Twelve Ways to Kill Men

CHAPTER 1 : Duplicate

Every Thursday, I would walk up the stairs to the second floor of the shop.

The stairs were narrow and dimly lit; the third step would always creak, the last would settle into a heavy silence. The keys would jingle, and if you twisted them just right, the heavy door would open with a familiar click, revealing a brightly lit room filled with my darkest secrets.

In the middle of the room sat a big glass chamber, bathed in the sunlight. Rows of plants were carefully lined along the walls, and bright flowers stood out in the layers of green. All of them seemed innocent and untouched, not even a thorn in sight—as if they were waiting to be touched. I picked up the bottle and sprayed the belladonna leaves. With my bare hand, I checked the dryness of the soil, careful not to touch them— because just a brush would cause my skin to blister and a single black berry would reduce me to something that wanted to die.

But the belladonna wasn’t the most dangerous plant I owned. Nor were the foxgloves that sat just beside it. More dangerous than all the plants in this room was the little sapling that sat in the corner, secluded from the rest. It rested in a broken pot, tilted at an odd angle, like it had been thrown there. I wanted to get rid of it. I should have, a long time ago. But it was still here, lingering in the back of my mind. There was nothing I could do to stop it. I averted my eyes from the plant, forcing myself to focus on watering the belladonna’s dry soil.

A soft, muffled ring from the floor below signalled that someone had walked in. I set the can down and pulled off my gloves. With one last look at my plants, I slowly walked out of the room.

“Hey, Lily,” I called out her name as I reached the end of the stairs.

Lily stood near the bouquets of tulips placed on the shelves. Her light brown hair was pulled into two poorly made pigtails, and her dress hung loose on her scrawny frame. She whipped around at the creak beneath my feet, but relaxed when she saw me.

She skipped towards me, light on her feet, and smiled brightly at me.

“Aren’t you in a good mood, Lily?”

If it was possible, Lily’s grin grew.

“Mama said Papa’s not coming home for a few days,” she told me, “So I can come here more.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at school right now?” I asked, as I sprayed some water onto the roses.

Lily gave me a guilty look. I paused my spraying and crossed my arms to look down at her small figure.

“Lily, you can’t just stay here and skip school.” I lectured, but it felt hypocritical. “Skipping today won’t make it easier tomorrow.”

“But the teachers there hate me,” Lily whined, “Ms. Johnson is going to shout at me in front of the whole class because I didn’t do my homework.”

I didn’t bother asking why Lily didn’t complete her homework. But I knew her teacher wouldn’t understand. And Lily would never tell why.

“Do what you want,” I resumed the spraying. “But the shop is opening soon, and you aren’t staying here.”

Lily looked at me, distressed, “Then where else would I go?”

“The school,” I muttered dryly.

Lily pouted.

She innocently blinked up at me, waiting for me to cave in. But I kept my attention directed on the roses in front of me, ignoring her begging looks. Eventually, she gave up. With heavy steps, she walked out of the glass door. I let out a quiet sigh when the door closed behind her. I watched her tiny figure cross the road alone. It grew smaller as she walked away.

Soft sunlight filtered through the floor-length glass windows of the shop. I breathed in the comforting smell of wet soil that lingered in the air. I moved around the shop dutifully, watering my potted plants.

People come to me for love, apologies, and goodbyes.

They never realize I decide which one they deserve.

The bell above the door rang, signalling a customer. I looked up from the display of perennials I was working on. An elderly lady dressed in a knee-length polka dot dress walked in unhurriedly, her eyes moving along the displays of flowers.

“Mrs. Sanders!”

Her face lit up when she spotted me. She usually came in on Sunday mornings before church, always to bring flowers to her husband’s grave. It was a surprise that she was at the shop on a random Thursday.

“Wonderful day, isn’t it, Amelia?” Mrs. Sanders said, walking up towards the counter.

“Couldn’t be better.” I nodded in agreement. “How’s Clara’s wedding going?”

“Oh, same old, same old,” she waved her hand dismissively, “You must be so bored by them by now. Wedding flowers this and wedding flowers that.”

“Every event is a new opportunity.” I smiled back at her, “And every bouquet I make is different—The flowers, the arrangements.”

The secrets.

“Well, in that case, I’d like to buy a nice little bouquet for the groom’s family. I am going there right now,” Mrs. Sanders informed, “Could you make a new one right now? Something with those pretty orchids you have there.”

My eyes sparkled, “Perfect choice for Clara! Orchids symbolize love, strength and beauty.”

And dangerous obsession.

Mrs. Sanders beamed with pride at my compliment. I picked out the pink orchids and started building the base of the bouquet.

“Weddings are expensive, though.” Mrs. Sanders said conversationally, “Just so many things to do and to buy. But Ethan is nice, I assume you’ve met him. He works as a financial advisor in one of those fancy companies downtown.”

