Guns and Mirrors

ELEVEN

♕Harley Anderson♕

When I'm alone in the apartment, I decide to try and give writing a go. I haven't being able to write anything really good since... well, everything went to shit. Writing has always been my escape when racing couldn't be but I haven't had either these past few months. And, honestly, it's made everything harder.

It feels like I stare at the blank paper for hours. After I've written a few words, I realise just how horrible it is and rip the page out, letting out a strangled and frustrated cry. I throw the book to the end of the room in frustration before crying softly at being unable to do what I love, unable to move on and my inability to just move on and be happy. 

However, my little breakdown is cut short when I hear shouting and yelling and then gunshots from an apartment somewhere else. It doesn't seem like my floor but I can't stop the fear that consumes me. I immediately reach for my phone but only to press it and see the dead battery icon. Panic sets in as more gunshots are heard and shouting.

The Kings are here. I'm going to die.

My legs carry me to the bedroom and I hastily pull out the bag from underneath the bed, ruffling around for the item and when I feel it, I slip it out. The metal of the pistol is smooth and cold and I check to see if there's any bullets in it which there is. Another gunshot makes me flinch and I'm pushing the bag back under the bed before climbing in the cupboard and shutting it close. 

It's a small fit with all our jackets and my dresses hanging but I make it work. There seems to be more shouting and I whimper, covering my hand with my mouth when I hear my door being kicked open. Silent tears stream down my face and I shrink into the corner, only being able to see out of the thin space between the wall and cupboard.

I hear the voices then- one female and the other male. But they speak in Spanish which means I only pick up on a little. The man says something about the place looking like nobody lives here and the woman saying something about dishes in the sink. Their footsteps seem to get louder and it becomes harder for me to keep my fear and panic under wraps and when I hear their footsteps stop just outside of the room and then enter, I grip the gun tighter.

I don't want to kill anyone again.

But I don't want to die either.

There's two of them- they can easily kill me. But I won't go down without a fight.

The man says something before the woman laughs and says something that makes the man seem to growl. I feel them tugging at the cupboard when the woman says something about the next room and they're leaving but not without knocking something off of the kitchen counter on their way out.

I hold my breath a little longer, waiting to make sure they're really gone before I'm leaving the space on shaky legs and quietly exiting the room. I gaze around to find it empty and walk over to the now shattered mug on the floor before placing the gun on the counter and beginning to pick up the broken pieces, unable to wrap my head around what just happened.

Is this how it's always going to be? Me terrified at every moment? And unable to feel safe and secure in my own apartment?

"Harley." Someone says and I shoot up, grabbing the gun and pointing it at the person in record time before I notice it's Cyrus with his hands held up in surrender.

And he's bleeding.

I drop the gun on the counter and run over to him where he has a gash just under his eyebrow that's oozing blood. A lot of blood. And he's clutching his shoulder that is making his white shirt turn red at an unfathomable rate.