“You done?” he asks, and any response I could have articulated before, freezes behind my teeth.
My heart lifts, rising to a cracking kick-drum in my ears, and my vision tilts, bursts of red stars blinking in the corners.
I wasn’t done. I wanted to repeat myself, maybe scream at him, only, as my limbs continue to tremble and my teeth chatter louder, my chest rising and falling at a pace that terrifies me, I realize I’m too bone-tired to move, to speak, to try and make him understand. So I scoff, take my gaze away, and gnaw on the inside of my cheek instead.
But then I feel his rough fingers shift around mine. Chase isn’t gentle when he unhooks my hand from over the top of his, throwing it away. I turn back at the same time he tucks thepistol into the rear of his jeans, his eyes reaching, holding, never leaving mine.
It only chills me further.
“Pack your shit,” he rasps, then he’s out of the room and I’m staring at his back before I hear the front door crack against the trailer and the engine of his truck kick to life.
The air blasts against my face. I suck on a cigarette, watching Laiken’s shadow cast itself across the pale walls of her bedroom through the front window of my truck.
My blood is trembling.
I feel fucking sick.
You’re selfish.
You’re disgusting.
Did you forget that you left me and I had no choice but to protect myself?
I draw on my cigarette, watching the cherry glow bright, flicking my gaze to the handgun I’d thrown to the dash. I tug on my bottom lip when I feel myself being dragged toward the large gaping black hole that is my trauma.
I hadn’t touched a gun since I took my mother’s life, since I put a bullet in my father’s head.
I couldn’t trust myself.
Intention and action when fueled by anger and guilt andfear, could see their fluid lines blurred within a matter of seconds.
And I knew that firsthand. I also knew that once it was done, you couldn’t rewind time to fix it.
All you’re left with is blood on your hands, a rotten core and a hollow heart.
A chill haunts my spine. I don’t shift my eyes, they’re hammered on the trigger.
I fucking hated that Laiken had a gun, and I hated even more that I gave her no choice.
Reaching for it, I get it out of sight before I throw up.
My stomach is burning and I’m breathing through the nausea. I tuck it beneath my seat when my phone vibrates against my thigh. Taking the last hit of my cigarette, I throw it out the window, then reach into the front pocket of my jeans, sliding out my cell.
A message from Harlen tells me he’s got food sorted.
I choose not to reply. I wasn’t hungry. Not sure I ever would be again.
I flick the screen off, throw it to my dash where the gun had been, watching the trailer succumb to darkness.
Laiken barrels out the front door. She throws her shit down on the small patch of dead grass in the front and returns to lock it. She avoids eye contact with me as she pulls herself into my truck, dumping everything into the back seat.
She’s wearing a massive hoodie that's way too long for her arms and an oxblood ball cap pulled low over her eyebrows, as if trying to hide, block me out.
“So Cold” by Breaking Benjamin starts at the speakers. I throw my arm across the top of her seat, backing my truck out.
“You got enough for a couple days?” I ask, my voice void of emotion.
She doesn’t say anything, just draws one foot up to the seat, resting her knee against the door, not acknowledging me.
