The Angels

Chapter Fourteen

Word Count: 857 (Short Chapter, I know.)

PARIS

If someone had told me a week ago that I would have been in this situation, I wouldn't have believed them. Not only would I not have believed I'd be involved with a gang, I wouldn't have believed that Beau would have left me here.

But seeing the look on his face when he talked to Jules, and seeing Jules' reaction... I can definitely understand his reason for going. And he left me here because it was safer. But me, being selfish, would rather die than to have to grieve him. That's about the most selfish choice in the world I can think of, but I would do it.

But here I found myself in this position. The only person I even slightly trusted in here was Alex, because Jules had been talking to him earlier. Everybody else looks foreign, and intimidating.

I knew that none of them are looking at me- actually, it is so busy and tense that I don't think anybody sees me right now. I zone out, because this is what I do. Alex checks on me a few times.

I don't want to admit it, but I'm scared. Not of dying, for the most part. But I don't know what's going on, I don't know who any of these people are. My heart beat spikes, and I take a deep breath. I remain depersonalized enough, detached enough, and then I calm down.

I view the events in my life right now as if they're not realty. And who knows- how can I be sure that they are? I sit numbly and stare at one spot. Thoughts cross my mind, I'm sure, but I have no idea what they are. Alex asks me something once and I must have responded, but I don't know what I say. But I must have said something, right?

I must sit here for over an hour, but I don't know what time it is when it happens. I don't know exactly what happens, but I watch as the energy in the room changes. They go from trying to be helpful to being cautious.

My breath catches in my throat and my palm itches. I look down at it and notice I'm shaking. Shaking? Shivering? I don't know. Actually, when I think about it, I think I have been for a while now.

I stand up, because I can't sit down anymore. Alex sees this, sighs and walks over. He seems anxious, but I don't know him. He could be like this all the time.

I want to ask him what's going on, what should I do. But I can't seem to make the words come out of my mouth.

"Hey. Change of plans. Take this. You know how to shoot it?" I stare at the item he's pressed into my hand.

A gun. He gave me a gun. I have a gun. I have a loaded gun in my hand. I've only heard the metal on guns described as smooth and cold. But this metal is rough, tattered. There are scrapes and scratches on this gun, and my hand is too numb to feel whether it is cold or not.

But it is heavy. The gun weighs down on my palm, and my fingers curl around it.

"Hello?" Alex asks. I blink, and force myself out of it. I nod, and I'm not lying. I know how to shoot a gun.

"Only use this in the worst case scenario. If they show up here, run. Run home, run somewhere safe. We'll get the gun back somehow, don't worry about it. And don't shoot to kill." He tells me. Alex gives me one last look, asks if I'm okay, and leaves.

I stand there, studying the gun in my hand. I want to look away, to give it back, to drop it, but I can't.

With the gun, I couldn't help but think... all of the loneliness, the desolation, the isolation.... I could end it all now. I've always thought that would be selfish. But Beau was selfish to go with Jules, Mom and Dad were selfish to move us over here. Ryder... Ryder hadn't been selfish at all.

But everyone's allowed to be selfish once in a while. It would be the last sin I ever committed. Would Mom and Dad understand? Beau would. Beau would tell them. He would tell them why I did it, he would explain to them why...

Am I seriously considering this?

Before I can do anything else, a fight breaks out. I look out the window, and there are people swarming the house. I'm terrified, but at the same time I'm not. Before I can think about it, I bolt out the back door and run. I run, and I run and I run. I can't feel my feet hitting the ground, I don't remember making my legs move. But I'm not where I was just a moment ago, so I must be running.

I run, because when I stop, I have to think. I have to feel emotions, I have to make decisions. My only relief is that maybe I won't have to feel for much longer.