Clara had found herself a real piece of work, but I wasn’t about to go about disagreeing with Mrs. Sanders. But I simply nodded at her and continued to wrap the bouquet in decorative paper. I tied a thin ribbon around the bouquet and handed it to her.

“You have a real knack when it comes to flowers, Amelia.” Mrs. Sanders said, admiring the bouquet.

She pulled out her little crocheted purse and took out a crisp fifty-dollar bill. Quietly, she slid it over to me without looking at me.

Oh.

It was one of those days.

Those days when you smile too much, until something inside you starts to crack. I grabbed the fifty-dollar bill from the countertop and silently slipped it into my apron’s pocket. I crouched down under the counter and entered the code to the safe with practiced movements. With a soft beep, the safe popped open. Small, sealed packets sat inside.

I took two. That was all she could handle.

She grabbed them from the counter and hastily stuffed them into her purse. She cleared her throat and leaned in.

“I was—” She glanced around. “—hoping for something stronger.”

I shook my head slowly, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sanders, but this is all I’ve got.”

Mrs. Sanders shook her head in disappointment— in me or herself, I couldn’t tell. She pushed her purse down deep into her pocket and smiled at me weakly, “Just one of those days, you know, Amelia?”

“Don’t worry. They won’t last for too long. They never do.”

CHAPTER 2 : Decipher

“You have to cut the dead parts,” I told Lily.

She stood silently in front of the daisy plant. Her backpack lay discarded nearby, and her worn clothes seemed worse after the long day at school. The safety scissors in her hand hung still in the air as she stared at the wilting daisy with her big brown eyes.

Lily hesitated. “It won’t hurt?”

“No.”

Lily blinked. I pointed my dirt-covered finger at the end of the stem, where it had begun to turn brown.

“Cut here.”

Snip.

Lily watched the flower fall.

“…It looks better.”

I grinned back at her. “Much better.”

Lily set the scissors down, her finger moving out to touch the fresh cut part. The clear sap oozing out coated her fingers, and she scrunched her nose in disgust.

“Yuck!”

Her finger moved to wipe it off on her clothes, and I held her hand to stop her.

“The basin is there.”

Lily gave me an exasperated look, and she reluctantly trudged towards the basin. While she washed her hands, I pulled out my phone, which had been pinging nonstop for the past hour.

Valerie : SOS at Aurelia’s!

Julia : Again? Give me fifteen.

I didn’t bother reading through the rest of the fifty-seven messages the two girls had managed to send in a short span of five minutes. I turned off my phone and glanced up at the cafe opposite my shop. Café Aurelia took up the whole corner of Whitberry Street. Their sign was too big and attention seeking for a cafe that served dry sandwiches and suspiciously warm water.

Be there in five. I typed back.

“Lily, I am heading out now.” I raised my voice over the rhyme Lily was singing as she scrubbed her hands.

“Lily?” I repeated when she hadn’t heard me.

“Wash and wash, make it clean,” Lily sang under her breath, “Hide the things I shouldn’t have seen.”

I walked towards the basin with slow steps.

I froze.

My eyes widened at the streaks of crimson blood on her hands. I stopped breathing. But it wasn’t hers. It was his. The sound of the water falling against the sink grew louder. I couldn’t take my eyes off her blood covered hand.

She turned to me with sharp eyes.

“I know you killed him.”

My eyes widened. No one but me knew. Because I didn’t kill him. She did—

I yelped as a wet hand touched my arm.

“Amelia?” Lily said, looking up at me with a worried look.

I took in a shuddering breath, my eyes darting around.

The shop.

I was in the shop.

My eyes refocused on Lily, her right hand extended towards me, a small frown between her brows.

“Are you ok, Amelia?”

My hand went to my arm where she had touched. I slowly brought up my wet fingers, checking the liquid.

Water. Not blood.

“Amelia?”

I rubbed my fingers together. For a second, the water darkened—then cleared.

“Are you ok, Amelia?” Lily urged.

I looked up, and my hand instinctively slipped behind my back. I gave her a tight nod.

“I’m okay,” I murmured, still rubbing my now dry fingers.

Lily didn’t seem convinced, as she continued to stare at me for a beat too long. Quietly, she hopped off the stool. She picked up her backpack and, with a last skeptical glance back, walked out of the shop.

My fingers behind me untied my apron and I slipped it off in an unhurried motion. I glanced back at the white sink, my vision clearer.

No blood.

With a quiet sigh, I stepped out. My steps were hurried as I crossed the intersection to reach Café Aurelia. I pushed the heavy door open, and the smell of freshly baked goods hit me. The air inside was cooler than the sweltering streets. I made my way to the counter.

“Want to try the new juice I added to the menu?” Eli asked me with a proud grin.

I held back an eye roll. “How many times do I have to say no before you stop asking?”

“But you liked the special the last time you had it.”

“That was three years ago.” I pointed out, “And I’m not going to be a part of the crowd who wants to drink your about-to-rot fruit.”

