Liars

Isabelle Celia Hearst

I pulled my covers up to my chin.

The thunder rattled my room, making my porcelain piggy bank shudder on my dresser. Shortly after, a flash of lightning illuminated the room.

It wasn't raining yet, but the dark clouds were shadowing the light of the moon.

The booming thunder was not loud enough to drown out the noises of my parents arguing, yelling, screaming at each other.

I lifted my covers and crawled out of my bed, padding down the long hall to my brother's room.

I pushed open Carter's door as quietly as I could, a small creek escaping from the bolts.

"Mom and dad are fighting again," I whispered.

"Come here," He said with his arms out.

I walked right into his embrace.

"Can I sleep with you?" I asked.

"Cece- you're thirteen-"

"Yeah, never mind."

I headed for the door.

"Goodnight," Carter said.

"Goodnight," I sighed.

As I walked to my room, a sudden scream startled me.

Without thinking, I quickly dashed down the steps and towards the living room.

When I got there, my father had his gun pressed against my mother's temple.

Her auburn hair was a tangled mess and her hazel eyes glittered with fear.

I wanted to hide, to run, but I didn't. I couldn't.

My mother is fearless.

My mother was fearless.

"Cece!" My mom gasped.

"What are you doing?" I choked out.

"She's a traiter. Let me do this, Leah," My father said.

"Put the gun down, dad. Think about what you're doing!"

"She deserves this."

"Father," I warned.

I took a step forward.

"Don't come closer, Cece."

"Mom-"

"Don't."

Suddenly, my father pulled out another gun from his trousers.

My breath hitched as my dad placed the gun into my sweaty palms, his other gun still aimed at my mom.

I gripped onto the gun and lifted it up, aiming it at my father.

Before I could do anything more, he grabbed my wrist and moved my arm so the gun was pointing right at my mom's head.

"Let go of me."

"Since you don't want me to pull the trigger so badly, why don't you?" My father said.

"That's my daughter!" My mom yelled.

"Do it, Leah." My father said, ignoring my mom.

"I'm not going to do it! Who do you think I am?" I raised my voice.

"Cece? What's going on down there?" Carter asks from upstairs.

"Just do it, Cece." My mom said, tears slowly spilling from her eyes.

"Do it, or you're dead," My dad warned as he pointed his gun at me.

I gasped.

My brother's footsteps pounded down the stairs, and because I was a terrified, selfish, little girl; because I didn't know what else to do in this kind of situation, I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger.

In Las Vegas, Nevada, on a stormy summer night, Isabelle Celia Hearst died, and with her, a little bit of Celia's own soul.