Page 83 of Too Late

But I’m in it. So let me tell you about it while I still can.

There’s a moment—a split second right before you close your eyes for the very last time—when you can actually feel yourself embracing death.

You can feel your heart as it begins to slow down, preparing to come to a halt.

You can feel your brain shutting off, the circuits slamming shut like doors.

You can feel your eyes closing—no matter how fucking hard you try to keep them open. And you realize that whatever you’re looking at in the moment you close your eyes—that’s the last thing you’re ever going to see.

I see Sloan. She’s all I see.

I see her screaming.

I see Asa pick her up and throw her on the bed.

I see her trying to fight him off.

I see her giving up.

That’s why I refuse to close my eyes.

I look down at the blood pouring from my chest—the life seeping out of me and onto the floor. I’ve made enough mistakes that caused Sloan to be in the position she’s in right now. I refuse to die without correcting a few of them.

It takes everything in me—but I stretch my arms out until I’m able to reach the gun at my ankle. There’s blood all over my hands, so I struggle getting a grip on it, but finally manage. I may not be the best at my profession in a lot of areas, but I have one hell of an aim.

Right when I lift my gun, Asa points his gun at himself.

No fucking way is he getting off that easy.

I refuse to close my eyes as I wrap my finger around the trigger and squeeze, watching as the bullet penetrates his wrist, sending his gun several feet across the room.

I refuse to close my eyes when the sounds of three more shots penetrate my ears, this time coming from the direction of the bedroom door.

I refuse to close my eyes as I watch Ryan kick open the door and rush in, followed by several other men.

I refuse to close my eyes until Asa is on the floor—several feet away from Sloan—being handcuffed.

I refuse to close my eyes until they meet Sloan’s.

She’s off the bed, across the room, on her knees, pressing her hands to my chest, doing everything she can to keep the rest of the life from seeping out of me.

I don’t even have enough energy left to tell her it’s too late.

I close my eyes for the last time.

But it’s okay, because she’s all I see.

She’s the last thing I’ll ever see.

FORTY-THREE

SLOAN

This feeling is nothing new to me. I’ve experienced living through the death of someone I’ve loved before. Horrendous, heart-wrenching, soul-crushing death.

It was one month before I turned thirteen.

I had twin brothers, Stephen and Drew. From early on I basically became their caretaker. Both my brothers had a lot of medical issues, but my mother used to leave all hours of the night, regardless of their needs. She would go through spurts where she could be the mother she needed to be. She’d get them to their doctor’s visits for the medications they needed in order to convince the state she was a decent mother. But then she’d leave the majority of their everyday care up to me while she went out and partied or did whatever it was she did until the early hours of the morning.

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