I run to it.
“Amelie,” I say, and knock at the bathroom door. It’s an industrial door, blurry glass in a metal frame. I can guess blurred shapes through it.
“Amelie,” I say again. But there is no reaction.
I knock harder.
“Open the door,” I say harshly.
Fear overcomes me.
I glance around, but the gun lies on the floor next to the drawer.
Small relief spreads through me.
My eyes fall onto the wall next to me with the bullet in it. The shot she fired at me.
She is not herself.
She is operating on grief and guilt.
“Amelie, open the door, or I will come in.”
No reaction.
“For fucks sake, Amy,” I shout. I usually don’t curse, nor do I use a nickname for her, but right now, I do.
I run to get the pan from the floor, run back.
“Last chance,” I say.
At that moment, the lock opens.
Amelie stands in the doorway as it slides open.
“It’s what she always said,” she says, a smile on her face, before she sways and collapses into my arm, blood everywhere from her cut forearm.
23
AMELIE
PLAYLIST: HOLD ON – CHORD OVERSTREET
When I open my eyes, I stare into bright light.
Please let this be the afterlife.
A face appears in my view. Green eyes and dark auburn-copper hair.
No.
Please, no.
“Hi,” she says.
Tears flood my eyes.
I don’t want to be here.
