I glance at the clock for the ninth time in the past ten minutes. Good- 6:30. I still have a solid 30 minutes before I need to be done getting ready. From my room, I can faintly hear the noise from the news streaming down. That little girl Primrose is still missing, which is tragic, but God, is there no other news? I’m trying very hard to not be nervous, but like, who wouldn’t be, right? I mean, a 2-year relationship totally goes down in flames, you download Tinder to try to cope, end up matching with a gorgeous man, and now you guys are going to dinner… what could go wrong? Natasha is trying very hard to be helpful and I am very sure that any other time I would think she was - but right now I’m so on edge to the point where even looking at me makes me agitated. I’m such a prude, honestly. Maybe Jesse will be into that.

“Tay…” Natasha starts, breaking my staring into the abyss.

“Oh, uh, snap sorry Tash, what’s up?” I say as I snap back into reality.

“I mean, I was just saying that I would add a necklace, but something tells me you’re mentally very far away from jewelry choices right now… Look I, I get it - I do, it seems wrong but I really think there’s nothing wrong with getting back out there. Not every guy is going to be like Nathan, I promise.” She explains in a very pleasant tone, but honestly, I probably heard about one-third of it.

“Oh yeah no it’s not that, I’m really just trying to play out how the date goes, you know like, in my mind.” I say, reaching for the straightening iron to go over that one piece of hair again, and then again, and then a third time.

“Well, let’s hope your real date doesn’t go too far off script from your mind date!” She says through a smile. I can tell she proud of her little joke. I smile fakely, drawing attention 

to how facetious I’m being with a dramatic head tilt and eye squint.

I check the clock again - 6:35. I walk over to the full body mirror, careful not to step on any cosmetic or hair products we’ve scattered all over the floor. It feels like a minefield, but if minefields were vanilla-scented, vaguely glittery, and, dare I say it  - pretty. I know that realistically I look the same as I did minutes before, but it’s always good to check, so I do.

Natasha convinced me to go with the sweater tucked into the skirt look, which may not seem extravagant, but it quite the jump from my day-to-day mom jeans, boring shirt, flannel or cardigan, and Birkenstocks look, so I guess it’s something. I look good, I feel moderately good, I think everything is going to be okay - and Tash was right - not every guy is going to be another Nathan.

She finishes my eyeliner and now it’s 6:50, which is practically 7:00, which is practically 7:30, so I better get going if I want to be on time.

“Okay checklist: keys?” Natasha drills, almost like a suburban dad packing the trunk for vacation.

“Keys, yes, keys, got them, good to go” I reply, padding the keys in my skirt pocket.

“Okay…. Phone, mace and self-defense, wallet, lipgloss, gum?” She speeds off.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes - but I hope I don’t need the mace.” I add, waving it before dropping it back into my purse.

“Never know.” she retorts.

I’m walking out the door, a pep in my step, ready to just get this over with. It’s gonna be what it’s gonna be. I mean, it’ll be totally great or totally not but it’s fine, I’m fine, things are fine. Why are my hands clammy? Did I put on deodorant? Oh my god, is the stove on? Wait no, Tash is home, I don’t cook, things are fine. I should probably back out of the driveway.

Oh god, I see him. He’s… a lot of things. How am I gonna get words out when he looks like that. Okay, this is officially weird, get out of the car.

“Hi, lovely to see you,” He says in the most perfect voice. It’s deep and definitely the kind of thing I want to hear more often.  He reaches out for a hug, tucking his key lanyard in his pocket. He’s wearing black skinny jeans, black converse, a shirt from his band - which, is arrogant, but honestly I’m kind of into that and a black and white flannel over top.

“Yes, yes, this is, wow, uh wow great to meet you” I struggle to stutter out, leaning in for my part of the hug. He’s tall, and I can slightly see his tattoos, and if Natasha hadn’t given me severe coaching in the days prior, I would probably be totally mute.

We walk into the restaurant, and it hits me that I’m on an actual date. Things are going super well, he’s charming, funny, handsome, did I mention he has tattoos? All I can think about is how well this is going and that should put me at ease, but my brain is telling me something is bound to happen - things are too good.

We talk for over an hour about anything and everything, until we reach the topic of friends and realize how small the world is. 

“Well it would seem that we share friends in Soho!” he exclaims, and I hesitate to call him out, but I decide to.

“Isn’t that a lyric?” I ask rhetorically, secretly hoping he’s impressed that I listened to his favorite band after our text conversation.

“Why yes it is, 10 points for Taylor,” he concludes, smirking.

We decide to drive back to his house so I can meet his friends that I don’t already know, but apparently know a lot about me and have asked him to bring me to meet them.

“I’ll drive, you can leave your car here, I’ll bring you back afterward.” he offers, but part of me feels like he’s a little too confident that he won’t in fact be bringing me back and I’ll just stay at his, but I know myself a little too well for that, even if he is the most dashing guy I’ve ever spoken to.

I was so lost in thought in the parking lot earlier that I didn’t even realize that he had hopped out of a black range rover, but seeing it now was certainly not something I minded. I get in the passenger seat, him in the driver’s, and I’m trying not to be too noticeable about the fact that I’m admiring how immaculate his car is. I mean, for a guy, and a guy in a band, this is like, extremely impressive. He’s a decent driver - not that I am one to be making suggestions, by any means. He tends to run stop signs and speed a little, but at least he can keep the car in the lines.

It’s dark and raining and everything that would send me into a total panic while driving, but he’s calm as can be. He’s just ran another stop sign, and in the distance I see blue lights coming in our direction. I know they’re not coming for us, but just to break up the silence, I decide to make a snarky remark.

“Careful now, you know what they say, nothing good starts in a getaway car.” I remark slyly.

 My phone vibrates and I immediately check it, seeing that Tash has texted. 

