A loud bang explodes on the air, and I push harder, flinching when a shard of gravel shoots up and nicks into my right cheek.
“He’s shooting at us! He’s going to kill us!” she sobs, stumbling, falling.
I gasp and grab her back up, panting heavily when we reach the ladder.
“Go!”
Bee swings over and grabs on.
“You stupid bitch.”
She’s screaming and clinging to my hand when I feel a fist wrap around my hair and pull, wrenching me back into a solid, sweating body. The pain blindsides me, and I scream, yelling out curses and flailing when he jerks up, pulling me off my feet by my hair.
There’s no choice but to let go of Bee’s clutching grasp.
“Sissy!”
“Run, Bee! Call the fucking cops!”
My eyes are stinging from the pain in my scalp and the rancid stink of his breath hitting the right side of my face, and I retch, feeling stark terror take hold of me.
“You’ve ruined my life, little Sissy.”
The gun kisses my temple, digging in, burning me with the heat from his previous shot. He’s going to kill me. I know it, and…there’s nothing to say that will possibly change it, so I reach back and claw at his face, feeling his skin come off and lodge beneath my nails.
Eric screams and releases my hair, but not before he spins me around and backhands me across the face, so hard I go crashing to the ground, black spots of pain swimming in my vision.
“I should have gotten rid of you a long time ago, you silly bitch,” he snarls, clutching at the bloody grooves. “Bianca doesn’t need a ball buster like you putting thoughts in her head. You’re a menace.”
I laugh, swiping at the blood dripping from my split bottom lip.
“That’s rich, coming from you. I never told her she’s fat and stupid; you did. No wonder you held onto her so tight. No other woman would take you.”
Pissing off the guy holding the gun is not one of my better ideas, but I can’t—no, I refuse to just lie here and let him shoot me. This guy…he’s gone nuts, and nothing I say now can possibly save me, so I might as well get a few good hits in while I still can.
I see anger contort his once handsome face and come up onto my elbows, scuttling back away from him. He points the gun directly at me and follows, smiling so coldly I feel my heart stutter a beat before it starts racing wildly.
“All I wanted was my job and Bee. That’s all I wanted…and you took her from me.”
That lonely whisper brings tears of pity to my eyes because, as Bee had said, Eric is not a bad person, he’s just simply lost his way. The fact that he blames me for his failed relationship tells me loud and clear how far he’s fallen, and I almost want to comfort him for the loss I see lining his pale face.
“Eric…you can still—”
“There’s nothing left!” he yells suddenly, landing a kick to my ribs. “You fucking told her to leave me, and then that boyfriend of yours took away my job! If he hadn’t…I could have convinced her to take me back.”
The pain in my ribs doubles me over, and I dry heave into the gravel, coming to my hands and knees in a desperate attempt to get away. Eric lands another kick, this one hitting me in the small of the back to send me sprawling face down.
“Where you going, bitch?”
I hear it then, that sing-song quality that tells me he’s gone from pure anger to enjoyment as I roll over in pain and lay panting, defeated by his cruelty.
“You think I’ll let you off this roof alive? Bianca’s already gone. She’s gonna call the cops, and I’m as good as dead. I might as well just do this thing. At least I won’t be the only one losing.”
My mind races, and for some reason, I think about Vincent and his brush off. And the meeting that I’ll never get to tomorrow. I want so badly just to see him one more time that I almost sob with regret.
I know now that, despite the short time and his evasions, his reluctance to let me get to know him, I’ve fallen into that place that’s not quite love, but close enough to regret not getting any further.
If we’d had just half a chance, I know that I would be head over heels for the guy. As it is, I’m enough of a sap to be seeing his face before I die.
“Please, please don’t do this,” I beg, puffing wildly as I stare up at him and the barrel of the gun. “We were friends. I danced at your parents’ anniversary party and helped you clean up afterward. I held your hand in the emergency room when Bee fell on the ice and broke her foot. We’re friends.”
His hand wavers for the briefest second, giving me hope, enough hope to pull air into my oxygen-starved lungs. He pauses and looks down at me, seeming to consider my plea, and I lie frozen, waiting, praying that he’s reliving the good times we all had. The laughter. Sharing pizza and beer while he yells at the basketball game on the tube.