I killed somebody.
Once upon a time, she was like a sister to me.
"Gordita," Pablo called me, muttering like he was repeating it for the fiftieth time. "Let's go."
The basement's hallways seemed darker than ever, and so did the gray clouds outside. I jumped every time a lone raindrop knocked against the bedroom window.
There was blood on my ankles. It wasn't carnage, just a few tiny spots that had already dried and crusted, but no matter how much I scratched them, they didn't come off. They seemed tattooed on my skin, etched into my flesh, clinging onto my legs like little ticks. 
Even after I showered, I was still pale and shaking, and Mafer's blood still stained my skin.
"The first time I killed somebody, I could see his blood under my nails for weeks," said Pablo.
I stopped picking at the little red dots on my legs, and looked up at him.
"Okay," I mumbled, pulling up my towel before it slipped from my chest.
He sat down beside me and ran his fingers through my hair. "How do you feel?"
"Like a horrible monster."
"Don't say that, Gordita," he murmured. "You're a good girl. You're nice."
I swallowed my spit, and it cut up my throat like a jagged rock. "But I killed her."
"Killing people doesn't make you a horrible monster."
"It does, Pablo," I retorted. "Killing people is the number one thing that makes you a horrible monster."
"Not when you have a good reason," he shrugged.
"I didn't have a good reason."
I wanted to believe that those words were a lie, but they flowed out of my mouth like pure truth.
I pulled the trigger when she told Pablo she loved him. Not a minute earlier, not a second later. Even though it had all started with the betrayal, I had doubted my decision up until the point that she professed her feelings to him.
Killing Mafer because she loved Pablo was not a good enough reason.
"Then why did you do it?" he said.
I chose my words carefully. "Because you asked me" would make it sound like I had some free will when I shot her. "Because you made me" would make it seem like I was shifting the blame on him, which was the opposite of what Pablo wanted when he decided to put the gun in my hands.
"Because you told me to," I said.
"And, isn't that a good reason?"
He had a smug smile on his face, tugging at the corner of his lips. He looked proud of himself. I wished I could have told him I didn't do it for him, that I didn't do it out of loyalty, and instead just to get rid of one of his most precious allies. I wished I could have popped his inflated ego and shattered his confidence. 
As tempting as it was to slap him with the truth, I had to keep on lying. As long as he thought his secret was safe, so were Juan and I.
"You knew how much I loved her," I sniffled.
And you made her betray me.
He shrugged with one shoulder, and his smile didn't fade. "Yes, I did." 
"I needed her, Pablo."
And you turned her against me.
He rolled his eyes and stood up, sighing as he paced toward the window.