Now we had to figure out what to do with the body.
It was Romeo who suggested we push Tybalt off the bridge. In retrospect, I should have thought of it - it was that perfect. Plenty of people jumped or fell off the bridge, so Tybalt's death probably wouldn't be questioned. There was the matter of the stab wound, but that could probably be attributed to the fall, maybe?
We didn't have time to think about it. Romeo stayed silent as I dragged Tybalt's body to the railing. It took all of my strength to hoist him up onto the ledge and roll him over. I looked away as his body fell and I flinched when I heard it hit the ground.
I turned to see Romeo dry heaving on the ground. I approached them and reached out my hand to comfort them, but they pushed me away.
"I understand how this may seem…" I realized I was yelling, and Romeo looked like I was about to kill them as well. I softened my voice and backed away. "But you have to trust me, okay?"
"Trust you?" Romeo spat. They backed away across the ground. "You just killed your brother!"
I thought back to the years and years I'd spent with Tybalt. All the fighting, all the screaming and crying, emotional manipulation to unquestionable abuse. All the bruises, scars and broken bones he'd inflicted on me.
And I realized something. I realized family isn't who's in your home, it's who you feel at home with.
"He wasn't my brother." I turn, tears in my eyes, and pick the bloody knife up from the ground with my jacket. I blinked out the tears and looked back at Romeo. "You going to help me or what?"
I'm afraid I can't tell you what happened next without incriminating myself and Romeo.
Later that night, when I got home, I lay in bed and thought about what I had done. What I'd done didn't really sink in until I got home that night. There was a part of me that wished I hadn't; that wish I'd stopped and hadn't killed him, and that he was still alive and with me.
The other part of me knew better.
I was at peace with what I'd done.