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“I thought that was gonna be fun, but you just pissed me off. You don’t fucking love him, you stupid bitch! I know it!” he yells in my face, dropping the knife and grabbing hold of my neck.
Closing my eyes, I wait to see Kingston in my head, flashing back to the night he saved me. I remember wishing Joel would kill me, just so I could not feel the pain anymore. I had imagined Kingston in my mind before I took my last breath.
Joel’s grip gets tighter on my neck and his voice starts to drown out as I float out of my body, into a place in my head where I see Kings, but unlike last time, he is not alone. Princeton is older, standing beside him, tears running down his face. He looks like Kingston, brown hair curly atop his head, green eyes rimmed in red from tears, his little dimples showing as he tries to fight the heavy emotions already taking control of him.
I see Kingston holding a little girl who looks like me, her head on his shoulder as they both cry. When I start to lose consciousness and it slips away slowly, I see two more figures approaching Kingston, two little boys with eyes like mine. They wear that same grief as they tangle themselves around Kingston. My family, I see them in my own heaven as I fight for my last few moments on earth. Princeton whispers “Mama,” and something overtakes me then. My body awakens, and all the strength I never knew I had fights back. Blinking rapidly, I kick, buck, heave, and push, not slowing down, my hands breaking free somehow, and the pain from the cut is minimal. So much adrenaline—too much to survive for.
“Be the survivor. Quit letting him win.” Kingston’s words echo as I fight, finally pushing Joel hard enough to have him fall flat on his back, off the side of the bed, and losing his breath from the impact. I keep moving, my body having a mind of its own as I grab the knife beside me. He coughs and slowly tries to stand, but I’m faster. Reaching into Kingston’s nightstand, I find his gun, keeping my arm firmly extended with the knife facing Joel.
“Get up, coward!” I scream, spit leaving my mouth, my blood running hotly down my arm and onto my ripped shirt. “Now!” Now towering over him with a gun and knife in my hands, my gun training comes back to memory. With steady hands, I flip off the safety on the silver-and-black weapon.
He stands slowly, his hands in the air as he comes to his full height. “Don’t you do it, baby.”
“Do not call me that! I’m not yours!” I back up as he does, waiting for him to make a move, knowing who he is well enough to know he will try to gain control again.
“You don’t have the fucking guts. You’re the coward.”
With that, my son’s loud cries come from the other room and it fuels the darker side of me. With a sly grin, I shake my head. “Try me.” He looks over his shoulder toward Prince’s room. “Look at me!” I draw his eyes away from the baby’s room and they form tight slits, his jaw clenching.
“Oh, Lana, you really have no idea what you’re doing. You’re only pissing me off more. You should know better.”
“Don’t you try to fucking threaten me now, damn it! I have this gun aimed straight at you! I’m in control now!” I’m not the old Lana. I’m someone new in her flesh and bones, the victim waiting to break free.
“What are you going to do? Shoot me?”
“I’ll send you straight to hell where you came from,” I seethe, my eyes boring into him.
“And if you miss, I will just kill you, and then I’ll walk right into that room.” He points to Princeton’s room and I rage. Going black, the room round him shakes like an earthquake in my brain.
“Shut up! You will never fucking touch my family!” I take strong, unafraid steps toward him, and for the first time, I see him cower back in fear, but he hurries to mask it.
“Come on, baby. You know you can’t hurt me. You love me, angel.” He changes his tune, and I physically twitch, on the verge of complete psychosis.
“I never loved you. It was him, and it will always be him. Forever. And you will never touch him or what is ours. You will never have any part of me.”
“Oh, but don’t I?” he challenges. “Don’t I still haunt your nightmares? Don’t I still mar your fucking skin? Do I not make you afraid of the fucking dark!” His voice is deafening, and Prince screams louder. I hear noises downstairs and he smirks, the sound of fast steps bounding up the stairs. Hilary had to have heard us, and I prepare for her entrance as I keep the gun on him, my eyes never leaving him.
I can’t show him fear. I won’t. I have to protect my life, my family.
“Lana!” I hear Trey and then see him take up the doorway with his gun pointed. I swallow, and for a brief moment, I falter, thankful I’m not alone, that my best friend is here. Another best friend who has come to save me. But this time, I won’t let them. I will save myself.
“Lana!” He points his gun at Joel.
I yell, “No! Do not touch him! You will never win again. I promise, I no longer fear you!” I sob and shake, blinking my eyes as Joel laughs. I fall weak for a moment, feeling everything inside me from all these years leaving me.
“You are a weakling. You always will be, and you always fucking have been, bitch!” With that, he advances on me, taking my moment of weakness and running with it. Trey yells, and everything happens faster than I have time to process. I hear the deafening sound of a gun, and I close my eyes, bracing myself for the impact of Joel and the last breath of my life. My eyes stay shut, but the impact never comes, and the sickening sound of a heavy body hitting the floor has my eyes opening slowly.
Everything moves in slow motion. Trey moving to me. The blue-and-red lights outside the window reflecting on the walls as the sound of sirens fill my ears. Joel lies on the ground in a pool of his own bloo
d, and I drop my hand slowly.
“Lana, hey! You in there?” Trey’s voice tunnels back in. Slowly, through teary eyes, I find his ice-blue ones.
“What...what happened?” I stutter.
“You shot him, babe,” Trey whispers, pulling me into his arms and consoling me. I don’t respond, but my eyes stay focused on Joel over Trey’s bicep. I shot him? I don’t know why, but guilt overtakes me. I never wanted to hurt anyone, and even though I had to defend myself and he has hurt me more times to count, I still feel consumed with shame.
“Is he...? Is he...?” I stutter, sobbing into his chest.
