Stall 2

Chapter 49.

"And not to pull your halo down

Around your neck and tug you off your cloud
But I'm more than just a little curious
How you're planning to go about making your amends
To the dead"

Song: Noose - A Perfect Circle.

*******

I am never touching a gun ever again.

'What's the worst that could happen Abby?'

'They're not as bad as you think Abby.'

'You're only shooting at an abandoned building Abby.'

Tell that to Jimmy's leg!

I felt so fucking awful. I don't care if it only grazed his leg either, it was enough to cut him and that damn gash looked painful. How were they all being so calm about it!

This is the exact reason I don't like guns and they've terrified me. It's fine for Harry and Jimmy, and the rest of them, they're used to guns but I didn't grow up around them or around people that used them. The small town I lived in, people only used them on farms and for hunting but even then I never saw them in person.

I mean, until I met Harry the thought or worry of being shot literally had never crossed my mind or a worry I had ever had. I've never even thought about it.

The most I ever worried about, if someone say attacked me or whatever, was being stabbed probably. Maybe a machete too? I always saw on the news about people using machetes. But never guns.

And now here I am, fucking trigger happy fuckin Abby shooting out car windows and someones god damn leg!

You just shouldn't give me weapons, I shouldn't be trusted with a bloody stove let alone a gun.

I can't cook pancakes! Why the hell would you give me a deadly weapon!

Both Harry and Jimmy, as well Jacob tried to make me feel better before we all left; as much as I appreciated it, and it did stop me freaking out, it didn't stop me feeling guilty. God it all could've been so much worse.

Harry's offer of "What if I shoot his other leg, would that make you feel better?" had me looking at him like a lunatic.

How would that make me feel better?!

While Jimmy sat in the front seat next to him, and threw a chicken nugget at him, "This isn't fuckin 'shoot Jimmy day' asshole -- I'm in pain, have some sympathy you rude bitch."

"Stop being such a cry baby about it," Harry had scoffed while he drove us back to Jimmy's so Steve could drop us home (seeing as Jimmy wasn't feeling up to driving - can you blame him?)

"Says the cry baby that got dropped on his ass by a mouse, at least my excuse is that she fuckin shot me" Jimmy throws back and then makes whiny noises mocking Harry's accent with a mouth full of nuggets; pressing the back of his hand to his forehead like he's in agony "Oooo owe mah poor widdle wibs, Abbeh whot da fook, Ahm such'a littal pusseh."

I couldn't see Harry's face very well, but I saw his shoulders bristle and his hands grip the steering wheel like he was going to rip it off.

As horrible as I felt, I had to cover my mouth and turn my face away to look out the rear window to hide the laugh I was praying I wouldn't let out.

There was still glass on the floor from the window getting shattered, but we managed to get most of it off the back seat before we left; otherwise I'm fairly sure Harry would have made me sit in Jimmy's lap.