{18+ COMPLETE} For the past three years, Bren Hadaway has been preparing to die.
When he was sixteen, he watched his dad murder his mom. And ever since, he's been counting down the days until it was his turn to be at the end of a gun. And Bren has...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Exam Room #11.
That was the room that we were trying to find as I trailed behind Bren, weaving through the nurses and doctors and equipment. It was a maze, but we eventually found the right place.
I didn't have to drag Bren by his hair to get him here, but he did seem a little tense. So when we got into the room, I waited until Bren took a seat in one of those fugly mauve chairs and then slipped onto his lap, sneaking a quick kiss.
The problem was that Bren didn't really do quick kisses.
The minute that my lips connected with his, he was holding onto me, taking everything with a drugging, deep embrace. Then Bren pulled abruptly back, smiling as he shifted me onto my own chair before the doctor came in.
And suddenly, Bren seemed just fine. More than fine.
But it was almost like all of his tension had been transferred to me. Because as the examination on his shoulder began, and I saw the blood and the grimace on his face, I saw everything again.
Bren crying. Bren telling me he wasn't lucky enough to live. Bren on the ground. Blood.
Tears began to well up in my eyes, and I was torn between staying with him and leaving so that he wouldn't see. The stitches didn't seem to bother Bren, though, and I knew that my crying would. So I gave him a quick kiss on his cheek and then slipped from his grasp. Ducking my head, I tried to hide the tears that were now flowing freely down my face. And somehow, I managed to get into the hallway before choking out a sob.
My feet brought me down the hallway, not wanting Bren to hear me. But I couldn't really tell where I was going, my vision blurry. Brushing along the wall, I stopped at an empty space and slid down it.
Who knew how long I sat on the floor, hiding my face from the nurses and doctors who streamed past. They must see people crying on the floors all the time.
But those people probably had real reasons to be crying. People weren't supposed to cry over stitches, after all.
Eventually, I heard a quiet voice say, "Madie?"
I tried to wipe my tears. But I wasn't fast enough to clear them before peering up into Caroline's kind face. There was a trace of worry there, lingering in the lines between her eyes as she asked, "Is everything okay with Bren?"
Nodding, I continued to wipe moisture from my face. But it was useless. It just kept coming. It was sticking to me, inescapable. And I worried that I wouldn't be able to escape any of this, ever.
But I took a deep breath, determined. When I thought I could talk without crying even harder, I said, "Everything is fine. He's just getting a few stitches."
A little frown formed on her face.
"Then why the tears?"
I swallowed and spoke my truth. The thing that killed me the most. "Because it could have been so much more. And it would have been my fault."
