I was a throwaway kid. Not one person gave a single damn about me. That’s why I ended up in juvenile detention when they knew who was truly guilty. When they knew what Robert George was doing and would continue to do if I hadn’t sunk that knife into his gut.
But I guess sealing my records was enough to alleviate their guilt of locking me up.
Not that it mattered. Another home or detention. At least in detention I didn’t have to pretend. I was treated like a criminal, but at least I was left alone. No one fucked with me there. Not the guards and not the other kids.
But that’s all past and feeling Lev behind me now, feeling his strong arm tighten around my middle, I know he can keep me safe. And he may even want to. Or think he wants to.
If Josh wasn’t in the picture, would he want to then, I wonder. But I don’t let myself go down that road. Instead, I have to think about Josh.
I feel Lev’s body relax behind me. He’s not gripping me.
If I’m quick, I can get out. Knock him out long enough to get back to the school, get Josh, and get out.
Josh will be upset not to have his things, but I’ll fix that later. I have no choice because I can’t allow the alternative.
“I need to use the bathroom.” I roll backward a little, and my belly quivers at the feel of him behind me. It’s like my body remembers. And I think about something. About when we were together.
I used to come when Mr. George touched me. When he forced me. I felt sick about it, but I did. And he loved it. Loved rubbing my face in it. Loved that Joshua saw me come again and again. Saw me enjoy the very thing that revolted me. That had me puking my guts out after it was over.
But when I was with Lev, it was different.
It was beautiful.
Fuck.
He pulls his arm away, and I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. They come away wet, and when I look at him, he isn’t surprised or upset I guess that I’m still wiping away tears.
I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed.
Lev stands, and I look up at him on the other side of the bed.
He’s beautiful in a cruel sort of way. When he’s not smiling, there’s something dark about him. But when he smiles, and he does just now, I see that dimple. And just as Josh’s smile reminds me of Lev, Lev’s reminds me of Josh.
And that’s what I need to think about now. Josh is who I need to think about.
Lev walks around the bed and takes my arm. He leans down, and I look up. His face is only inches from mine. He squeezes my arm a little. It doesn’t hurt, but I know it can hurt. I know he can make it hurt. He’s warning me.
“Don’t try anything stupid, understand?”
Can he read my mind?
I blink fast, and it takes all I have not to look away, but I know if I do, he’ll see I’m lying. So instead, I nod, swallowing back my anxiety.
I have one shot at this. And if I fail…no, I can’t think about that. I can’t fail.
He releases me, gestures to the bathroom with a jerk of his head, and slips his phone out of his back pocket.
I walk awkwardly with just the one boot on into the bathroom. I have to remember to grab the other one when I leave.
I’m closing the door when Lev calls my name.
“Kat.”
I stop and peer out.
“Don’t lock it.”
I slip back and close the door. The lock is one of those push-button locks anyway, and I’m sure he could break that without much effort, so it’s not a big deal to leave it unlocked.
I turn to the sink and meet my reflection. My face is blotchy, my eyes puffy and red from crying. I turn the tap and cup a handful of cold water to splash on my face. I keep it running as I bend down and open the cabinet beneath the sink. I know when it will creak so I’m careful to stop just before. I reach my arm inside and twist my body so I can reach around behind the pipes.
There, taped to the top of the cabinet, I feel the hard metal of the pistol I purchased illegally four years ago. Two nights after I ran.
I practiced with it that year I was pregnant, but I haven’t touched it since Josh was born. I hate the thing, and even now, taking the cold, hard pistol in the palm of my hand, as small as it is, I feel its power, and I know the damage it can do. The havoc it will wreak.
But I have no choice.
I straighten. It’s loaded. Six bullets. So, I guess I have six chances, not one.
“Kat?” Lev calls from the other side of the door.
“Just a sec,” I say, flushing the toilet and taking a deep breath. I flex my hand around the pistol, stare straight ahead at the door and cock the gun.
Then I open the door.
Lev’s a few feet away. He looks up as he finishes typing the last of his text and tucks the phone into his pocket. I think that all happens in just a split second of time. It just feels like it’s stretched out to me.
When I lift my arm, it feels like slow motion. His expression changes, darkening as I raise the gun and aim it at him.
I don’t have to shoot him.
I don’t want to hurt him.
Maybe I can make him cuff himself to the bed. Maybe I can do that.
Lev’s eyes narrow. He looks disappointed first, then angry as his mouth tightens into a thin, hard line.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I hear myself say, and my voice sounds strange, as though I’m in a tunnel. I’m crying again. I feel the tears, and my hand is shaking, and I have to shoot. I have to.
“Put it down, Kat.”
I shake my head.
He takes a step toward me.
I take one back. I need to shoot. Now. I need to pull that damned trigger.
“Handcuff yourself to the bed,” I try, my voice trembling. Weak.
He takes another step. I’m almost out of space.
“I’ll shoot. I mean it.”
My back touches the wall. I didn’t realize I was still backing up. But Lev keeps coming, taking that last step until he’s pressing his chest into the barrel of the gun, leaning into it.
“No, you won’t.”
“Please,” I sob. I’m the one with the gun, yet I’m pleading with him.
He cocks his head, eyes matching the cold steel of the weapon. He closes his big hand over mine, and I have no choice. I have to do this. I have to shoot.
And I do.
I pull the trigger.
The sound isn’t like the night at Nina’s. That popping was quieter. This shot, it’s loud. And we’re both falling.
As we go down, Lev shifts his position, changing his grip of my gun hand to my wrist, aiming it over my head.
Another shot goes off, and I hear myself scream as glass shatters somewhere behind me.
His other hand comes around to cup the back of my head just as I hit the floor, the wood hard as I slam into it with his weight on top of me.
I’m not sure if it’s the force of the fall or his grip on my wrist that has my hand opening, but the gun slides across the floor and under the bed. I watch it, then turn to him. I should see blood. I shot him.
Didn’t I?
But there’s no blood, and Lev isn’t hurt. He’s just really, really pissed.
He takes my jaw and squeezes so hard I think he’s going to break it. “Didn’t I tell you not to do anything stupid?” he asks through gritted teeth.
I claw at his forearm, feeling his skin under my fingernails. Instinct takes over, and I ram my knee up into his balls.