Page 95 of Tommy
Tommy keeps punching, but it’s weaker now.
Tears blur my vision, and I cry out for them to stop, but neither hears me.
I look back at the gun.
Still there.
Still within reach.
With shaky hands, I lean forward and touch the cold metal. Tears race down my cheeks.
I pull it closer to me and then use the bar to stand. It takes a lot of effort to just get one of my legs to bend. It pullsa whimper from me, but I keep going. I don’t think anything’s broken, but everything hurts so much.
And my heart. It hurts the most. The man I love is being killed by the person who killed my parents and destroyed my life.
And I’m about to do something I never thought I could do.
I fully stand up, then turn to face them. Tommy is barely moving his hands now. I can’t wait any longer.
Raising the gun, I steady my hands as much as possible, just like he taught me, but they keep shaking. I hesitate and lower the gun, not sure if I can do this.
But then I hear a gurgling noise from Tommy, and I straighten once more.
I don’t think.
I just shoot.
My eyes are open, but I can barely see through my tears. I cry harder with each shot, firing again and again, praying I don’t hit Tommy as my hands shake from the sobs racking my body, moving my shoulders up and down.
Then the gun clicks empty, and there’s no noise from anyone.
I blink several times and wipe my eyes with the backs of my hands, ignoring the gun still in my grip.
Tommy is still on the ground, but so is Dante.
Then chaos erupts around us.
I jump as doors are thrown open and at least a dozen people come into the room, all with guns drawn. Half are insuits, the others in military gear of some kind as they take in the scene.
Three men go to Tommy and four to Dante. I just stand there, gun down at my side as I cry and shake, still sobbing. I shot someone. I might have shot two people.
I’m a killer.
Just like him.
Just like the worst of them.
“I got it.”
I pivot quickly at the hand on my side and jerk the gun back into my hand only to see Danny staring at me. His eyes aren’t cold like last time, but there isn’t much warmth there either.
He lets me debate with myself as he waits with his hand out. Waiting for the gun.
I give it to him, surprised that it takes a lot of strength for me to do so. I once feared the weapon, and now I hesitate to be parted from it.
I don’t like guns. I don’t think I ever will. But it’s still hard to let it go.
“Here.”
