“I love you too, sweetie.”
I open my eyes as the heaviest weight is lifted off of my torso. I take in a sharp intake of breath, coughing while trying tobreathe in. I blink away the last memories I had with my mother as I try to remember where I am.
I grab at my sore neck and try to take in as much precious air as I can. Suddenly, the memory of where I am and what’s been happening comes crashing through the forefront of my mind and I try to lift my head. As I lay there on the cold wooden floor, I can hear Austin and Miles struggling from a distance.
I roll over and see them fighting. Miles is on top of Austin, throwing punches into his already bloody face. He won’t stop and I’m worried he’s going to kill him.
“Miles!” I cough out, trying to get his attention. He turns and looks at me, stopping for only a moment. Austin uses that to his advantage and punches Miles on the side of his jaw, knocking Miles off of him.
I look around to see if I can find the gun. I spot the pocketknife on the floor covered in Austin's blood and I grab it, gripping it firmly in my right hand. I look up to see Austin now on top of Miles, throwing blow after repeated blow into Miles’ face, then I see the gun. It lays on the floor a small ways away from where they both are.
Austin looks over at me and follows my eyes to where I’m looking. I try to get up and go for the gun, but I’m not fast enough. Austin lunges for it, grabbing the gun before Miles can even process what’s happening, and points the gun at Miles.
Everything in that moment grows still. All my thoughts. All my emotions. I feel nothing for only a brief moment.
Until he pulls the trigger.
My entire world collapses before me as I let out the most loud, horrific, ear shattering scream. I see nothing but red. Without thinking about the risks of the gun he holds in his hands, I get up and lunge for Austin, jumping onto him and stabbing him repeatedly with the pocket knife I have gripped in my right hand.
I don’t stop, not even after his lifeless body grows still beneath me, I keep stabbing. Into his chest. Into his neck. Into his skull. I stab and I stab until, eventually, I don’t have the energy to keep going.
I drop the knife from my blood-soaked hands and crawl over to where Miles is laying on the floor. I look down at the gunshot wound on the right side of his chest and place my hand over it.
I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if I’m just making it worse, but I have to do something.
I grab my phone from my back pocket and call Nate. He answers before the phone even gets the chance to ring and I take in a deep breath.
“Please come back. It’s Miles. He’s been shot.”
I drop the phone, not even waiting for Nate to respond or hanging up. I don’t know what to think or how to feel. I don’t think Icanfeel.
I look back down at Miles and grab onto his hand. His eyes are shut and his body is completely still. I lay my head on his stomach and I begin to weep.
As I lay there, crying and soaking his wounds with my tears, I think about all the memories we never got the chance to make. I think about how much my mother would have loved him and how proud she would be to see me walking down the aisle to him, ready to become his bride.
I hold on to his hand as tight as I can, never wanting to let go of him. I can hear the sirens from the distance as Nate and Morgan run through the doors of the theater, but I don’t move. I can’t. He wouldn’t want me to leave him, so I don’t.
Three slow, soft squeezes.
One.Squeeze.
Two.Squeeze.
Three.Squeeze.
I lift my head quickly and look at Miles. His eyes are open, barely, but they’re there. My eyes are wide and I can feel my heart start to beat again heavily in my chest.
“M-Miles. Oh my god, Miles!”
“D-don’t…let…g-go…”
Epilogue
Miles
I don’t remember fallingasleep. That’s the first thing that bothers me. Usually, there’s some kind of warning before I lose consciousness. A moment where my body gives up before my mind does. A point where I know I’m slipping and can feel myself being dragged under.
This time, there’s nothing. Just a blank space. A missing piece of time that my brain keeps trying to fill in and failing. The memories that do come back don’t arrive in order. They’re scattered, broken pieces that cut through the fog before disappearing again.
