Page 3 of If Only You Hurt

I keep stroking his hair, waiting for someone to come help him, even though deep down, I know he’s gone.

Soon, I feel a hand grasp my shoulder, and I snap my head up, my arm coming up instinctively in fear of attack. It’s then I see a police officer with SWAT gear waving toward another officer, yelling something.

The thing is, I see his lips moving, but I can’t process any sounds around me. I must be in shock. I feel like I’m in a movie where people are moving in slow motion, and the sound has been muted. Unfortunately, this is real life, and my friend is dead in my arms.

I see a paramedic in front of me, talking to me, but I still can’t seem to process any of the words being said to me. And just as quickly, I snap out of it. I hear the commotion, and I see the officer trying to remove my hand from Artie’s body, but that’s when I begin to hold on tighter.

“No, don’t touch him. He’s hurt. Please. You’re hurting him!” I’m pleading with them to let Artie go. I don’t want him to lose more blood. It’s then I see the look of pity cross the officer’s face. The paramedic puts her fingers on Artie’s exposed wrist, I assume to feel for a pulse, and I see her eyes cast down.

“Sweetie, I’m so sorry,” she says to me, and I begin to shake my head; now the sobs are not silent but full of panic. I start screaming while the paramedic begins to pull me up, away from my closest friend here.

“You’re hurt. You’re bleeding.” I look down and see the puddle of blood under where I was sitting. It’s then I realize it’s not Artie’s blood that I was sitting in.

I start shaking my head even more. No, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. Today was going to be a good day.

The shooter took everything from me today. All the good is gone along with the future I had thought was going to hold my everything.

Part One

Chapter One

GRANT

1997

“Mama, she’s taking forever.” I stomp my foot while I wait for Laney to choose an ice cream flavor.

She does this every single time. She wants to sample everything, and she ends up with the same flavor—vanilla bean. I point at her, and my mom follows my gaze.

“Grant, patience, sweetie.” I’m four, so I don’t know what that word means, but Mama says it all the time to me. It makes me so mad, I stomp my foot again. Mama simply smiles. She always smiles. Her smile is one of my favorites, and I can’t help but smile back, my irritation forgotten.

This right here, me waiting on Laney and her always choosing the same flavor, is why I call my best friend “Bean." My sister, Becca, and Laney’s sister, Ellie, took us for an ice cream cone at the beginning of summer, and that’s when I realized Laney couldn’t make up her mind even though she was going to pick the exact same thing each time.

I look to my right to see Laney thinking hard, her finger tapping her lips, as if she’s deciding how to torture me some more. This is confirmed when I see her eyes quickly dart to me and a small smile creeps up the sides of her mouth.

My mom chuckles, probably noticing the same behavior from Laney as I just did, and my mother’s reaction makes my anger to bubble up again.

“Mama!” I stomp my foot again, and my mom clears her throat.

“Grant, what did I say about stomping your foot? You use your words, there’s no need to be so upset. Now, about Laney. It’s okay for her to see what her options are while we’re here. You never know, she may one day want to pick a new flavor, and it will become her new favorite.”

My mama swipes my hair out of my eyes. I’m all sweaty, and wherever the hair lands, it’s sticking to my skin. It’s been a hot day at the playground, and that’s why we are here at Dolly’s Ice Parlor to grab something to cool us off.

With everything my mama just said, she’s talking crazy. Laney will never ever like another ice cream flavor. She always eats the same things every day. I know because I eat lunch with her at preschool daily, and her lunch always has the same kinds of snacks in it.

Right when I’m about to argue, Davey Beckett walks in, his mean smile taking over his face. I feel my hands ball up in fists. I don’t like Davey. He wants Bean to be his best friend, and I will not let him take her away from me.

My mother must see my reaction and pulls my attention, her voice low for only me to hear.

“Grant, I can see fumes coming out of your ears.” Right then, I bring one of my hands up to my ears to feel the heat, but I feel nothing.

She continues, “I better not see you be mean to that child. I remember when the teacher called me at the daycare, saying you pulled his hair when he started talking to Laney. Be nice.”

I squint my eyes at him as he passes me, getting behind us in line.

“But Mama, I’m Bean’s best friend. Not Davey. Me!” I whisper-yell. Why isn’t my mom understanding this? I’m Bean’s bestest friend.

There my mom goes laughing again. She thinks this is cute. I know this because she’s telling Bean’s mom how cute I am, being all jealous. I’m not cute. And I’m mad, not jealous. I’m really, really mad.

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