Troubled

Chapter 17

"What the hell?!"

"Inggrid, I can--"

"You are dripping mud on the newly flourished floor!" I exasperatedly threw my hands up.

"It's not actually mud." Craig says as he stared at the gun in his hand and my heart started to slap against my chest. "It's blood."

I tried to process the given information.

"James' to be specific."

I didn't want to process the given information.

He slowly looked up at me, tears brimming in his eyes and my insides whirl up. I have never seen someone that broken.

"Craig." I gasped. "Wh-what are you talking about?" I tried to touch his arm but he yanked it away and leaned hi head against the door frame.

"We were almost out, we were almost free, it was almost at our fingertips. Almost." Craig laughed like he was losing his mind. "Keep pressure and the bleeding stops, right?"

My breath got caught up in my throat as I realize where this conversation was going and I wanted to slap my hand onto Craig's mouth to make him stop talking but I couldn't even move a muscle.

"He took the shot for me and Bruce and I, we- goddamntit- we tried saving him."

Tried.

"And James was-" Craig sank onto the floor followed by continuous sobbing and I was still rooted in place. Why can't I move?"- and I killed them, I killed every last one of them-" he stared at the gun maniacly. "- but it wasn't enough to bring him back."

"No." I breathed out as I fell on my knees. I didn't mind the bruises that was forming due to the impact to the ground. "Craig, this is not funny! James isn't dead!" I was furious. Furious at Craig. Furious at the world. Furious about life.

Craig didn't answer. His shoulders shook from crying.

"James can't be dead."

"Oh, Inggrid, I wish the same thing too."

•••

Life is a journey- a short term journey.

Life is a train, fast and fun until you hit the pit stop.

Never had I imagined James hitting his pit stop so soon.

Life is a bitch, a sucker, a teaser. Life is so damn unfair.

I pushed through the front door holding up a black tuxedo I got from Craig's apartment. He had been crashing over my place and sleeping on the couch for two days now. I actually felt guilty with him taking the couch. The last time he spend a night here he obligated to pre-own my bed but Craig didn't even argue about sleeping on the couch. He self proclaimed it. And I feel even worse though I know that what he feel is something I, myself, can't even describe.

Craig looks directly at the window. He sat on the couch right where I left him with the cold coffee, I presume, in his hands.