In my junior year of college, my roommate and I were being tormented by our counselor for thirteen days. She lost two teeth; I had three cigarette burns seared into my chest.
The day before the new semester, the police finally got us out of an abandoned apartment building. It wasn't until we were admitted to the hospital that we learned the man had no counseling credentials at all.
His name was Cade. Before summer break, he'd been a temporary counselor for our drama program. After being fired, he'd continued using that role.
But none of that mattered anymore.
Because he'd been left in that apartment building forever. The police said his body had forty-two stab wounds. He was practically unrecognizable, and his shin had been nearly severed by a meat cleaver.
In the room where he died, there were countless drag marks in blood—like a desperate trapped beast.
Seven days later, my roommate Mina and I were taken from the hospital to the station for our final statements.
The interrogation would determine whether Cade's death was ruled a suicide or a homicide.
The officer questioning me was Detective Shaw. He wasn't old, and his eyes were sharp as a hawk's.
He gave me plenty of time to gather my thoughts. But after barely ten minutes, whatever he heard through his earpiece made his brow furrow deeper and deeper.
Finally, with a complicated expression, Detective Shaw broke the silence.
"Just to let you know, Mina just stated that Cade killed himself."
He leaned forward slightly, narrowing his eyes.
"Do you have a different take? On a... suicide with that many wounds?"
2
My thoughts snapped back to the present.
It took me a moment to respond. Then I managed a bitter smile: "This might not be fair to Mina. But based purely on what Cade did to us, I'd agree with whatever she says."
Detective Shaw nodded, understanding. Then he shifted gears: "But, Sable, we need the truth."
"I know."
"I hear Mina's emotional state is very unstable, and she could change her story at any moment. You have even less reason to go along with what she says." His tone softened. "So, have you remembered everything?"
I gave a small nod.
"So was it really suicide?"
"I don't know." I hesitated, then added, "But in the room where Cade died, it was just him and Mina."
"So you suspect Mina?" Detective Shaw pressed calmly. "How's your relationship with her?"
I couldn't suppress a shiver. I met his gaze.
He was staring at me without blinking, as if he could read my mind.
"It's terrible," I admitted.
"Tell me more." Detective Shaw crossed his arms and leaned back. "From the beginning."
"Alright."
I picked up the cup of hot water on the table, took a sip, and slowly gathered my memories.
"Saying it's terrible isn't quite accurate. It's more like... I've always been afraid of Mina."
"Continue."
3
I'd always been afraid of people like Mina.
Because she was so good at stealing things.
It sounds absurd. My father had been involved in a medical scandal and went to prison. His reputation was terrible. And since I was a local, the gossip on campus was relentless.
Isolated, basically. It bothered me enough that I'd always wanted to study abroad in London for acting.
But Mina had her eyes on the same study-abroad slot.
She was stunning—almond eyes, a dainty mouth, like a porcelain doll. Add her sweet, playful personality, and even in an academy full of beautiful women, she was the undisputed goddess.
I was terrified that even if my grades were better, the slot would go to Mina because the professors favored her.
That wasn't fair. Was it?
I still remember the night our friendship broke.
That summer was short. Mina and I both chose not to go home.
I wanted to focus on exams.
Mina was deep in an online romance with a rich heir named Linden, so head over heels she was planning to elope. Staying home made it easier to call him.
That evening, I was at my desk working through a new study guide.
Mina came back from a mixer with the next department, drunk.
She draped herself over me, reeking of alcohol.
I was actually a little annoyed. I didn't want to deal with her.
But one sentence from Mina shattered my concentration completely.
She said: "Sable, stop studying. I really don't want to beat you."
"You don't have a chance. Stop competing with me. When I move to London with Linden, I'll bring you back a present, okay?"
Mina was mumbling against my shoulder, slurring like it was the alcohol.
But I heard it for what it was: the truth.
In that instant, I slammed my hand on the desk and stood up, resolving never again to be like everyone else who spoiled her.
I remember every word that came out of my mouth, each bitten off with venom.
I said: Mina, yes, I know you've always been good at "wining."
"There's always a teacher who likes you, willing to give you chances."
"Always perks and bonuses chasing after you."
"Even your random online boyfriend is a rich heir. I really, really can't compete."
"So can we at least compete fairly this once? Can you not just rely on that face? Can you race on merit?"
Mina was stunned. She trembled with anger, suddenly sober.
"Are you sick? What does that have to do with me? They're the ones who want it!" she shouted.
"You're looking down on me? Or are you jealous? Do you have any idea how exhausting my life is?"
Our fight was epic. We unloaded every ounce of accumulated resentment, and neither of us was willing to maintain the facade of friendship anymore.
After that, we grew cold toward each other.
Until August 5th. The study room was closing, and as Mina walked past me, something fell out of her bag.
An envelope.
Envelopes were rare these days. I glanced curiously at the address—it was from abroad.
Familiar. I blinked, then realized: it was the address of the study-abroad program.
I looked at Mina. She scrambled to pick up the envelope and rushed away.
But the incident had taken root in my mind.
That evening, while Mina was out at another mixer, I dug through every bag she owned.
And I found that letter.
Inside, in awkward English, was a message:
"If you want the exam questions, wait for me in the third-floor equipment room at six on the 6th."
4
Ironic, wasn't it?
I finally understood how fragile my friendship with Mina really was—so fragile that she'd go to these lengths to beat me, even cheating.
At the time, I didn't even wonder who'd sent Mina the letter.
She was so popular, always meeting strange people.
I thought about it briefly, then stuffed the letter back. I'd confront Mina directly on the day.
I'd use this to destroy her shot at the study-abroad slot once and for all.
5
So on the 6th, in the afternoon, I tailed Mina into the academic building and crept up to the third floor.
In the hallway, she met a figure dressed entirely in black.
A strange person—hands hidden in black gloves.
I figured it was for discretion, so I kept following until they entered the equipment room.
The light was fading, and there was a faint smell of paint in the corridor. I hesitated, then crept up to the window and peered into the dim, cluttered room.
I saw Mina with a rag stuffed in her mouth.
Her hands were bound behind her, her skirt was torn, and she was sitting on a dusty box.
She twisted and struggled. Over and over.
And the person in black was forcing himself on her.
I saw his face clearly. It was Cade. Counselor Cade.
6
At that point, I couldn't help looking at Detective Shaw.
Even the stenographer glanced up at me.
Only Detective Shaw remained expressionless, deep in thought.
"No need to stop. Continue."
"...Alright."
7
In that moment, I was terrified out of my mind.
I nearly screamed. Instinctively I wanted to run, but I felt like Mina had seen me.
I truly couldn't bear it.
Finally, from behind the wall, I closed my eyes and screamed "Help!"
I heard movement inside go still.
Then I ran. I ran and kept screaming.
Until I found myself alone at the end of the corridor, bolting down the stairs.
8
Back in the dorm, I huddled under my covers shaking, tears streaming endlessly.
It was strange—it felt like I'd been the one violated.
Many days later, I finally understood: on that day, Cade, Mina, and my cowardly flight—the three of us had collectively raped my conscience.