Secrets we buried

“Please… don’t do this.” My voice cracked as I begged, the words tumbling out of my mouth like broken glass. I had said them a dozen times already, but they bounced against deaf ears. My wrists screamed where the ropes bit into my skin. I thrashed anyway, desperate, fighting the binds until my arms burned with friction. Fear coursed through me like an electric current, hot and sharp, zapping through every nerve. I could taste it—metallic, bitter, suffocating. I screamed until my throat blistered. My voice carried into the night, desperate and raw, but no one came. And then I heard it. A laugh. Her laugh. It drifted from outside the car, light and cruel, a sound that splintered every last shred of fight inside me. “Anna…” My voice rasped, hoarse from crying. “Please. Please, don’t.” She stood in the shadows just beyond the shattered car window, her smile sharp, her eyes colder than I’d ever known them to be. My best friend. My sister in everything but blood. And yet now, she was my executioner. “Let’s quickly finish this up and leave,” Anna said, her tone smooth, detached, like this was nothing more than a chore she had to cross off her list. The betrayal cut deeper than the ropes on my wrists. This couldn’t be real. Not Anna. Not Jackson. Jackson. The man I had trusted with my heart, the one I once believed was my safe place in a dangerous world, stood beside her. His hands were steady, too steady, as he poured more diesel along the sides of the car. The heavy stench of fuel filled my lungs, thick and nauseating. “This can’t be happening,” I whispered, tears spilling down my cheeks. Jackson’s voice was impatient, clipped. “Hurry, Anna. We can’t be late for the party. If we don’t show up, they’ll start asking questions.” My chest caved in. They were already planning their alibi. My death was just another part of their evening. I struggled again, shaking my head furiously, begging with my eyes even as Anna leaned closer. Her lips curled into a smirk. “Lock the doors,” she told him. “I can’t wait to see the look on Michael’s face when she’s pronounced missing…or dead.” Michael. My childhood neighbor. My one constant. He was probably on my porch right now, waiting, expecting me to keep my promise. I told him I wouldn’t be late tonight, that I’d finally let him see the journal. My journal. The book of secrets. The one Anna had wanted. The one Michael had begged me to trust him with. And here I was, trapped between them all. I tried to speak, to plead, but Jackson forced a rag between my lips, gagging me. I screamed anyway, a muffled, strangled sound that bounced uselessly against the closed car windows. “Now, Jack!” Anna snapped. And with one flick, Jackson obeyed. The lighter sparked. For a heartbeat, I saw the flame dance—small, innocent, almost beautiful. Then he dropped it. The world ignited. The fire roared to life, devouring the diesel-soaked car with greedy hands. Flames curled along the seats, licking up the dashboard, shattering glass with heat. The oxygen thinned instantly, replaced with black smoke that clawed down my throat, choking me, burning me from the inside out. I coughed, gagged, tears streaming as my lungs screamed for air. My skin blistered from the radiant heat even before the flames touched me. Every second was agony, raw and merciless. I had never prayed before. But in that moment, I did. Please… anyone… please save me. But the night was empty. No one came. Anna’s voice carried faintly through the crackle of fire. “Pour more diesel. We’re running late.” The flames climbed higher, the roar drowning out their words. I heard Jackson curse, panicked for the first time. “The journal,” Anna hissed. “Did she have it with her?” My heart stopped. The journal. I had left it at home. “Oh my God,” I thought, horror crashing into me. “I forgot it.” It was the very thing I had promised them both—the thing Anna demanded, the thing Michael longed to see. And now, in their greed, in their twisted betrayal, it was their undoing. Jackson’s voice cracked. “If she didn’t bring it, then—” “She dies with it,” Anna snapped. But she was wrong. The flames engulfed me, wrapping me in a shroud of searing heat. My flesh screamed as blister after blister rose, as pain ripped through every nerve. The car became an oven, the smoke a suffocating blanket pressing me down, crushing, stealing every breath. I screamed until my voice tore apart, until the sound was nothing but air leaving broken lungs. No one heard. No one cared. Pain consumed me. It wasn’t just physical—it was betrayal, heartbreak, rage. It was every memory of Anna’s hand in mine, of Jackson’s whispered promises, now twisted into knives that carved at my heart. Death seemed like mercy. And so I wished for it. But then, in the abyss of fire and agony, a strange calm settled over me. Think of peace. Think of rest. Let go of the pain. My body still burned, but my mind slipped somewhere else. I drifted, free, weightless. The ropes no longer mattered. The fire no longer mattered. And then, I was gone. Free.