The lady on the counter next to me paused her transaction. She gave us an awkward smile before she changed her order. Eli pursed his lips; he turned to me.

“Americano, it is,” he said quietly.

I moved through the maze of tables, the cold plastic cup in hand. My steps slowed as I neared Julia and Valerie’s table. Julia was still in her police uniform, which meant she’d just gotten off duty. Valerie played with the ends of her braid as she talked to Julia. She gave me a wave when she spotted me.

“—and then I told Maxwell that he had to return all the fucking money back,” Valerie continued her story as I sat down.

Julia blinked, “The schizophrenic who shot his aunt?”

Valerie gave her an exasperated look, “That was Max. Maxwell is the one with bipolar disorder.”

Julia still had a blank look on her face.

“The one who tried to punch Valerie once during one of the group sessions.” I chimed in.

Julia’s face lit up in recognition, “Oh, that Maxwell! The one who thinks cereal is a soup.”

“Yes!” Valerie nodded, “That kleptomaniac stole fifteen dollars from a homeless man on Kippler Street. I had to sit there for over an hour convincing him to return the poor man’s money.”

“Are you supposed to be telling me that?” Julia laughed, “What about doctor-patient confidentiality?”

Valerie retorted with a sarcastic remark, and I joined in on the laughter.

But our laughter was forced, too loud, like we were trying to fill a fourth voice. Both of them pretended not to care, but I saw Julia cast discreet glances at the empty chair beside her. Even Valerie’s eyes kept drifting to the café door, waiting for Clara.

The laughter died. Valerie picked up some French fries from the tray, chewing on them with more force than necessary. I sipped on my Americano silently, and my eyes glued to the door of the cafe.

Julia cleared her throat at the awkward silence.

“Should I maybe call—”

“No.” Valerie cut her off, “She saw the message in the group chat. She can come if she fucking wants to.”

Silence.

I swirled the Americano with the straw. Julia glanced between us with an awkward grin.

It wasn’t like this before.

“She’s just busy with her wedding.” I found myself defending Clara.

“Aren’t you and she the same age?” Valerie said, “One’s getting married, while the only time you get wet is when you water your plants.”

Julia chuckled, her hand went to cover her mouth like she was embarrassed for me.

Deflection. I thought, watching Valerie, Ignoring your problems until they disappear. Or until you’re really good at forgetting reality.

The door to the cafe opened, and all three of us looked at the woman who walked in. Clara wore a light cardigan over her button-up, and her blonde hair fell loosely around her shoulders. Her face brightened as she spotted us, and she waved.

Valerie let out a frustrated huff. She grabbed her phone from the table and shoved it into her purse.

“I’ve got a family thing,” Valerie said.

Julia frowned, “But Clara just got here.”

“Then go to her,” Valerie snapped, grabbing her purse. “I’m not in the mood for this.”

She didn’t wait for a response. “Bye.”

Clara’s steps slowed as she watched Valerie leave. Wordlessly, she sat down on the empty chair beside me.

Despite the tension, Julia grinned at Clara, “How’s Ethan doing?”

“The wedding’s going great,” Clara said, her voice a little too high-pitched.

Silence.

I lightly drummed my fingers against the table.

“The bouquet, the one with the pink orchids, you made today— Ethan’s family loved it.” Clara continued with a forced grin.

Still talking about everyone but Ethan.

Julia stood up suddenly.

“You look a little dehydrated, Clara. I’ll go get you today’s special.” She turned to me. “Do you want anything?”

Running away. Classic Julia.

I silently shook my head. Julia nodded in acknowledgement and walked away from the table. I continued to stare at Clara with a blank look. Her fingers fidgeted with the bracelet on her wrist.

I blinked.

“Why did you miss Valerie’s birthday?” I asked.

Clara’s head snapped up, “Why is everyone still holding onto that?”

“It really pissed her off,” I told her.

Clara gave me a hard stare.

“You know, what?” she suddenly got up, “I don’t need this right now. Not from you of all people, Amelia.”

She grabbed her purse and stormed out.

“Clara left?” Julia asked as she returned with the cups filled with pink juice.

“Yeah,” I mutter.

Julia set the cup down on the table and gave me a small smile. “I’m going to head out now, if that’s ok?”

I shrugged.

Julia gave me a curious look. She opened her mouth to ask why, but she closed it, because both knew the answer. Without a second look, Julia walked out of the shop.

My eyes flickered back to our table. Four seats, three of which were empty. I was the only one left.

The only one who cared.

The full cup of juice sat inches away from the half-eaten fries. The juice was made from fruit that was about to rot. Eli got rid of them before they spread. Guess I had to do the same.

CHAPTER 3 : Direct

I care. More than I should.

That’s why this is necessary.

