I had always believed lies were loud.
I thought they stumbled over themselves, cracked under pressure, revealed their ugliness with time. I never imagined a lie could be this quiet, this patient. This alive.
The hallway outside Tara's apartment smelled like dust and old paint. I stood there longer than necessary, keys dangling uselessly in my hand, my chest tight for reasons I couldn't explain. Tara had asked me to come over, urgent, she'd said,but when I knocked, there was no answer.
I was about to turn away when I heard voices.
Tara's voice, low, strained.
And another. Male. Familiar.
I froze.
"…you promised," Tara whispered. "I told you, it was over."
There was a pause. Then a laugh. Soft. Dangerous.
"You don't get to decide that."
My heart slammed against my ribs. I leaned closer to the door, every instinct screaming that I shouldn't, but I did anyway.
"She can't know," Tara said. "If Lila finds out....."
Finds out what?
The floor creaked beneath my foot.
Silence.
The door swung open.
Tara stood there, eyes wide, face drained of color. Behind her, the living room looked untouched, too neat, too staged, except for the phone clutched tightly in her hand, the screen still glowing.
"No one's here," she said too quickly, stepping outside and closing the door behind her. "You, how long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough," I replied. My voice sounded steadier than I felt. "Who were you talking to?"
She blinked. Once. Twice. Then she smiled.
The wrong smile.
"Work," she said. "You know how it is."
I nodded slowly. I had known Tara since we were thirteen. I knew her laughs, her silences, her tells. And this, this wasn't just a lie.
It was fear.
Inside, she busied herself in the kitchen, pouring water neither of us drank. Her hands shook. Just a little. Enough.
"You remember that night," I said casually, leaning against the counter. "The one you told me never to think about again."
The glass slipped from her fingers and shattered against the floor.
We both stared at the mess.
"I didn't mean..." she started, then stopped. She bent down, collecting shards with bare hands, blood blooming red against glass.
"Tara," I said sharply. "Stop."
She looked up, eyes glassy. "You promised we'd never talk about it."
"I promised because I trusted you," I replied. "But lately, it feels like you're protecting something. Or someone."
She laughed, a short, broken sound. "You're imagining things."
But I was already pulling my phone from my pocket.
Earlier that morning, an unknown number had sent me a message.
Ask Tara what really happened that night.
Attached was a voice note.
I pressed play.
The voice filled the room.
Clear. Cold. Male.
"She didn't see me leave. You made sure of that, right?"
Tara's breath hitched.
The room suddenly felt too small.
"That's not..." she whispered. "That's not what you think."
"Then tell me," I demanded. "Tell me why someone thinks you helped hide him. Tell me why you lied to the police. Tell me why my name was in that conversation."
She stood slowly, blood dripping onto the tile.
"Because if I didn't," she said quietly, "you wouldn't be standing here."
I shook my head. "You're lying."
"No," she said, meeting my gaze. "I'm surviving."
The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.
Finally, she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper.
"If you tell anyone," she said, "if you dig any deeper… you won't survive what comes after."
I felt it then.
The truth wasn't buried.
It was breathing.
And it had been living in my best friend's house all along.
Thank you for reading 🤍
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