32. Preston #2
“This explains a lot of shit.” I stare at her. I’ve always thought she looked familiar, and really, it’s in her eyes. They’re the identical shade of blue as Grandpa’s and Dad’s heterochromatic blue-green eyes.
I was thinking she might be Dad’s illegitimate daughter, but that would be so out of character for him. He’d never be so sloppy as to spawn kids outside of marriage.
I know because Lilith tried her best to trap him with a child during the years they were dating, but none of her attempts succeeded. Miley was born exactly a year and a half after their marriage.
Grandpa, however, has always loved getting his dick wet, and he’s not as careful as Dad.
There’s a reason why the Armstrong empire thrived more under Dad’s rule instead of Grandpa’s. Robots do it better.
The family needs to know about this. Maybe Dad will be proud of me for once in his life if I tell him the news.
Wishful thinking, I know.
I stand up, gripping the bracelet in my hand. “I have to go.”
“Wait.” Violet stands, too, and Detroit follows, frowning at me.
“I’ll give it back later,” I say. “If I can.”
“It’s not that.” Violet slides in front of me. “Is that symbol common? If it’s really valuable, maybe Mom stole it…”
“She would’ve never been able to steal my grandfather’s bracelet. So that means he willingly gave it to her.”
“G-grandfather?”
“Yes, Winston James Armstrong. This belonged to him at some point and has his initials. My father and uncle have similar ones. They’re usually offered by the father to his offspring, so I’m supposed to get one after graduating.
Grandpa said he lost his a long time ago, but that doesn’t seem to be the case—”
“Vi, watch out!” Dahlia’s scream echoes around us as the loud revving of an engine follows.
I see it first. There’s a man on a motorcycle, dressed in black and wearing a matching helmet.
There are actually two of them, but I’m staring at the first guy.
Because for a moment, a fraction of a second, I ignore the gun he’s pointing at us.
For a moment, I believe it’s Marcus.
He came for me?
If he forgives me this time, I won’t be a prick again. I mean, knowing me, that’s kind of a reach, but I’ll try.
Seriously this time.
Of course, I’m fucking delusional, because the guy on the bike is about to shoot Violet.
Not sure how or why it happens.
No. I do know why.
Mom’s standing right beside Violet, smiling softly at me as tears stream down her face.
“I’m sorry, mon trésor.”
“It’s not your fault, Mom,” I say, but I’m not sure she hears me or if my mouth even moves. “It’s mine for being a little slut.”
I don’t think. My body just…moves.
One second, Violet is in front of me, her eyes wide, her breaths coming in short gasps, and the next, my fingers land on her shoulders, and I yank her around, spinning us, putting my back where her chest should be.
The gun goes off.
There’s a sharp, ugly crack that punches the air and then my lungs.
Heat detonates in my chest as if someone shoved a fist straight through bone and cartilage, ripping through me in one brutal go.
My legs give out, and the ground disappears.
I’m falling…falling and keep fucking falling long after my body hits something hard.
Noises blend together—tires, screams, and shouting. There’s a lot of shouting, but I can’t tell who the sounds belong to as blood bubbles in my mouth, metallic and warm and…soothing.
My heart stutters as my lungs give out.
And just like that…the noise in my head dies.
No static.
No whispering demons.
No self-hating comments.
No footsteps in the hallway that don’t exist.
No ghosts, no noise, no thoughts eating me alive from the inside out.
Just…nothing.
Oh.
So that’s what quiet feels like.
Peace doesn’t come in a soft bed or a therapist’s office or tucked against Marcus’s chest like I pretended it might.
It comes on cold grass with a hole in my chest and someone else’s life pressed behind my ribs.
How poetic.
How sad.
If I’d known it would shut everything up this cleanly, I would’ve stepped in front of a bullet sooner.
Would’ve stopped swimming so hard to stay above water.
Would’ve just…abandoned breathing.
Then why is a part of me rebelling against this fitting ending? Why is my heart clawing, reaching, trying to stay afloat?
It’s time to give up on the life that hurts to live.
My vision blurs at the edges, the shapes surrounding me smearing into long streaks. The world tilts, going soft and so far away, like I’m watching someone else bleed out.
One shape sharpens.
Marcus.
Or my brain’s last cheap hallucination of him.
His hair’s a mess, his eyes wild in a way I’ve never seen before, his mouth moving so fast I can’t make out the words.
He looks terrified.
That’s how I know it’s fake. Marcus doesn’t get terrified.
He’s like a fortress.
Then I feel it as his strong, muscular arms wrap around me.
He feels…real.
“Preston! Hang in there, okay? I’m here…okay? I’m right here.”
Why does he sound choked?
Don’t be like that, Marcus. You should…breathe. I got rid of me, so…so you should have one less problem in your life, yeah?
I reach for him, or I think I do, because tears shine in his eyes.
For me.
Why is he crying for me?
“Baby…please…” he begs, his voice raw and scraped. “Don’t leave me, please…”
Don’t cry.
My fingers twitch against something—air? His jacket? His face?
I don’t know.
“We have so much we need to talk about, remember? You can’t…just leave. Baby, please…”
For the tiniest, meanest heartbeat of a moment, regret slices through the calm.
Not about Violet.
Not about the bullet.
About him.
About not fighting.
Not staying.
Not dragging my broken, defective self through one more night beside him.
I should’ve had him again. Properly. Without running afterward.
“I’m sorry,” I try to say, but my tongue feels thick, my mouth glued with the taste of iron.
I’m sorry, I loved you.
The words stay trapped behind my teeth as my vision tilts and goes dark at the corners.
“Preston, no! Baby…baby…baby…no!”
I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry.
Seems that’s what I can do best. Just apologize like my parents.
I’m sorry I ruined your life just like I ruined mine, Marcus.
Turns out, I’m the one saying goodbye after all.