The night sky darkened, the moon barely visible behind the clouds. It was almost seven, and Clara should’ve left hours ago, yet she was still behind the counter. The ’SwiftMeds’ neon sign glowed brightly above her, and she smiled at the customer who handed a five-dollar bill. The man grabbed the brown paper bag from the counter and jogged back to his car.

Clara pulled out her phone again, scrolling mindlessly. I checked mine.

Julia : Anybody up for the barbecue at my place?

Valerie : Hell yeah!

Me : I’ll be there.

For the past three hours that I had been here, Clara had spent over thirty minutes on her phone. But she still hadn’t bothered to type a message back to us on the group chat. I looked back up at her, her figure leaning against the counter, counting pills. She made no move to leave, even though her shift had ended over two hours ago.

An expensive black sedan pulled over beside me, and a man dressed in a business suit got out. Ethan climbed up the short steps and walked over to Clara. Her face hardened when she saw him, and she immediately stood up straighter to look at him.

Clara kept rolling her eyes as they spoke, and Ethan glared at her. She pulled out two small white boxes with purple labelling and slid them over to Ethan. She sighed as she registered the payment on the computer. The two started walking back to his car, and I quickly got out of mine. I stepped behind a pillar before she could turn. For a moment, I was worried that Clara might recognize my car, but she breezed right past it.

“You know I can’t give you so much,” Clara said, her voice lowered as she said the last word.

Ethan scoffed loudly, “You could last time.”

Clara’s hand paused on the handle of the sedan, and she looked up at him, “Stop bringing that up.”

Ethan muttered something under his breath before slamming the door. The car went into ignition, and he pulled out of the parking lot. I waited until the car pulled out before stepping from behind the pillar.

“Amelia!” A loud voice called from behind.

I turned to find a burly man behind the counter, dressed in the pharmacy’s uniform.

“I thought that was you, Amelia.” Ahmed said as I walked over, “Haven’t seen you around here.”

I shrugged in response.

“Was Clara here?”

He chuckled, “You just missed her! She got off a few minutes ago.”

“Anywho, what can I do for you?” He asked, leaning against the counter.

“Oh—um, just some sanitary pads, please,” I said quickly.

Ahmed nodded duly and crouched under the counter to grab the box for me. I scanned the shelves, painkillers, syrups— then I paused at the inhalers, the same purple boxes. Nothing useful.

After paying, I grabbed the box, but I paused.

“Hey, is it fine if I use your washroom?” I asked him suddenly.

“Second door on the left,” he said, already turning back to his screen.

I walked over to the steel door, and with a push, I walked inside. But instead of heading to the washrooms, I went through the door which said ‘Employees Only’.

Inside, there was a line of full-length lockers against the wall. I walked over to the one labeled with Clara’s name and punched in her birthdate. She always used the same password. Everyone knew it. Inside, her uniform shirt hung at the top, and below were a pair of shoes and, beneath them, a few unopened boxes of pills. My hand reached for them and I read the name.

Xanax.

Why the hell did she need so many? And who prescribed her to them?

I searched the locker, but other than a crinkled wrapper in her shirt’s pocket, there was nothing else in the locker. I heard footsteps outside, and I quickly clicked the locker shut. With light steps, I walked out of the room.

I walked through the narrow corridor back outside. Ahmed was still behind the counter, working on the computer.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any xanax pills, would you?” I found myself asking him.

He got up from his chair and walked over to the counter, but he frowned at the suspiciously empty space where the pills should be.

“I swear I just stocked them this morning,” he muttered under his breath. He looked up. “Just a minute—I’ll grab some from the back.”

I stared at the empty space beneath the glass counter. Clara wouldn’t steal. She never needed to.

Then why the hell were they in her locker?

---

The next day, I found myself back in the same parking lot. It was empty, except for the black car parked at the end of it. Clara was behind the counter, working with a customer who was taking far too long to decide on a flavour of cough syrup. He finally chose a green bottle, and I made my move.

“Hello, Clara.” I said as I walked up to her.

Clara blinked up and smiled at me, “Amelia! What are you doing here?”

“What could I be here for?” I asked, chucking and she laughed along. Her laughter rang in my ears, and I realized it had been months since I had heard her laugh that care-free.

“Did you get everything on your pinterest board?” I asked her conversationally.

Clara had always wanted a wedding that looked like something out of her pinterest board—perfect, curated, untouchable. I had spent hours on end listening to her talk about it, and she always had that dreamy love-sick look in her eyes when she talked about her wedding.

Clara laughed again, softer this time. “Not everything. But I’m getting there.”

Her fingers tapped against the counter absentmindedly. “I found these centerpieces—roses, but not the usual ones. They’re a little darker. Kinda dramatic.” She smiled to herself. “Ethan said they were too much, but I think they’re perfect. But they were a little expensive.”

“Is that why you’re picking up extra shifts?” I asked her directly, “And stealing from the shop?”

Her smile dropped, “W-what?”

I didn’t bother beating around the bush.

“I know about the pills.”

