Page 5 of Ruin My Life
BANG!
The sound tears through the house like a thunderclap, slicing through the air, bouncing off the walls, and rattling the windows.
My ears ring so loudly, the rest of the world cuts to silence. I barely register Mom and Amie screaming until I see their mouths moving.
Amie is the first to react. She scrambles to her feet, Nana’s knit blanket pooling on the floor, and grabs my arm, yanking hard. Her grip leaves crescent-shaped indents on my wrist where her nails dig in deep.
Mom’s voice cuts through the static as she ushers us toward the garage.
“Girls, run!”
I read her lips, but her terror filled eyes are what drives the words into my bones.
She only makes it a few steps before another shot rips through the air.
BANG!
The bullet enters her skull and exits between her hazel eyes, painting the cream carpet and our faces in a fine spray of warm blood.
She collapses in front of us, her expression frozen in shock, her body thudding against the floor with a sickening crack that rattles straight through my spine.
Amie crumples beside her, screaming.
I can’t hear it—everything is still muffled by the ringing in my ears—but Ifeelit. The sound vibrates in my teeth.
Then come the footsteps.
Two men emerge from the entryway, stepping casually over our mother’s body. One is lean and pale. The other, taller and broader, has tanned skin and heavy footsteps.
I recognize them. They’re the men from the gas station.
They’re not wearing hoodies now. Just fitted black T-shirts and dark jeans. But their faces are hidden behind devil masks—blood red, twisted into wide, grotesque grins.
I grab Amie by the shoulder, yanking her up, ready to run—but I freeze when I see it.
The gun.
The barrel pointed directly at my face.
I can’t move. I can’t breathe. My body won’t obey me, no matter how loud I scream inside.
“On your knees,” the lean one says.
His voice is cold, unhurried.
My knees give out beneath me, sinking into the blood-spattered carpet that clings to my skin like tar. My heart slams against my ribs, each beat louder than the last.
Beside me, Amie trembles violently, tears streaming down her face. Her eyes—wide and unblinking—are locked on Mom’s lifeless body.
The stockier man kneels behind us and zip-ties our wrists behind our backs. The plastic bites into my skin, but I barely register the pain.
There’s only room for fear.
He looks up at the lean one. “Take your pick.”
A grin spreads beneath the devil mask, reaching the lean one’s icy blue eyes. “I think I want her,” he says, lifting Amie’s chin with two gloved fingers.
She flinches and jerks her head away, but he grabs her jaw roughly, squeezing until her lips tremble in a forced, terrified pout.
