Chapter 42 Past
I guess we’d mistaken the banging for more fireworks—until the loudest crash rattled the window.
“DAMMIT, PAUL! OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR!”
I jolted upright; the blanket tangled around my legs. My heart leapt to my throat.
Paul sat up slowly, fists clenched, eyes already on the door like he’d been waiting for this. Like he’d known it was coming.
Another slam.
“You hear me, boy?! Don’t make me say it again!”
I grabbed Paul’s shirt and threw it on, I scrambled for what was left of my dress, the buttons still scattered somewhere across the room. My hands were shaking.
Paul didn’t move.
“Paul…” I whispered, voice barely there. “What do we do?”
He glanced at me—just once—and in that flicker of a moment, I saw it: the old fear, buried deep beneath the tough exterior.
He stood, slow and steady.
“I’ll handle it,” he said.
But his voice… it wasn’t steady at all.
Paul turned to me, his voice low but urgent.
“You need to go. Out the window. Now.”
The pounding had turned into the door frame starting to break under the pressure, — followed by another shout.
“Don’t make me come in there, I know what you’re hiding!”
“Paul—”
He was already pulling my arm toward the window, not harshly, but with a desperation that made my chest tighten.
“I can’t…I won’t.” my voice was trembling.
“Go!” he snapped, then softened just enough to add, “I need you safe, Bri. Please.”
I pulled my torn dress and shoes to closer to me, heart pounding louder than the storm outside.
“Come with me,” I said, breath catching.
He shook his head. “I can’t. Not this time.”
Another crash behind the door. The knob rattled violently.
Paul cupped my face, kissed me once—quick and fierce. “I love ya, Honeysuckle!”
I threw my leg over the windowsill, the rain immediately beating against me.
As I hit the ground below, I turned just in time to see the door burst open behind him—
—and then I ran.
The loud crash of thunder couldn’t hide the unmistakable sound of Paul’s gun going off.
I froze mid-stride, the rain hitting my face like needles.
No.
No, no, no.
I turned back toward the house just as another shot cracked through the storm.
This one was closer. Louder. Final.
“Paul!” I screamed, my voice raw and useless against the wind.
I didn’t know what to do.
I couldn’t go back.
So I ran.
Barefoot and breathless.
The streetlights still glowed faintly, the gray morning creeping over the horizon—clouds swallowing the sun before it even had a chance to rise.
My feet pounded against slick grass and thick mud, the rain pierced my skin.
It felt like something was chasing me—the sound of those gunshots still ringing in my ears.
Somewhere along the way, I lost my shoes. My dress.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t stop until I felt the gravel of my own driveway.
Didn’t stop until the porch steps came into view.
Didn’t stop until I crashed through the front door, lungs burning.
“Mom!” I screamed, voice shredded.
And then—
I saw her.
I collapsed into her arms, trembling, soaked, covered in mud and rain.
“Paul—”
His name broke from my throat like a sob and a prayer all at once.
It was the last thing I said before everything went black.