Chapter 3

Hanna

Exhaustion spreads into my flesh. The more it envelops me the softer, calmer it feels. It’s better this way, quicker. My brother might miss me. Might. He and my uncle never were close enough to keep me safe anyway. Well, they were as close as they could get, and they tried their best. I know it.

Yet, deep down I want to live, oh so bad…

But there’s no way to stop him from shooting me. All I can do is make it messier.

I stagger away from the car, my arms hanging and massive droplets of blood warbling down into the snow. The cuts on my wrists sting, but not as bad as they would if I were fully alert.

When I make it past a few bushes my feet tangle and I flop to the ground. Morning light rakes through the bare forest, making my blood-stained skin look almost innocent, as bright as a Christmas ribbon.

Short and shitty life. At least I had my sis— Selena. I’ll see her soon. I visited church too many times not to meet her in the afterlife.

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Michael’s shadow blocks off the cold light as he squats next to me. I twitch my arm and bring my hand closer to my face. My freezing fingers shivering with the movement I raise my middle finger up.

I may not have killed him, but I believe I have the right to hate the man. And I do. So so much.

He turns me on my back. Above my head a canopy of naked trees sways in unison, a blurry network of branches, highlighted by the morning sun.

Pretty.

…

I tear my eyes open. There’s no Selena, no heavenly angels, no God.

And it’s because I’m still fucking alive!

Tears erupt from my eyes and with a newfound surge of energy I shift strongly enough to wriggle free from someone’s arms. As I stumble away I perceive a different place around me— a gray toned motel room.

Michael stands by the door, his face void of emotion.

“No!” Erupts out of me, a desperate and shrill sound. “God, no! Why am I not dead? Why?” I prop on a shabby bed and notice my wrists bandaged. I flip my sweatshirt to find a bloody bandage around my side.

It horrifies me, to the point I begin heaving for breath. Did his plans change? Will he torture me now? “Please.” I lift my eyes at him. “Please, just kill me!” He steps closer and I scramble to the nearest wall. “What-what the fuck do you want?”

“You’re bleeding. That bandage won’t hold for long.” Is all he gives me, undeterred by my outburst.

Deaf to his words, I throw myself to the first door I see. It’s a bathroom. I flick the lock, shutting myself in.