I didn’t completely—but I was counting on her to fill in the gaps.

Clara stiffened in astonishment. Her hand paused fiddling with her engagement ring, and she looked up.

“Who told you?” She asked in a low voice.

“Doesn’t matter. Why do you need them?”

“They’re not for me, they’re for Ethan.” she said defensively.

“Ethan?” I repeated dumbly.

“He’s going through some tough times,” she said quickly. “Work’s been insane, and his dad’s been on his case about… everything.” She shook her head. “He’s just stressed. That’s all.”

“Is he forcing you to do this?” I found myself asking.

She glanced around for other people. In a quieter voice, she admitted, “He has videos of me stealing them,”

“That’s blackmail,” I told her, “You can’t marry a guy like him.”

“You don’t get it, do you, Amelia?” her voice tightened, “You’ve never had something like this. You don’t know what it’s like to build a life with someone and then just—throw it away because things get hard.”

“Then fix it.” I said, unbothered by her jab, “You’re ruining everything with us, people you’ve known for eight years, for some blackmailing drug addict you met two years ago.”

“He’s not a drug addict,” she muttered angrily, “He only does it sometimes.”

“But he’s blackmailing you, isn’t he?”

“No, he isn’t,” she told me firmly.

Seems like he is.

“Look, I’ll handle it, Amelia” Clara tried to sound confident. She looked at me with uncertainty, “You haven’t told the others, have you?”

I shook my head.

“What about, Ahmed?” she asked, worry etched onto her face.

I paused. Before I slowly shook my head again.

“You can’t tell the others, Amelia.” Clara looked me straight in the eye, “I could lose my licence and go jail over this.”

“They’re your best friends,” I argued back, “They deserve to know.”

“It’s just stress,” she argued weakly. “Once the wedding’s over, things will settle.”

I stood quietly when I found myself at a dead end. Clara might have spilled her guts to me, but she was indignant about handling things on her own and clinging to her fever dream. I look back up at her worried face.

“I’ll let it go— only if you come to the barbecue Julia’s hosting.”

Clara hesitated but nodded.

CHAPTER 4 : Discernment

I adjusted my hat and continued pruning the shrub, ignoring the shouting that came from my neighbour’s house. Thick, green leaves fell onto the ground as the shears sliced through them. A loud bang from their house rang in my ears, and I paused. My eyes flickered over to my neighbour’s yard, and I winced at its poor state. Dried leaves piled under the trees and their shrubs were brown halfway. Lily walked down the short steps from their porch and sat down at the bottom.

“Why don’t you clean up around here?” I asked her over the fence, “Cut out the dead leaves once in a while?”

Lily looked up at me in confusion. “I don’t have scissors like you.”

“Would you like some?” I offered.

Lily opened her mouth to reply, but loud yelling from inside interrupted her. I tapped my foot against the solid ground while we waited for it to die down.

“Would you like to come over, Lily?” I found myself asking.

Lily hesitated, her eyes flickering between my door and theirs, before she jumped off the bottom stair and crossed her yard to reach mine.

“Papa smoked all the pot.” She told me when she reached the safety of my yard.

“Again?”

She shrugged in response.

My hand reached for the door handle, and I turned it to open the door. We walked in together, the wooden floorboards firm against our feet. Grandma was in her wheelchair, her eyes trained on the television, which blared some Spanish soap opera. I went forward and kissed Grandma’s hollow cheek, while Lily stepped around the rows of medicine bottles on the table and sat on the couch near her.

Grandma’s finger suddenly twitched on the wheelchair to ring the bell. Almost immediately, Sofia rushed from the kitchen to Grandma, her eyes stared at Grandma’s limp figure trying to figure out what was wrong. Sofia turned to me with uncertainty.

“Did something happen?” She asked me quietly.

“Not anything I know of,” I murmured, my eyes trained on Grandma.

The bell on her wheelchair rang again. Sofia frowned, and she leaned forward to check Grandma’s pulse.

Lily’s eyes were focused between the two, deeming it more entertaining than the television in front. Grandma’s eyes didn’t leave her— blank and unblinking. Without warning, Lily’s hand moved up innocently to touch Grandma’s wrinkled skin, and Grandma’s finger started twitching incessantly to ring the bell.

Sofia jolted in surprise, and she awkwardly smiled at me, “I don’t know why she does this when—”

She cut herself off when her eyes met Lily’s. She cleared her throat, and she walked around the sofa to wheel Grandma to her room.

Lily frowned, “Why doesn’t she like me?”

I blinked, unsure of how to answer. But Lily wasn’t so concerned either, because she grabbed the nearby remote to change the channel. The worst part was that even I wasn’t sure about the answer.

For some reason, my Grandma was terrified of the nine-year-old girl who lived next door.

---

Clara didn’t show up. Not that I expected her to.

