You did what you had to do.
You did what you had to do and you did not speak.
The air was baked and blackened and you kept your head down. Did you think of your own mother? She was soft, too soft, and you were so lonely you could barely walk. Was it terrible? A fucked up part of you that hoped it was. You wanted it to hurt. Was it worth anything if it didn’t hurt?
You stood in a public space, and you were surrounded by bodies. Your fault, but you were efficient. You were kind to murder them. There was blood and rotting flesh where your finger used to be. An eye for an eye.
You said to the mirror, Don’t you give me that look. I had to. I had to. Don’t get mad at me.
And you laughed when you thought about Lily. Why did you laugh? There was nothing funny about it, but you threw your head back and laughed at the empty sky. You hadn’t seen the stars in days.
The boy, the boy was alive still. He was strong, like his father. You were not strong; you never had been. When you were fifteen and the others grew in height and confidence, you stood in their shadows; the anxious boy, the boy with acne, the boy without a name that mattered, the boy who kissed boys. You were never just Peter.
Until now.
You did what you had to do, didn’t you?
I had to. It’s my job.