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Emily
I huddle in that darkened bathroom, with every passing moment cursing the fact that I left my phone out on my desk next to my laptop. I was so eager to get my gun and shoot Jay that I forget about it. And now, it’s out there, and I’m trapped in here.
After some time, and a few kicks against the bathroom door, it goes quiet. But still, I stay in the bathroom, holding the gun and a crying baby and my breath. I don’t dare get up and check outside, yet, because it’s only been a little while and it could be a trap. I wouldn’t put it past Jay to sit out there, quiet, to make me think that he’s left, and then snatch me as soon as I open the door. He knows I have a baby with me; he knows that means I have to be extra careful, and he’ll definitely try to take advantage.
So I sit in the bathtub, gun pointed at the door, and I wait.
Then I hear movement out in my living room. Muffled, angry voices. At least two of them. It’s hard to make out what they’re saying over the pounding in my ears.
More movement, more shouting.
Then I hear a voice at the door. I don’t recognize it.
“She’s in here,” it says. Then the door handle moves as he tests it, finds it locked. It’s followed then by a shoulder hitting the door, again, and then a pause, before a kick knocks it open.
On the other side, I see the shape of a man holding a gun.
That’s all I need to know what I have to do.
I pull the trigger.
The bullet hits him in the shoulder and he drops, a scream of pain erupting from his open mouth. Beside me, Charlie howls in shock and terror. Gun in my hand, still ready, I stand from the tub and stride forward, ready to finish the job; I’ll shot this man as many times as it takes and then I’ll shoot Jay, too. He won’t bother me or anyone I love ever again.
The moment the strange man hits the ground, screaming, I hear something else. A shout from elsewhere in my apartment, a familiar voice. Hunter.
“Diesel, what is it? Did you fucking shoot someone?”
I slump to the ground in shock, and the gun falls from my hand. Hunter comes around the corner and sees me leaning over the other man, a look of pain and horror on his face. That look hits me in the heart and a mournful wail breaks my lips apart.
“Emily? Emily! What the hell did you do?”
I can’t speak at first. Can’t even think. Can only feel — shock, horror, disgust, anger, terror; I shot the friend of the man I love. I may have murdered his friend and done so right in front of his son.
Hunter runs to my side and places his hand over the bullet wound. Blood is gushing, welling out between his fingertips, pooling on the floor.
“Emily, what the fuck? What the fuck?”
“I—” I don’t know what to say. Don’t know what I even can say that can explain what I’ve just done. It’s inexcusable. Awful. Detestable.
“What happened here? Why did you shoot Diesel? Why do you have a gun?” Hunter shouts. Charlie is crying, mortified, from the bathtub. I’m crying, too, an absolute wreck of a human being. “Nevermind. We need to stem the bleeding and then we need to get him to a doctor. Hang on, Diesel.”
“I’m doing just fine, Hunter. The floor’s pretty damn comfortable,” Diesel says. “And this thing in my shoulder’s just a flesh wound. Granted, a big one, and it went through a lot of my flesh, but give me an aspirin and I’ll…” His words end in a breathy gasp and he stops, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’re losing a lot of blood,” Hunter says. “I’m not going to let you die after everything you’ve done for me. Emily, I need you to focus. Find me some bandages. We have to get them on and keep pressure on the wound.”
I nod, still in shock, but pull myself to my feet. My hands are shaking as I fumble through the bathroom cabinet, knocking over bottles and jars in my haste. Finally, I find a roll of gauze and some medical tape. It's not much, but it'll have to do.
"Here," I say, handing them to Hunter. My voice sounds distant, like it's coming from someone else.
Hunter takes the supplies and immediately starts wrapping Diesel's shoulder. The white gauze quickly turns red, but Hunter keeps wrapping, applying pressure.
"Emily, I need you to call 911," Hunter says, his voice firm but urgent. "Now."
I stumble out of the bathroom, my legs weak beneath me. Charlie's cries echo behind me as I make my way to the living room. My phone is exactly where I left it, on the desk next to my laptop. With trembling fingers, I dial 911.
"911, what's your emergency?" a calm voice answers.
"I... Someone’s been shot. It was an accident," I stammer. "He needs help. Please, send an ambulance."
