Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“Soon. Tonight. It might be late. Keep your phone on.”
I wonder if he heard what I said in the darkness before he closed the door. I love you. With the fear pumping through me and the darkness consuming us, it felt like the last time I might see him. It felt like I had to say it right then.
Hanging up, I look over at Mom again. “Uh, Jamie might come by later.”
I wonder if she’s completely slipped into another mental state. Maybe I should call one of the numbers the cops gave us when we demanded to go home. It has therapists and mental health specialists listed.
Mom slowly turns to me and nods. “He told me in the cell. He told me you two were together. He said you were going to have a family together.”
I swallow. Suddenly, it’s like the tough shell I wear breaks apart. Hearing Mom talk about a family lets the emotion pound into me of staying in the bunker with Demon and wondering if they were dead. The frantic drive home. The nerves as I walked into that evil place.
Then, the gunshot. I’m shaking. I’ve had panic attacks before, but this is the worst. My vision gets hazy. Mom sits beside me, her arm wrapped around my shoulder. “Count your breaths with me, Lena. Come on. Count them.”
Slowly, I focus on her voice and instructions. I feel worn out, almost hollow, when it’s done. I hug her, careful to be gentle. I know she’s in pain.
“Jamie did that for me,” she whispers. “After Antonio Romero… I was panicking, and he helped me get through it.”
I hold her tighter, knowing this isn’t the right time to ask this. Yet after all the fighting, the near death, the right time seems like a silly concept. The right time has to be now because who knows what tomorrow will bring?
“Are you attracted to him, Mom?” I ask quietly. “Is that why…” You lied. “You said that stuff about the dates?”
Mom laughs quietly. “I’m not attracted to him, dear. No.”
“Then—”
“I just… Lena, I’m puzzling some stuff out. I need time to pray. I need time to understand. I need time to ask myself some very tough questions.”
“Like what?”
“Like…” She clutches onto me tightly. “Is it worth going crazy again if it means I stop lying to my daughter?”
“Mom, I don’t under—”
“Please,” she says sharply. “Please, not now. I can still hear those police officers’ voices. I can still smell the gun smoke. I can still hear the screams.”
“Oh, Mom.”
She breaks down, crying passionately. I can’t help but cry with her. This must be so much harder for her. She’s been through it twice and doesn’t have a future with Jamie to cling to. I hold that tightly. I remind myself that, no matter how bad this gets, we have a future. We have each other.
“I lied to you,” Mom says, leaning back, wiping her tears. “I lied in the ugliest way. Lena, I made up a whole different world about me and Jamie. He told me what you said about wanting a family.”
“It’s true,” I whisper. “Mom, I’m sorry. I wanted him even when I thought you were together. I wanted him the first time I saw him. I hated that you were together, or I thought you were. I get it, Mom, okay? I get why you lied. You wanted to protect me fr—”
Mom stands abruptly. It’s doubly shocking considering how frail she seems as if she’s willing to tolerate the pain from the sudden movement if it means ending this. “It’s not what you think,” she says. “I-I’m going to take a nap. Is that okay, Lena?”
“You don’t have to ask me, Mom.”
“A nap,” she repeats to herself, head ducked, not looking at me. “Everything seems better after a nap.”
I smile, heart aching. Dad used to say that to me when I was little, if I was throwing a tantrum or acting grouchy. I sit in the living room, staring at the TV screen at the commercials. My eyes feel heavy, too, but I can’t sleep while thinking about Jamie out there, alone, hurt, still trying to get to the heart of this.
Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rings. It’s Joan. She’s holding a glass dish of lasagna with a kitchen towel, her lips trembling as she steps forward. “L-Lena. Poor thing. Are you hungry?”
Jamie must’ve deleted the message on her phone somehow. She’s looking at me like I’m a complete victim who’s been locked up for days. That’s what the world has to believe. Nobody can ever know I fought back. Nobody can ever know I killed a man.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Jamie
I park in the street several spots behind Lena’s, my body still sore, my eyes heavy. It’s ten p.m. I’ve been awake for what feels like days, running on sheer adrenaline. I walk over to the ladder which leads to the roof of the electronics store, knocking on it three times.