I stare at the bodies.

Oh God, what the hell do I do?

“It’s ok,” I tell myself. I reassure myself. I gaslight myself. “They’re already dead. All I have to do is put the bodies into the bags and then I’m done.”

If only it were as easy as I make it sound. 

I stretch the gloves onto my hands, flexing my fingers. 

My hand is protected. My hands are safe. Now put the bodies into the bag.

Despite my efforts to force my legs to move, they stubbornly refuse. I can’t do this. 

But I have to.

I place the two other bags on the floor and open the one I’m holding. 

Good. Now put one of the bodies in there.

I start walking towards an angel with dark brown hair and freckles. Oh wait, those aren’t freckles. 

Turning my head to avoid looking at the body, my shaky hand reaches out to grab it. Something cold brushes against my hand; I scream. 

It’s ok.

I breathe heavily as my hand reaches out again. When my hand comes in contact with the flesh, I don’t scream this time. With my beating heart that feels like it could rip out of my chest and sweaty hands that might slip out of my gloves at any second, I drag it across the floor and stuff it into the bag.

Ew, ew, ew.

 Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of pink.

What the fuck?

Carefully prying open the bag, I see the pink. The pink, on their neck. A smudge. A smudge of lipstick. Pink lipstick. 

That could mean a number of things, I reassure myself. But reassurance is easy to get mixed up with hiding the truth. 

My brain racks different possibilities, the biggest two being, they made out with someone and then the person they made out with killed them. Or, they got raped then murdered. It might not be either of them. It might be one of them. Even if it is, what am I supposed to do about it? I can’t walk up to Mrs. L and casually say, “Oh, I think the bodies in the basement were raped.” I can’t tell the Higher Angels either, seeing their police system is shit. 

I’m still pissed that they couldn’t clean up the bodies themselves. It’s like if you want to be in charge, you have responsibilities. And with those responsibilities come with cleaning up bodies that may or not may not have been raped but have definitely been murdered. 

Or maybe they all just decided to kill themselves after they were raped. Who knows. In this world, I’m not surprised if a magic knife raped them and decided to just kill them after for fun. 

After a very long period of time (and with great difficulty), I have managed to get all the bodies into the bags. Additionally, my appetite has disappeared. I have also noticed that one of the bodies’ pants are unbuttoned and the other has cat ears–like Camrice. A possible rebound. Theoretically speaking, they could all be rebounds. 

With my noodle arms, I manage to heave all the bags into the elevator. When the doors to the elevator close, my view of the basement disappears. I smile, then frown.

Oh wait, there’s tomorrow.

The doors slide open. I try to get past all the students; everyone’s eyes are glued to their phone, all speaking in hushed whispers. At first, I thought they were talking about me. By the time I arrive at Mrs. L’s office, I realize no one’s even paying attention to me. No one even notices the putrid smell I’m dragging everywhere with me.

Hmm.

The knob turns with a squeak. As I am still wearing my gloves, the next person that touches this knob is going to unintentionally touch a dead body that could have possibly been raped.

Mrs. L’s on the phone when I enter. She’s nodding, pacing the room back and forth. 

“...yes. No. I did know, but I did not call. No, there was no way to track her. NO, we do not implant trackers on our students. They’re kids, for heaven’s sake. Kids with traumatizing backstories and–and–and brutal deaths.”

She pauses. “I’ll have to call you back.”

“Is there something I can help you with?” she inquires, putting down the phone. 

I hold up the three bags. 

“Oh, yes, of course.” She winces at the smell. “Just leave them near the front door. Outside, please.” 

I nod. 

I have never been happy to go back to my dorm. Today is an exception. I sigh contently as I let myself collapse onto my soft bed. I’m never taking beds for granted ever again.

“You happy now, Chiro?”

Emery’s oh-so familiar voice cuts my comforting moment. 

“Yeah, I am happy,” I snap, aggravated. “Why? You here to wreck my life again?”

“Are we even talking about the same thing?”

“Well, what the fuck are you talking about?”

She tosses me her phone.