what to believe. Despite her reserved persona, Maeve did appear guilty.
“Say something, dammit!” Maeve demanded.
I ran. Away from Maeve. Away from the hills. Away from the village and Hugh’s bakery shop. Away from the townspeople who warned me of Maeve’s crime. I didn’t want to believe. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to care. I just wanted to get away.
I heard Maeve yelling for me in the distance, but I didn’t look back. I was a coward. Running was how I solved everything, how I alleviated the pain of being me. I ran at my father’s funeral, at my mother’s second and third wedding, I ran when my brother got sick, and I’m running now.
I ran until I couldn’t run any longer. I turned around and saw the fisherman’s wife trying to catch up. “You’re a murderer,” I muttered.
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