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“What do I want?” He tilts his head to the side, huffing softly. “What do I want? I want fucking revenge for my brother. That’s what I want! I want you to suffer like he’d been suffering for years, always having to be in your shadow until you finally killed him. It’s your damn fault that he’s dead!”
It’s your damn fault he’s dead.
His words, the same ones that he threw at me when I tried to attend the funeral, are like a punch to my gut, making the guilt rise back to the surface. The guilt for not noticing something was off with my best friend. The guilt for not being there for him when he needed me the most. The guilt—
“He didn’t do anything. It was your bro—” Penelope’s protest is cut by a whimper that breaks me out of my thoughts.
“Do you seriously want me to cut out that tongue of yours?” Bobby growls, the knife digging more into her throat. “Because I’m going to do it. And then there will be no more singing.”
“Will you stop it already? She didn’t do anything to you. Just let her fucking go.”
I can see the movement in the back from the corner of my eyes. Security is closing in on the stage—fucking finally—but I don’t dare turn to them because I fear it might draw Bobby’s attention to them, and I want his attention on me.
Not security.
And definitely not Penelope.
“Just let her go, Bobby, and then we can talk about this.”
“There is nothing to talk about!” he yells loudly, hatred evident in every word that comes out of his mouth. “You killed Christian, and then you continued with your pretty little life with zero consequences while he’s rotting six feet under, and nobody remembers him.”
“I remember him!” I protest. “He was my best friend.”
One of my only friends. He didn’t care who my parents were, who I was, or how popular I became. He grounded me. He was my connection to reality and my life from before.
Maybe if I paid more attention, I would have noticed something was going on with him sooner. I’ll never forgive myself for being so stuck in my own head that I failed to notice how he’d become dependent on hard drugs.
“If he was your friend, you wouldn’t have killed him!” Bobby yells, jerking his hand toward me. “And now you’re here, pretending to care about people struggling with addiction when you were the one who drove my brother to drugs!”
The sudden movement has the knife slipping from his hand and falling somewhere on the stage. His eyes widen as he realizes what just happened, but I don’t wait a second before I run toward him, closing the distance between us.
Get to Penelope.
I have to get to Penelope.
But just as I’m within arm’s reach, something flashes in his hand.
“If I were you, I’d take a step back, Bash,” he says, his voice eerily calm.
Chills run down my spine as I do exactly what he says, making sure not to make any sudden movements as he places the barrel of the gun against Penelope’s forehead.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Didn’t think I’d have a backup, now did you?” He shakes his head. “I’ve waited for months,months, to do this, Bash. I wasn’t about to risk anything when the opportunity finally presented itself.”
Where the hell is everybody?
Security? Police?
Why are they not doing anything?
“What do you want, Bobby?” I try again.
Talking.
I need to keep him talking until somebody comes and Penelope can get free.
She needs to be okay.