The sun beat down on the yard relentlessly. Standing right next to the grill made sweat cling to my body like a second skin. The meat sizzled, and beneath it, the charcoal glowed orange. Julia had called it a small get-together, which meant she invited everyone she knew in the city. The yard was packed full, and lively chatter filled the air.

The girl beside me stirred her iced tea, giving me a judgmental look. Karmine—with a K—had taken it upon herself to fix my love life this very afternoon.

“You’ve seriously never been on, like, a date?” she asked for the fifth time.

“I have,” I lied, because the truth wouldn’t make my life easier.

“With, like, what? A computer nerd from the suburbs?” She laughed, the hoop earrings swaying.

I resisted the urge to press the hot tongs against her skin, and I simply smiled at her.

If I hear the word like one more time—

“You know what?” she said, snapping her fingers as if the idea had just occurred to her, “You should totally come to this speed dating event that we’re hosting in Regent Hall. And I’ll reserve, like, the hottest guys just for you.”

Before I could do anything unspeakable, her fingers pulled out a small pink card, and she pressed it against my palm. The card had little hearts drawn on it and ‘SpeedHearts’ written in looping cursive. I cringed internally because I had seen Karmine give the same cards to at least five different girls this morning with the same fake promises.

“That actually sounds, like, so interesting,” I said, matching her tone, and I waved the card around as I talked, which made it accidentally slip from my hand and fall onto the grill.

For a second, nothing happened. Karmine’s manicured hand inched forward in a feeble attempt to save it, but she quickly retracted it when the card suddenly caught fire. Karmine gasped as her hand protectively clutched her purse. She looked at me in absolute horror, and I bit back a smile.

Except I hadn’t anticipated how big the fire would be. Before we knew it, the whole grill erupted into flames.

“Fire!” Someone shouted.

Chaotic screams broke out, and everybody collectively started to move back from the grill.

“I got it!” A familiar voice shouted, and he leaped into the circle with a red fire extinguisher. It took a few moments for him to figure out how the extinguisher worked, but soon white foam shot out of the nozzle, and he held it steadily over the fire. The fire died down, and cheers went up in the crowd.

But my jaw clenched when the man turned around.

Ethan.

“Woo!” Valerie hooted loudly, “Ethan to save the day!”

Ethan smiled and brushed off the compliments as he walked towards us.

“You didn’t get the worst of the fire, did you, Amelia?” He asked, looking down at me.

My face hardened instantly at his fake concern, but I smoothed my expression before he could notice.

“I’m fine. It was just a fire, not a tragedy.”

Ethan smiled at me, but something in his eyes didn’t. “Maybe you shouldn’t start things you can’t handle.”

I bit my tongue, holding back harsh words.

“You’re just bad under pressure, aren’t you?” He asked in a quiet voice, taking a threatening step forward, “Good thing I was there to save you.”

“A person can’t move when both their hands and legs are tied,” I retorted evenly.

Ethan’s voice dropped a few octaves, “Maybe you wouldn’t be in that situation if you’d minded your own business.”

His eyes sharpened when he noticed the lingering fear in me. He leaned back slightly, as he’d seen enough. His mouth curved, not out of amusement, but satisfaction. With a proud smirk, he walked away from me. Within seconds, he was swallowed by a group of guys—hands clapping his back, voices loud with praise.

“Nice one, man.”

“Saved the whole thing.”

Ethan laughed along easily, as if nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just threatened me just seconds ago.

I, much like with Julia and Valerie, never really approved of Ethan for Clara. Maybe it was the way he checked the calories behind every food packet, or the way he decided that everybody around needed to hear his opinions. But Clara liked him, she never said why, but she did— and there wasn’t much we could do after that.

“Someone needs to get more meat!” Julia shouted. Her face curled up in disgust as she held up a burnt patty covered in wet, white foam.

I raised my hand to volunteer, and Julia held a thumbs-up.

I need to get out of here before I start another fire. Preferably one with Ethan as fuel.

I made my way through the empty house, but I paused when I noticed a familiar cardigan on the hook on the bathroom door. A toilet flushed, and Clara walked out, a small makeup palette in hand.

“Oh, my God, Amelia!” She reeled back when she saw me, “You need to stop sneaking up on people like that.”

But my eyes were focused on the angry red bruise on her left arm. Clara’s eyes followed mine, and her hand immediately went to cover it.

“I slipped and—”

“Bullshit.” The angry word echoed in the empty corridor.

Clara’s body tensed. Her hands went to the cardigan, and she slipped it on.

“You don’t understand,” she said—but it sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

“Then explain it to me.”

Vulnerability flashed in her eyes, and she looked away from my penetrating gaze.

“It’s complicated,” Her voice cracked, “It’s actually my fault you know. We had a little fight. Something silly about the wedding. He aimed for the wall, but I got in the way.”

I raised an eyebrow at her obvious lie.

“He’s the last person you want to marry Clara,” I reasoned.

