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I buya bottle of barbecue sauce and empty it onto my bloody scrubs.

It’s roughly the same color as the dried blood, and the smell overwhelms all other odors. Then I stuff the scrubs into a plastic bag and then put that plastic bag inside another plastic bag, put the whole thing deep into the trash bag, surrounded by old pizza and a Chinese food feast that Mason and I shared a few days ago. Then I grab the trash bag and bring it down to the dumpster myself. I’m not entirely sure when they empty the dumpster, but I think it’s Monday or Tuesday.

I should be safe as long as nobody discovers the body before then.

On Sunday, I stop at a florist and purchase a bouquet of lilies, Heather’s favorite, even though I spent a good minute eyeing the red roses. Roses are more romantic, but I go with my gut and get the lilies.

When I get back to the dorm, I race up the flight of stairs to Heather’s room. I grip the lilies in my right hand as I knock on the door. Sweat is rapidly accumulating under my armpits. I don’t know what I’ll say when I see Heather. I don’t want to make things worse, especially since I can’t exactly tell her the truth.

I’m slightly relieved when Rachel answers the door, looking irritated as usual.

“Is… is Heather home?” I ask.

Rachel folds her arms across her chest. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

I hang my head. “Well, can you give her these flowers?” I ask in a small voice.

Rachel’s eyes soften slightly. “Look, I… I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but you really upset her.”

“I know,” I murmur. “I didn’t mean to…”

“You never do,” she says. I guess that “you” refers to all men.

Tell her that I love her, I want to say. But that’s not the sort of thing that should come from a third party. I need to tell her myself.