Assassin

Epilogue

Lexie worked for the campus publication. It was her habit for the past two-plus years to drop by the newspaper office every morning to check on messages and writing assignments.

When she arrived, on the dot, at half-past seven, the first thing she noticed was a folded note tacked to the door corkboard. Her name was on it, in a familiar roundish script.

She took the paper off the board and unfolded it as she unlocked the newspaper office. The note felt slightly damp in her hands, as if it got wet in the rain earlier that morning and was slowly drying out.

My dearest Lexie, I've held on for years to who I thought I was. I have become the perfect puppet to expectations that were never mine. It's time to cut the strings. I gave them my entire life until now. From today, it's my turn to live the rest of it on my own terms. I will miss you.

She stared at the signature. Like her best friend's personality, it had an undeniable, inimitable flourish.

For a long time, Lexie stood in the middle of the empty office, her gaze seeing beyond the unlit space before her.

It wasn't a matter of why, she thought. But a matter of when.

She went through the publication's memo slips on the assignment board, locked the office again, and headed for class. Along the way, she stopped by one of the trash cans on the quad and tore the letter to shreds. She watched the tiny white pieces fall from her hands like raindrops disappearing into the cold morning air.

"Be happy, Jeri," Lexie whispered. "I'll miss you, too."

Image courtesy of Kelly Sikkema at Unsplash.com

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