“Fights happen all the time in marriages.” Clara said firmly. “But both our families love each other. The date is set, and the hall is booked. I am not breaking up our wedding because of some fights.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but then I saw the look in her eyes. The one who believed her picket fence dream over the reasonings of people she’d known for years. The look of determination, which would ruin her and bring us down too. We barely saw her after her engagement; the situation would worsen once she got married. All those years we spent together would be wasted.

Ethan was hurting her. He was hurting us.

And he wasn’t going to stop.

“It’s not a big deal, ok?” she brushed it off.

But she was right.

It wouldn’t be a big deal if Ethan were out of the picture.

CHAPTER 5 : Delete

I wasn’t sure what my plan was. All I knew was that I had one and it was going to work.

But I knew this— The plan needed flowers. Flowers that they couldn’t trace back to me.

I opened the door to the Petal Pizzazz. The first thing that hit me was the strong, artificial, flowery smell that Jessica liked to spray everywhere. My eyes took in the bright flowers displayed on the shelf. The shop was slightly smaller than mine, and it appeared more crowded with three other customers in there.

“Hey, hey!” Jessica shouted when she spotted me, “What the hell are you doing here, Amelia? Get outta here.”

She walked towards me, arms crossed, and her mouth pulled into a grim line.

“You chose an interesting location,” I said, my fingers lightly tracing the curve of a tulip, “So close to mine. It almost feels like you’re relying on my customers getting lost.”

“No touching.” She said firmly, pulling the flower away from me, “Is this some sorta business intimidation, huh? I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today, Amelia.”

“Intimidation? When have I ever done that?” I said in mock innocence. Though I could list a few right off the bat.

“Look, I’m not buying flowers for Enzo anymore, so I dunno why the hell you’re here,” she argued loudly, earning a few stares from the nearby customers.

“You still sell flowers, don’t you?” I asked her slowly.

She stood up straighter, “Why? You’re here to take that away—”

“I asked you a question.”

Her jaw clenched when I interrupted her.

“Yes,” she gritted out.

I smiled at her, “Then I’d like to buy some daisies.”

---

​

Clara and Ethan lived in the suburban house at the end of the cul-de-sac. The house had a perfectly maintained lawn, too perfect for the people who lived there, with a huge garage at the side for Ethan’s car collection hobby. Which makes one wonder, why did Ethan choose a countryside, minimum-wage pharmacist to marry? Because even a poorly paid pharmacist has access to things like Xanax—and to anything stronger, if you know how to ask.

I’d been here enough times to know the cameras’ blind spots. So breaking in wasn’t the main issue; it was figuring out Ethan’s password. I looked around Ethan’s office for anything that might help. I had typed in Ethan’s birthdate, along with Clara’s, but Ethan, unfortunately, wasn’t as stupid as he looked.

I anxiously drummed my fingers against the mahogany desk. My eyes flickered to the trophy shelf on the left. Each trophy on it was placed carefully, gleaming like it meant something. The biggest cup stood in the middle, too proud of itself. It had a small golden plaque with a date written on it.

14 May, 2022.

Men like Ethan don’t remember love. Instead, they let the golden cups on the wall decide their worth.

My fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard as I typed in the date.

14052022.

A small red cross appeared on the screen. Somewhere at a distance, a door opened.

I changed the format of the date, and the keys clacked as I typed the password in.

05142022.

“... Yes, Mom, I do have the receipt!” Clara’s distant voice rang, as the sound of footsteps neared, “Ethan kept it in this desk drawer… I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, ok? Don’t let them change our date.”

What was Clara doing back here?

I moved quickly, turning off the computer and crouching down under the desk. The door to the office opened, and Clara walked in, her heel scraping softly against the rug of the office. I steadied my breath, my heart beating wildly in my chest.

“Just tell them to wait!” Clara yelled into the phone. She leaned over the desk, and I saw her left hand open the first drawer. She rummaged through it before pulling out a white receipt. My heart leaped in my chest when a little paperclip fell down right in front of them.

The clock on the wall ticked.

My breathing stopped.

Clara’s heels thudded lightly against the rug as she started walking.

It wasn’t until the door banged shut that I exhaled.

I sat quietly under the desk, afraid to breathe too loudly. My body didn’t move an inch until the distant bang of the front door closing rang through the house. I timidly got out from under the desk and turned the computer back on.

I had to work fast.

The password had already logged me in, and I scrolled through Ethan’s files until I found the videos which were ruining Clara’s life. I took out the USB from my pocket, and I inserted it in the CPU, and I transferred the files to them.

Just in case I needed them someday.

The large files slowly started to load onto my pendrive, and my foot tapped impatiently against the ground as I waited for them to upload. My anxious tapping stopped when I heard the front door open again. For a second, I wondered if Clara had returned, but an obnoxious voice echoed in the hallway, confirming the arrival of the expected visitor.

Ethan.

I deleted the files on his computer and took out my pendrive. Pocketing the pendrive safely in my back pocket, I quietly walked out of the room.