“Getting late. R U OK?” it reads.

I send back a thumbs up and then type “perfect.”

I look up and focus back on the road, noticing that Jesse had turned his eyes to look at me, and he’s smiling. It’s charming, I’ll admit, but part of me in wondering why my gut is almost convincing me to not like him. He looks back at the road.

Moments later a loud thud, accompanied by a sudden screeching halt jolts both of us forward, immediately looking intensely at the dash, and the each other.

“OHMYGODWHATWASTHAT” I scream out, but I’m almost positive it came out as one word.

“I don’t know, I don’t know, Oh my God!” He says panicked.

We get out and see what we had both silently feared - we had hit someone.

There was a body, in front of the car, lying still.

A human body. A human life.

A string of expletives fall from his mouth, and I feel like I’m about to have a heart attack or collapse or both.

I’ve seen enough forensic files to know how to dispose of the body, Jesse knew the river was nearby, so I knew what had to be done. I pulled the jab pick off my self-defense keychain, and hesitate but stab into him - puncturing the lungs. Any other time, I would’ve stopped myself, but now I’m full of so much adrenaline I feel like I can and will do anything. We put the body in the back seat, both of us trying hard not to look at it as if I hadn’t just mutilated it. I knew I had bad luck dating, but this is a different story entirely.

We dump the body in the river, and I assure Jesse that according to forensic files the body would have to stay down since the lungs had been punctured. He seems impressed with my knowledge, which would totally flatter me if we literally hadn’t just killed someone. He asks what I want to do now, and I know I can’t go back to my house and face Natasha. She knows me more than I know me, and she will definitely know something is up. I can’t lie to her. We go back to his house, but after our little detour, it’s not officially too late for his friends to be there, which is probably a good thing. Something tells me neither of us are good company right now.

He keeps cupping his face and running his hands through his hair. I want to ask him what this means and what just happened and literally everything else under the sun that can be asked, but I can’t get any words out. We walk into his kitchen in silence. His house is way too nice but now doesn’t seem like the time to compliment his interior design. He offers me his bed and says he’d sleep on the couch, and even offers me a T-shirt to sleep in - he’s quite the host.

I insist on taking the couch, and we part ways without a goodnight, and really without as much as a glance.

The next morning, I woke up confused as to where I was, before remembering. And then it all flooded back. The date, the nice car, the body, the river… everything. I was hoping I had dreamt it all. He walks in his pajamas, asking if I wanted breakfast. I tell him I’m not hungry. He flicks on the news, and I can tell he’s tense. I should be tense too, what if someone saw something? Why am I not tenser? Am I a psychopath? Is this who I am now?

All the news mentions are that they’ve finally found the guy who had that little girl, Prim, captive. Jesse and I swore to never talk about what has happened again, and I’m not usually one to trust someone I’ve only just met, but I guess being literal partners in a crime bonds people.

“If you’ve seen this man, we are asking that you please call the TipLine, all tips will remain 100% anonymous” reads the newscaster. Images of the man are popping up on the screen, screenshots from a security camera. I’m really hoping it’s just my eyes, but this looks like the guy we hit with the car.

“Jesse… Is- it that?” I stutter out timidly.

“No, no, it can’t be - oh God no, it might be,” he says, looking more intently at the screen.

My mind is racing again. Well for one thing, if we killed a kidnapper, that’s more heroic than horrendous, so, that’s …. Good. But then it hits me - if it was him, the family needs to know so that they can try and find Prim. I tell this to Jesse and he’s not at all convinced.

“So what you think that we should just come right out and confess to a murder? Are you insane?” He snaps.

“Jesse no, just hear me out, this is the right thing to do, I really think that.” I retort.

“I mean, I get what you’re saying, I really do, but you need to understand the implications of this, what this will mean for us. For both of us.” He exclaims as if I don’t know what happens when you murder someone.

One month later :

It’s been a month. I told the cops everything. I should feel bad. I ruined Jesse’s life. I ruined my life. Everything is ruined. I haven’t been charged with anything yet, they still can’t even find the body. At least I can know my method worked, so I’ve got that going for me. Jail is cold, and frankly not at all as I expected. I’m not even here on the full scale- I’m more or less detained and brought out for questioning multiple times a day like a show pony. I’m doing everything I can to cooperate with them - I want them to find the little girl, even if it’s at my expense.  I don’t even know what they’ve done with Jesse, I don’t know how cooperative he’s being. I feel bad for not caring, but if nothing else, this has made me much more centric in thought.

“The body, we’ve got it.” says a man in swat gear, barging into the questioning room, interrupting my session with the BAU unit. I, of all people, should not be glad they found this body - you know, the one I hid, but nothing about this situation is normal.

Days have passed, and they’ve stopped asking me questions. All I’ve heard is that the wife of the man we killed is refusing a full autopsy, and I’ve been pondering why. And then, it hits me. Why, would a woman who just discovered her husband had been murdered, not want a full autopsy? Unless she had a hand at stake. Granted, I know that we killed him, but, could she have had a hand in it before? Something is there. I tell my representative to tell the police, but who knows how willing they’ll be to take advice from a literal murderer.

I feel selfish for being more concerned with what I did than with the state of the case , but really I keep turning it over and over in my mind. I don’t know Jesse well enough to know his morals and values, but I do know mine. It was only right to confess to having killed someone, because if it was in fact the kidnapper, then the question arises- where is Prim Parker? And for another thing, it might give some closure to her family to know that he’s out of the picture -if it is actually him, that is. If, if, if.  But what if it’s not? What if he’s just another John Doe and I confessed to being an accomplice to vehicular manslaughter for nothing. I just want to get out of my mind. God, I thought the date was going to be the biggest cause of stress in my waking life. Little did I know.