Okay, so this is an idea that just came to me. Please review! :)
Disclaimer - If I owned Gallagher Girls, I would've gotten rid of Josh since he seems to have no purpose in the storyline right now.
It was my fault. It was my fault.
I sat in my chair, quietly mumbling to myself that same sentence over and over again. The stainless steel table in front of me was ice cold and as I waited, my fingers drummed on its surface.
It was my fault. My fault…
I didn't care anymore. My natural light brown hair was slowly growing, contrasting with the black. My eyes were no longer hazel, but the dark brown I'd always had. I was shedding my cover, and a few days ago, I would've cared. But now, I don't.
My fault…
I could hear the heels clacking on the floor. I winced with every step, as the clacking transformed into a bullet firing. The door opened, and in walked the source of the clacking.
"Hello, Cameron. Nice to see you again."
I looked up to see a woman with dark hair and dark eyes. She was still the same in appearance, only now, you could see the faint lines of stress and fatigue etched onto her face from many years of working in this business.
"Hi, Mom."
She pulled up a chair, and sat in front of me. Each sound was amplified in this room: maybe because of the walls, but probably due to shock.
She just stared at me. I sat there, my breathing heavy and biting my cuticles. My makeup was obviously smudged, and I obviously looked like some raccoon-human hybrid, but my mother just shrugged it off and kept staring.
The sounds I'd heard the past few days kept playing repeatedly in my head: the shots, the explosion, the heels clacking, and that sentence seemed to have been put together in some odd sort of song that had been stuck on replay without a 'stop'.
"What happened?" My mother's voice interrupted the song playing in my head.
I didn't know how to reply. What could I say? She knew the facts. She knew she sent me on a mission. She knew I completed it. She knew that I had been gone since junior year, and Anne St. James was just another cover I'd learned to use.
The shock had overcome me: I kept biting my cuticles, shaking for the longest time. I couldn't answer. I didn't want to answer, but somehow, three words were begging to be released from my mouth.
"Cameron Ann Morgan, I asked you: what happened?" She said again, this time louder and firmer.
I could feel the words coming. I didn't want to say them. Saying them meant that it was true, and I would give anything for it to not be.
"Cameron, what happened!"
I opened my mouth, and a soft murmur came out.
"I can't hear you; louder, please."
Another murmur.
"What?"
"I killed him."
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-S