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Why are we in a hospital?
But just as the question comes to the forefront of my mind, the ache in my shoulder answers it for me.
I was shot.
I was shot by my stepfather, but I wasn’t the only one.
Gage.
Oh God! Gage!
It’s all coming back to me in a flurry of terror-filled flashes.
All of it.
As hard as I try to expunge the image of my baby brother being struck down, erasing the beautiful light within him, all I can see is his lifeless body. It’s as if I’m back on that abandoned road, living the last seconds of his life all over again, helpless to stop it.
My silent tears stir Zoey awake.
I quickly wipe my tears on the pillow before she’s fully awake.
“Layla! You’re okay!” Zoey squeals in excitement the instant we lock eyes.
“Of course I am, kiddo. I’m like a cat. I’ve got nine lives, didn’t you know?” I tease, rubbing the tip of my nose against hers, praying she doesn’t see the crippling misery in my eyes.
As my kid sister hugs me, I try to hide that every part of me hurts—my head, my shoulder, and every limb on my body, but it’s my heart that bears the brunt of the pain.
Memories of Gage’s last seconds continue to replay in my mind, and it takes extraordinary effort to keep the small smile on my face for Zoey when my soul cries in utter misery. I widen the pathetic smile even more when guilt starts to creep into me as I realize that not one tear I’m holding back is for my mother.
Roy killed her too, and like one would discard an unwanted piece of trash, he left her body to rot in a field.
Although a part of me must have loved her once, I can’t seem to find any lingering shard of that love—not when I’m mourning the loss of my brother, a life she failed to protect.
Like she failed to protect all of us.
“How did we get here?” I ask, hoping that Zoey’s tale on how she was able to get me to the hospital will take my mind off Gage.
I immediately regret the question when Zoey kneels on the mattress and starts talking gibberish about an angel that came to save us. I play along, because no matter how improbable her description of the event is, it’s still better than the one I have.
Unlike Zoey, I didn’t see an angel.
All I saw was the devil himself in my stepfather.
“He was huge, Layla! I mean, he was as tall as the sky and as big as a house, and he picked you up like you didn’t weigh a thing. You should have seen it,” she continues animatedly.
“I’m sorry I missed it.” I grin, my cheeks hurting with the effort, like plastic stretched too thin, about to crack and break. Brittle, that’s what I feel like.
When the twinkle in her eyes starts to dim, I know she’s thinking about how if her so-called angel would have gotten to us ten minutes sooner, then maybe we wouldn’t have lost Gage to that monster.
“Zoey—” I start, but she just shakes her head, not wanting to hear whatever consoling words I have to offer her. Good thing, too, since I’m not sure any words I have could make up for the horrific ordeal we just suffered.
How could I ever justify the loss of a brother and mother to someone so young? I’m still trying to wrap my head around what happened to us and how our little fucked-up family just got cut in half.
“He wasn’t a good man,” she mutters under her breath, unwilling to make eye contact with me. “I knew it all along. Gage never saw it, but I did.”
My shoulders slump at her words, the hate in them so palpable I can almost taste its arsenic.
“It doesn’t matter now. He can’t hurt Gage anymore. Or Mom. And he’ll never hurt us again. Never,” she seethes through gritted teeth, making me wrap my arms around her tiny frame, even if it hurts like hell to do it.
