Her eyes found mine instantly.
And then she smiled.
A weak, bloody smile.
“You finally figured it out,” she rasped. “I wanted everything,” she admitted, breathing unevenly. “Your clothes. Your apartment. Your reputation.” Tears mixed with blood near her mouth as she laughed weakly. “Booda too.”
Something dark twisted deeper inside me.
“You walked through life like you were that bitch,” she continued. “Like you were the only hoe that mattered.” Her eyes drifted across my face. “Meanwhile, I was just your single, broke sidekick. The third wheel, if you will. The crazy part, I really did love you.”
The migraine pounding through my skull intensified.
“You really loved me? Bitch, do you know how stupid you sound?” I asked quietly.
“Yes, but it’s the truth. You don’t know what it feels like watching everybody choose you over and over again. That’s why you were supposed to die,” Giani replied. “And if you did, I could finally stop feeling second place to you.”
For a second, all I heard was the ringing inside my head.
Then Giani laughed again.
Soft.
Weak.
Cruel.
“Maybe in your next life you’ll get to be that bitch,” I replied.
Then I emptied the clip into her face.
The gunshot erupted, tearing through the silence, and I staggered forward, my heart pounding, disbelief mingling with the horror of what I had just done.
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer with each passing second. I stood there, chest heaving, the gun hanging limp at my side as smoke curled from the barrel. My ears rang with a high-pitched whine that wouldn’t stop, and beneath it, I could hear the shuffle of doors opening, the murmur of voices, and neighbors emerging to witness the aftermath of what I’d done.
What I’d just done.
The migraine that had been building behind my eyes suddenly crested, and I staggered backward, my free hand pressing hard against my temple. The world tilted sideways, and I had to force myself to keep from falling.
Giani lay sprawled on the concrete, her body still, her eyes fixed on nothing. The blood pooled around her head in a dark halo, spreading slowly across the rough texture of the concrete, dead center of the apartments.
The gun hung at my side as I stared at Giani’s body. Decades of friendship lay lifeless on that concrete, and yet, I felt nothing but an empty ache. And though I couldn’t make myself cry, partof me broke knowing there was a time I would’ve killed anybody else in the world to protect her.
My head throbbed where she’d hit me with that statue, and I could feel blood trickling down the side of my face, mixing with sweat. The migraine was still there, a vicious pounding that made it hard to think clearly. But even through the pain, even through the fog of violence, one thing was crystal clear.
I had to move.
The sirens grew louder, and I forced myself to move, ignoring the way my vision swam with each step.
My car.
I needed my car. I needed to be gone before those red and blue lights painted the complex.
I turned and walked back toward it, my legs unsteady beneath me. The neighbors froze when they saw me headed their way, their eyes tracking the gun still hanging at my side, and the blood on my face. Nobody tried to stop me. Nobody said a word. They just stared, frozen in that moment between witnessing and understanding.
My car sat exactly where I’d left it, parked haphazardly near the edge of the lot. The driver’s side door was still hanging open from when I’d rushed out, and through the haze of pain and adrenaline, I was grateful for small mercies. The keys dangled in the ignition, waiting.
I slid behind the wheel and didn’t waste a second. The engine roared to life, and I threw the car into reverse without checking my mirrors. A neighbor’s vehicle honked, but I flicked them off and kept going until I reached my apartment complex twenty minutes away.
