He winces, and then removes my hold. “I’ll survive. I don’t think he really wanted to hurt me.”
A sob tears from my throat as reality comes crashing down on me in all vivid red.
“He…he didn’t?” My voice breaks as wetness soaks my cheeks and neck.
Jer shakes his head.
“Then…then…then why…why did I pull that trigger? Tell me, Jer! If I wasn’t going to save you, if I didn’t have to, why did I pull it?”
“Because he wanted you to, Anoushka.” Jeremy’s voice softens, and my brother’s voice doesn’t soften. “He looked to be in pain and resolved to see it all…end.”
“No…” I sob, hitting my brother’s chest. “Ah…ah… This…hurts. Why does it hurt? Ah…make it stop hurting. There was a lot of blood, Jer. What if he…? What if… What…”
The word knots and chokes me, refusing to be said out loud.
My brother pulls me close to his chest with his good arm and I cry.
I just cry and cry until I think I have no tears left. Until I think I’m going to faint from the amount of pain that’s wrecking my chest.
The image of red and his pale face haunts me.
The face that might never get life back because I ended it.
With my own hands, I fucking ended it.
When my tears turn into hiccups, Jer takes me to the bathroom, by my hand, like when I was a toddler and fell down and dirtied myself.
He turns on the faucet and patiently scrubs my hands of all the blood.
Scrub.
Scrub.
Scrub.
All the red washes down the drain in a haunting symphony of crimson against white. But the evidence remains beneath my nails, clinging to my fingers, refusing to vanish.
Then Jeremy washes my face and combs his fingers through my tangled, dirty hair. After he’s done, he leads me back to my room.
I’m lifeless, half moving, half dead. I don’t protest as he sits me on the foot of the bed and brings out my first aid kit.
He starts to clean the cuts on my fingers, on my palms.
I touch his shoulder and the tears I thought were no longer there gather in my lids and stream down my cheek.
My voice comes out too hoarse, too raw. “He stabbed you… I thought…I thought he was going to kill you… I couldn’t…I couldn’t let him do that. I couldn’t lose you. I didn’t think when I pulled the trigger. Why did I go for his chest? I tried to miss, but it was too late. It’s too late.”
Jeremy strokes my arm. “It’s okay, Anoushka.”
“It’s not! It’s not okay! He wasn’t going to kill you, but I killed him… I killed the man I love, Jer. I k-killed him… I…I…”
“He’s not dead,” he speaks slowly, patiently. “You’re not a killer. You just love me, and that’s okay, Anoushka. Choosing is okay.”
That only makes me cry harder even as I try to clean his wound. I end up hurting him more and he says he’ll just have Kill stitch him up.
Jeremy doesn’t leave my side. Not when I finally pass out.
Not when I wake up crying.