The Cost of Their Lies

I woke up in my own bed, my familiar floral comforter, my slightly messy room.

The sun was too bright, and a wave of nausea hit me.

Then, Jessica’s sickeningly sweet voice drifted from the kitchen, "Emily? You up?"

My digital clock flashed 7:32 AM, April 12th – the day before my world ended.

Just then, Jessica appeared, her smile too wide, wanting to borrow my Mustang for the Desert Bloom festival.

The image of my beautiful car, mangled, a body on the asphalt, flashed before my eyes.

Last time, I’d been blind to her manipulative ways, handing over the keys to my dream car.