I laugh derogatorily as I get up my gun, now pointing directly at Hedda’s head.
“Don’t you understand? She can’t be contained, can’t be held anywhere, she won’t stop until she is dead.”
“Avery,” says Shaw in a pleading tone. I stare into her eyes; she has hopes. Hopes I might be reasonable, might change for her. But I don’t change for anyone.
I am Avery Zayne.
I don’t care.
I don’t feel.
The only thing I feel is this hate.
And I need to release it.
My hands shake as I press the gun harder into Hedda’s head.
I have to do it.
I have to.
My finger trembles on the trigger.
But I can’t do it.
I have to.
My breathing flattens.
It feels like I can’t breathe.
Tears flood my eyes.
I don’t cry.
I don’t feel.
I don’t care.
Suddenly, there is a hand on mine.
I glance over my shoulder and into her eyes.
The corners of her mouth tug into the hint of a warm smile.
She takes the gun from my hand and stores it away.
I let her.
It is one last look as I stumble a step back, trying to breathe.
“Hedda,” she says and holds her own gun against Hedda’s back. “Show me your hands.”
Hedda does as told and raises her hands in the air.
“Hedda Lagner, you are hereby arrested,” Shaw says, and more words follow, but I zone out.
I stumble away.
