Colfax, Illinois, was a tiny, wretched town. A population of barely more than a highly populated state school, rumours and gossip were cradled and coddled and passed around with disturbing gusto.

Becky hated it. She really did.

But with a town that small, everyone knew everything about everyone else. And that was where Mr. Jablonski came in.

One of four dentists in the town, he raked in money. He also raked in attention from lonely soccer mums and decrepit divorcée's praying on rich, stupid young men.

But nobody was more stupid than a recently grieving, already alienated teenage girl.

But then you had come. Becky had been suspicious and callous at first. You had been a suspect in Chrissy's case, with your clashing relationship about as subtle as a plane crash. And even if it had been just for a few hours, Becky was a cynical girl. She wasn't taking chances.

You were, though.

Days passed, passion burning through your chest. You didn't kill Chrissy, no matter how much the preppy girl pissed you off. And despite - both her and you - in any other situation, you and Becky would have gotten along.

Arguing had turned to simmering silence had turned to shared cigarettes and mixtapes. And before Becky knew it, her pulse raced, and cheeks burned every time the other girl was near.

Now, months had passed since Chrissy had been murdered. Her case had torn open Becky's heart, and created a gaping hole in the soul of the town.

And what better way to distract herself than wallow in grunge music and heavy metal? And what better person to get records from than he ever-compliant and helpful neighbour, Mr. Jablonski?

The night was warm and the breeze was soft, dead leaved skittering across the tarmac of the road. The sun was setting, orange and purple painting the sky in wide strokes. Bike wheels ticking broke through the blanket of silence, your hair sliding over her brow as she winds her way through the town.

In Colfax, a girl like her was sure to never find love. But Becky, the brilliant, brilliant being she was, had proved you wrong. And like every night when home got too much and there was nowhere to escape, you were on your way to settle into the warmth and safety of her girlfriend.

Safety.

What wasn't safe, was Becky - sweet, slightly socially-inept Becky, standing in the doorway of Mr. Jablonski home.

You had never liked the man. Never married, no kids, too much money and too high an IQ to be a good person. And your intuition was never wrong.

"Becky!" you called out, practically leaping from her bike. Her heart thudded, the sense that something was undeniably wrong curling around her bones and strangling her lungs. Mr. Jablonski glanced up, caught sight of you, and his front door slammed shut. As it should.

You finally reached Becky, hands slamming down slightly too hard onto her shoulders.

"You- you stupid girl, don't go into random guys' homes!" you snapped.

Becky gave her a bewildered look.

"Fuck," she said, "he was just going to give me some records." She grumbled, hands coming up to rest over her girlfriends.