“...Seriously, dude, tell them that we’re not negotiating until they bring their offer up,” he said loudly, his voice nasally. I heard the incoherent squeaking of the phone as the man on the other side spoke.

“No, tell them—” Ethan coughed, “Tell them that we’re not doing anything below a million.”

He cut the phone, coughing again. I could hear the heavy thuds of his boots against the floor as he walked closer. A beat of silence before I heard a loud crash on the wall I was hiding behind. I flinched as shards of ceramic flew everywhere, and daisies scattered on the ground.

“I know you’re fucking here, Amelia,” his dangerously low voice echoed in my ears.

I schooled my features and walked out from behind the wall. Ethan stood in the middle of the living room in a custom fit black suit. His phone was thrown on the couch. His fist was clenched and his jaw ticked when I stepped out.

“Hello, Ethan,” I said simply.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He yelled at me, and he dissolved into a series of coughs.

I kept my feet firmly planted against the floor, “Oh, you know… I was just in the neighbourhood, and I thought I’d pay a visit. Is Clara home?”

“She told you to stay the fuck away from here, didn’t she?” He wheezed out, taking a threatening step forward.

My body tensed, my eyes tracked his movement, “Would you do the same?”

Ethan’s brows furrowed, “What?”

“Would you stay away from her if she told you to?” I reiterated.

His jaw twitched, “What I do with my wife is none of your fucking business, Amelia.”

I nodded understandingly, “But you wouldn’t mind if I tipped the police off of where you got your Xanax.”

Ethan’s eyes flashed with anger. “You wouldn’t.”

I shrugged casually. Without a warning, his hands grabbed the nearby glass figure in a swift motion, and he threw it at me. I reflexively leaned away, but the wing of the angel figure cut through my arm.

“You have anger issues,” I murmured thoughtfully as I clutched my arm, my wound burning. The blood from the cut seeped through my clothes.

“You need to get the fuck—” He coughed loudly, “Get the fuck out!”

Ethan hacked his lung. His hand went to his chest.

I paused, tilting my head, “Are you okay, Ethan?”

“You fucking bi—” He dissolved into a series of coughs before he could complete his sentence.

“You don’t seem okay,” I murmured, taking a step forward.

Without answering, he turned around, opening the drawers of a nearby cupboard. His panicked hands rummaged through the drawers. He threw open the doors under the drawers, and searched through the contents in a desperate motion.

I stared at him for a moment before I spoke up, “You should carry your inhaler with you.’

Ethan whipped around. His eyes widened when he saw his inhaler held in my gloved hands. He leaped at me, but he fell down clutching his chest.

“Hand it over!” His weak voice squeezed out, barely heard over his heavy breathing.

With the inhaler still in my hand, I looked down at his red face begging me.

Pathetic.

“What— What the hell do you want?” He breathed out, gasping for air. His chest tightened, and his nose flared. He leaned against the shelf, his body too weak to support itself.

“There are a lot of things,” I said thoughtfully, almost enjoying myself, “Like, one, I want you to apologize for hitting me with that angle figure.”

“Please,” He begged, his chest almost unmoving, his breathing shallow.

“Break off the wedding.” I demanded in a serious voice, taking a step forward, “Move out of town and never come back here again.”

“What?” His eyes cracked open, “No… My j-job. I have a.. f-family here.”

“You should have thought that before you cut Clara off from us,” I said. I held up the inhaler, “Agree, and we both can have what we want.”

His lips were blue from the lack of oxygen. He paused for a moment, as if thinking it over. His need for air won. “Okay.”

He barely got the word out before he collapsed onto the ground. His heavy body crashed against the floor. His chest barely moved. His nose flared and he struggled to breath.

As I stared at his limp figure, I realized one thing : I wasn’t a killer.

I cared about our friendship, and that was true. But I wasn’t going to go about killing people for that.

Ethan was a problem. And I had a feeling that wasn’t about to change anytime soon. If anything, our confrontation would just make him more cautious when it came to me. There was no proof, or rather trust, between us, to what extent he might follow my demands.

Then it occurred to me. All I ever wanted was to have Clara back and Ethan out of our lives. I never planned on killing him for it. But— If he were dead, everything would finally fall into place.

Ethan’s hooded eyes stared at me in desperation. He watched me place the inhaler on the floor between us, and his glassy eyes lit up with hope. His hand reached for it—missed—then dragged forward across the ground. It slowly inched towards the small object capable of saving his life.

The wound in my arm burned. Something snapped inside me. I kicked it away.

The inhaler rolled on the ground before it ended up under the couch.

His hand groped around the empty space before it slowly stopped. His eyes closed. His breaths came in short, uneven pulls—each one smaller than the last.

Until it stopped.

A/N : This story is also uploaded on Wattpad!

(https://www.wattpad.com/story/409166816-twelve-ways-to-kill-men)