There were two things my father always wanted me to remember since I was the daughter of a police officer and

a lawyer. 1) the panic room is the safest room in the house because no sounds can go or come out. And 2) there is absolutely no way to get away with murder. Of everything my father tried to teach me, those were the two things I chose to remember. He was right about the first one. The panic room was a great place to go so you could block out the world and also never be discovered. But I was never too sure about the second one, which is why, if it was the last thing I would ever do in life, I had to prove him wrong. The clock was mocking me each time it ticked to the next second. I continued to watch it though, planning out my next move. I sat silently in the living rooms couch, alone and deep in thought. I showed no remorse and I felt no guilt. At the moment, I couldnt feel much of anything. The events of last night were simply a blur and, if I didnt know better, I could have sworn that it was just a terrifying dream. But the walls were a constant reminder of what I had done. The feeling of his fingernails clawing into my skin, begging me to release his scrawny throat. The thick, sinister air that had been taunting, yet inviting, as my prisoner sat, roped up, in the small corner of the hidden panic room. His fragile face overtaken by the frightened features that I single-handedly put upon him. His choked screams and useless pleas. I pushed myself up from the chair and carried myself out of the room and to the panic room. It was a small room, lit only by a single light bulb, with a thin coat of white paint that covered the walls. The walls were splattered with uneven scarlet that, at first, could pass as the tragic mistake of a careless painter. But if one was to look closer at the splotches that seemed to target one area of the deep room, the spatters could easily be identified as human blood. In the corner was his body, still slowly bleeding out, but his heart was forever paralyzed. His ankles and wrists were bound with harsh rope that ripped and chewed at his flesh. He caused himself more pain by fighting against me and not accepting his punishment. The thought of his struggles were enough to make a soft laugh ruffle in my throat. Without a plan, I went into action, wrapping my hands around his plump ankles and dragging him out of the panic room. Once I was out, I was clueless as to what I would do next. Just the day before, as I lured him into my house and into the panic room, my head ran wild with strategies and solutions. Just the day before, I was sure of everything. I dropped his legs to the floor and collapsed next to him, falling into my own tears. For a moment, I allowed myself to experience guilt, painful and sorrowful guilt. Wiping away a tear, I peered up into the mirror of my bedroom, the room which held the secret panic room. Underneath my eyes were dark circles that could be mistaken for a

dark eye shadow. I knew better than to blame the circles on lack of sleep despite the fact that I hadnt slept well in over three weeks. No. The circles were the result of moving in with an abusive excuse of a boyfriend. With that thought, I stood up and wiped my eyes, wiping away, not only tears, but also any unnecessary guilt. I yanked him by the ankles out of the bedroom, stopping only once I reached the stairs. No more pain, I whispered as I settled his body in front of me. With one kick, he was sent down the stairs, his already lifeless body flapping down the stairs. I watched stiffly, grinding my teeth together to hold back any tears. Youve hurt me enough, I said, gracefully descending down the stairs as his body steadied at the end of the staircase. Within moments, I had him wrapped in mounts of blankets and stuffed in a garbage bag, surrounded by trash that disguised his appearance. As I tied the final not, I heard the garbage truck just outside my door, picking up trash from the neighbor. I looked up at the clock as it struck eight. Right on time. When I was with him, he never let me leave the house. I was free to roam the second floor, but that was it. Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I innocently walked out the door, inhaling the familiar scent of the morning. Henry, my neighbor, ran over to me, meeting me half way, and shifted the bag from my shoulder to his. Kind of heavy, he noted. I decided to get rid of some old junk that was just taking up space, I said cleverly. Shouldnt that boyfriend of yours be helping you with this? he asked. We stopped at the top of my driveway. I looked around, unable to meet Henrys eyes. Hes a bit tied up this morning, I said, secretly wishing that Henry understood my poor attempts at jokes. Actually, I dont think hell be coming around here anymore. Things didnt really work out the way be both wanted them to. Henry smiled. He handed the bag to the garbage man as he eyed us. Show no mercy. Ive needed to get rid of that for years now, I said to him. He nodded and threw it hard into the truck. So are you free for dinner tonight? Henry asked. I smiled at him. Of course. Great, he said. Tonight, then. Tonight, I repeated. As the garbage truck drove away, I strutted back to my house. Tonight I wont suffer, I said, brushing my finger against a line of bruises that rested on my shoulder and along my arm. Tonight, theres no you, I whispered as I passed a pair of dirty tennis shoes in the middle of the living room that he had refused to move. I walked faster to the panic room. Once in the doorway, I

stopped, taking in the walls and the floor and the fresh trail of blood that I would need to clean. I walked inside, looking over every inch. In the corner was a hammer, my fathers hammer, now rusted and covered in blood. I ran out, closing the door to the panic room and throwing on whatever clothes I could find in my room. Without bothering with hair or makeup, I was in the car on the on the way to the hardware store. Can I help you with something? I clerk asked when I walked in. A collection of rope was on a shelf in front of me. I ran and picked one up before replying, No thanks. She smiled and continued with her work. I continued through the aisles, finally picking up a new hammer that looked identical to my fathers. At the checkout, I slid her my card. I took in her suspicious stare and I careful not to show any unnecessary guilt on my bruised and smiling face as she handed me my bag and I glided away.