I can see his eyes find mine across the room, and they're so full of pain and fear and apology that I want to tear my own heart out just to make it stop.
This is what hell actually is—not fire and brimstone, but being forced to watch the person you love most die while being completely powerless to help them.
Being conscious enough to understand what's happening but paralyzed enough to be useless.
His eyes hold mine and it’s almost like I can hear his thoughts.
I'm sorry.
It's okay.
No, this isn't happening.
This can't be happening.My body doesn't even acknowledge the screaming in my head.
Monty raises the gun, pointing it directly at Jake's chest.
"Nothing personal, kid.Just business."
The gun goes off, again.
The sound is apocalyptic, a crack that splits my world in half and echoes in the empty space where my heart used to be.
For a moment, everything stops.
My failing heart stops.
The universe holds its breath and watches as the other half of my soul is ripped away.The pain that tears through me is beyond description.
It's not just grief—it's amputation without anesthesia.
JAKE!
I scream, but the sound never leaves my throat.
NO!
I watch the light fade from his eyes, watch his chest rise and fall in increasingly shallow breaths, watch the blood pool beneath him like spilled wine.
I can't reach him.
I can't hold him as he dies.
I can't tell him that every sacrifice I made was worth it because it kept him safe for just a little longer.
I can't tell him that I'm proud of him, that he deserved so much better than the hand we were dealt.
I can't tell him that I love him.That I've always loved him.
That he was never the burden I sometimes made him feel like he was.
The tears come then, hot and unstoppable, the only part of my body that still seems to be working.They cut tracks down my cheeks as I watch his blood pool on the concrete floor.
I want to join him.
I want to close my eyes and let the fentanyl finish what it started, because I don’t want to know a world without my little brother in it.The smell hits me then, cutting through the fog of grief and chemicals.
Sharp and acrid, burning my nostrils.
