I Think About You Ronnie Anne

16

       Who is on my side? My own family? They may be the only people who would even listen to my side of the story. Oh, forget who's my friend! I need to stop my enemy. That cop is all that matters—not any of those snotty students. I shouldn't even care what all those freaks think. What I should focus on is what to do with Ronnie Anne. I could move her to another place so that they won't find her during their search. I could cross my fingers and hope they don't know where the basement is—but come on, let's be real. Cops look everywhere, and that's why I need to find the one blind spot that they won't even think of! Where won't a cop look for a kidnapped girl? I could bury her in the ground. I doubt she would die but her screams would probably be heard nearby. I can't untie her. No matter how much I threaten her, she knows that everyone is looking for her and all she needs to do is make a good run for it to any house in the area and report me. I gag a few times, sprint to the bathroom, and up my throat comes a rain of vomit that spills down into the bowl, painting it brown. All this thinking is making me nervous, scared, stressed, and sick. What if I have to...

Give up?

       I could just leave her on the side of the road, swaddled in a blanket like a helpless kitten abandoned by its owner. I could run away. I could cut my hair and dye it. I could wear darker clothes. I could wear a face mask. Nobody would ever know I even left... except my parents would report me missing, and that would look extremely suspicious after a kidnapped girl was found in—you guessed it—my house. I could kill her and throw her into a river. Maybe I should go and ask her myself. I leap off my bed and rush down the stairs to the basement. Ronnie Anne is sleeping when I get there. "Hello?" She doesn't answer which confirms she's asleep, or faking it very well. I toss a can of food over by her and the sound of its impact wakes her. She looks both drowsy and irritated. She doesn't say anything or ask any questions because, by now, she's figured out that I like to do all the talking. "There's a cop that's after me. He thinks I'm suspicious. He said he's going to get a search warrant, which means I need to hide you somewhere he won't find. Do you have any ideas?" She bites at her lip (a sign that she's nervous, which I've picked up on). "Why would I help you? Do you really think I want anything to do with you? Just let me out of here. Why do you want me so much?" I don't know how much I love her anymore, to tell the truth. I'm simply getting tired of her, for she is just too stubborn. If I'm going to keep our relationship alive, I should help shape her into a better person. "You need some manners, sweetie." That comment she hisses at with an acid tongue. Cries sexism and chauvinism. I roll my eyes. It was useless to ask her, I should've known that.

       Then I hear a knock on the door from upstairs. Must be one of my siblings. The person who knocked yelled, and from the bottom step of the staircase to the basement, I heard the worst three words of my life. "POLICE! SEARCH WARRANT!" Immediately I knew it was fight or flight. Flight is not an option. I turn around to Ronnie Anne and she's smiling and giggling like a happy child. That makes me angry, and the policeman screaming makes me anxious. Both emotions well up to a clot, and I determine that I have to make a decision here and now. So I do, and that decision is that I have to kill Ronnie Anne and get her out of here. While the cop is searching, I have to get her dead body out of here. "POLICE! I HAVE A SEARCH WARRANT FOR THIS HOUSE!" I have to kill Ronnie Anne. I take her by her black hair, gripping it so tight that it makes her cry, and smash her head against the wall. Over and over and over again, until there's a bloody red spot that runs down the wall, and her skull is dented and cracked. She's dead, she's quiet, and she looks more beautiful than ever. She looks cute when she sleeps. I walk up the stairs to open the door, which the impatient cop bursts through. "What took you so long, eh kid?" he asked. "I was in the restroom." He scoffs. "I bet you were... I'm going to check the upstairs first, is that okay with you?" I say that it is. "Good, because I would've checked it even if you said no." He makes his way up and I run to the kitchen to grab a bucket, sponge, and towel. I wipe the blood with the wet sponge to smear it thinner, then use the towel to dry it off and absorb the blood (which turned it a pinkish color). When I'm done, I go outside, pour out the bucket, and throw the towel onto the back of the roof. I know that's weird and also pretty stupid but I was in a hurry, okay? I couldn't throw the towel in a garbage can! No doubt that cop would check those! Then I ran back into the house and came face to face with the guy, bumping into his chest. "What's got you running around?" he grumbled.