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Only the gun doesn’t fire.
He mutters a curse, and I start to grab his shoes and throw them at him as hard as I can. When I run out of shoes, I scramble to pick them back up again from the floor, and then I grab the box.
Derrick’s trying to go back for the box too, but I reach it first, and I slam it against the back of his head. It’s heavy and growing heavier with each slam, but I keep hitting him, keep hitting him, keep hitting him…
Blood sprays from a head wound, and Derrick slumps to the ground.
My hands shake as I drop the box to the ground. Bullets fall out. Either the gun hadn’t been loaded or he had the safety on or something. I don’t know. I’m not a gun person, and I hadn’t known Derrick to be one either.
I hadn’t thought my husband would be a mobster.
I hadn’t thought I would be a killer either, yet here we are.
three
My bloody hands terrify me. I don’t know what to do.
The metallic tang of blood lingers in the air, a visceral reminder of the irreversible act I've committed. The weight of my actions settles heavily on my conscience, and the sight of my hands, stained crimson, sends a shiver down my spine. In this surreal moment, I find myself at a crossroads, caught between the horror of what I've done and the urgency to navigate the aftermath.
The room, once a canvas of tension, now bears witness to the aftermath of my desperate act. My hands, still trembling, betray the conflict within, the evidence of a choice made in the crucible of fear and survival. The vivid red against my skin is both a badge of liberation and a haunting reminder of the darkness that has enveloped my life.
The reality of the situation crashes over me, the gravity of my actions sinking in. What do I do now? The question reverberates in my mind like a relentless echo. Panic sets in as I grapple with the consequences, the fear of discovery looming like a storm on the horizon.
The room, bathed in an eerie stillness, becomes a prison of uncertainty. My gaze shifts from my bloodied hands to the surroundings, seeking an answer that eludes me. The walls seem to close in, suffocating me with the weight of the secret I now bear.
The internal conflict rages on – a desperate need to escape the clutches of my past and the paralyzing fear of the unknown future. As the seconds tick away, I am left standing amidst the aftermath, my bloody hands a visual testament to the desperate measures I've taken.
In this disorienting moment, I am faced with a choice—confront the truth or continue to spiral into the abyss of uncertainty. The decision hangs in the air, a heavy burden that demands resolution, and I stand alone in the silence, grappling with the terrifying reality of the path I've chosen.
The room feels like a vacuum, the air heavy with the weight of what I've done. The realization of ending Derrick's life in self-defense crashes over me like a relentless wave, leaving me gasping for breath in the aftermath of the struggle.
I glance at the lifeless form on the floor, my mind grappling with the stark reality of the act committed. The lines between perpetrator and victim blur in the pool of silence that now engulfs the room. Self-defense, the justification echoing in my thoughts, brings little solace as I confront the knowledge that he was not just my abusive husband but a mobster entangled in a dangerous world.
The gravity of his ties to the Scarlet Vipers settles in, casting a pall over the desperate act that led to his demise. The mob, an entity notorious for vengeance and retribution, will not take kindly to his death. Fear, once the unseen force that governed my actions, now takes on a tangible form as I consider the inevitable repercussions.
The room, once a battleground of survival, now becomes a stage for the internal struggle that unfolds within me. The walls seem to close in, bearing witness to the secrets I now carry. The echo of his threats, the shadow of the mafia world he inhabited, seeps into my thoughts, raising the specter of danger beyond the confines of our home.
In the hushed aftermath, I find myself standing at the crossroads of self-preservation and the ominous inevitability of facing the wrath of the mob. The rationalization of self-defense offers little comfort as the stark truth of the dangerous game I've become a part of emerges.
I glance around, my hands still trembling, the remnants of desperation etched into my being. The decision ahead looms like a shadow, demanding a plan for what comes next. With every passing moment, I grapple not just with the aftermath of a life taken but the treacherous journey that awaits in the wake of his connections to the Scarlet Vipers.
Guilt and fear intertwine, weaving a suffocating tapestry that wraps around my every thought. The weight of taking a life, even in self-defense, clings to my conscience like an unrelenting specter. The room, once a haven of torment, now echoes with the haunting aftermath of my desperate act.
Guilt courses through my veins, an insidious poison that seeps into the cracks of my resolve. The lines between right and wrong blur in the wake of the frenzied struggle. Did I have a choice? Was there another way? The questions echo in my mind, but the answers remain elusive, drowned out by the chorus of remorse that reverberates within.
Fear, however, takes a more immediate hold. The realization that Derrick's ties to the Scarlet Vipers extend beyond his life casts a looming shadow over my every thought. The mob, with its ruthless reputation, becomes a specter that haunts my every step. What have I done? The dread of retribution, not just for his death but for the potential threat I now pose to their secrets, tightens like a noose around my neck.
The room becomes a battleground of conflicting emotions, the silence deafening in its indictment. I glance around, my surroundings now a testament to the chaos within. The walls seem to close in, trapping me in a labyrinth of guilt and fear, with no clear path forward.
Every creak of the floorboards, every distant sound, becomes a harbinger of impending danger. The consequences of my actions loom large, and the urgency to escape this gilded prison intensifies. But where do I run? How do I navigate the treacherous path ahead?
The guilt and fear, like twin demons, cast a pall over my ability to think clearly. In this moment of turmoil, I am left standing on the precipice of an uncertain future, grappling with the haunting echoes of guilt and the palpable fear of the unknown consequences that await me beyond these walls.
The stark realization settles over me like a heavy shroud. To stay alive, I must disappear. The room, once a witness to the chaos of my desperate act, becomes the staging ground for a decision that carries the weight of survival.
Guilt and fear, potent adversaries, continue to claw at the edges of my consciousness. The knowledge that the Scarlet Vipers, Derrick's mafia connections, will undoubtedly seek retribution for his death propels me into a stark reality – staying in this place is a gamble with my life.
The urgency to disappear intensifies, a silent imperative that drowns out the tumult within. The walls, once confining, now seem to whisper the necessity of escape. I cast a wary glance around the room, the remnants of my former life now standing as witnesses to the irreversible choice I've made.
