Resistance • l.h.

Sixty

I never exactly gave much thought to how I would die.

When I did, I always imagined it would be far into the future from a sickness or old age, with my children and my grandchildren at my deathbed. Or maybe from a car crash, taking my kids home from practice.

Never did I think my mother, the person who gave me life, would be the same person to take me out. I couldn't believe it was coming down to this. Her blood actually runs in my veins, and that kills me.

"Mom?" I asked, my voice sounding like someone was strangling me. "Please don't do this. You aren't thinking straight."

Whoever--whatever my mother has become corrupted her in a way that I don't think she could possibly ever heal. What could scar a person so badly to make them shoot their own flesh and blood?

"I have to," she mumbled, "it's the only way the voices will go away."

The voices?

I took a deep breath, shuddering when her grip tightened on the bottom of the gun. "Mom, who are the voices?"

"The damn voices that appeared after the divorce. The ones that were quiet until I slept with Calum for the first time. They just got louder when I found out my husband was fucking my daughter."

I shook with fright. Jocelyn was sick. She needed help.

"And now, I've let the voices in. And they tell me, things will be better when you're gone. It would be so much easier if you were gone."

"You don't mean that," I plead, watching her cock the gun.

"It would have been so much easier if I didn't give birth 18 years ago."

I closed my eyes, and absorbed her hurtful words.

My mothers kind face from years ago flooded into my mind, memories of her smile and loving gestures. I reminisced at the moments we spent with each other, the times we were the best of friends.

Tears streamed from my tightly shut eyes as I accepted the situation at hand until I heard a familiar voice.

"No!" It bellowed, and I sharply turned my head, to see Luke, his face red with anger and horror.

The next few moments passed in a blur. The sound of a gunshot. The sight of seeing Luke fall onto the floor. The noise of my own shouts, filling my ears. The metallic smell of blood filling the air.

I rushed over to Luke, hands convulsing as I called 911. Jocelyn had ran out the door as soon as the shot was fired. The only thing that stopped me from not killing her myself at this moment was the face of the broken man in front of me.

Luke's eyes popped out of his head before closing in pain, hand over the wound that was somewhere in his stomach. He was trying to talk but nothing was coherent; they sounded more like low groans.

"Luke, oh my God," I cried as I tried to answer the questions the person on the other end was asking me. I was slowly losing my mind; I could literally feel the chaos of the event slowly creep into my head.

"Please get here fast. HURRY!" I screamed into the phone, before throwing my phone to the floor, and taking Luke's face into my hands instead. He was sweating and shaking, his face paleing quickly.

"Luke, please, stay with me. You said you would never leave. Please, please, please," I said hysterically, tears blurring the world around me.

"I love you Angel," he managed to whisper, and I watched him slip into the darkness.

Thank you so much to everyone who's still with this story. Love you all <3