When Red Roses Die

Chapter 44

Scarlett

I knew that I wouldn't be able to escape it.

My past seemed to be tormenting me more and more each day. Typically in the form of nightmares. But today, it was a physical reminder.

The familiar feeling of a gun in my hand was unnerving. The semi-automatic that I purchased nearly immediately after fleeing from my father had been one of my biggest comforts. That much was evident when I held it in my palms.

On a normal day I couldn't hurt a fly, but on days when my past caught up with me - well, let's just say the Revenge is a dish best served cold.

My finger felt too right curled around the trigger, my arm felt too comfortable holding the weapon, and my stance was too natural. I was a killer. I had killed people. And today was a vivid reminder of that.

"Hey, we had an agreement," Bash tsked from a distance.

It had become somewhat of a habit for me to throw my mental walls up lately. My thoughts had become very dark and I had been struggling with it.

I set the pistol down and turned away from the lane towards the blue-eyed bastard.

"Why should you get unlimited access to my thoughts?" I scoffed at the male.

"Because I knew taking you here would bring up the bad stuff and I want to be here for you when that happens," Bash explained as he pushed off the wall he had been leaning against. "Why did you even want to come here?" He asked.

I sighed and mentally debated telling him. After all, he was there for me back when I was really struggling the first couple of years. The only difference was that he didn't have unlimited access to my every thought back then.

"I wanted to freshen up on my skills." I mentally cringed at that. Does your ability to kill somebody with deadly accuracy qualify as 'skills'?

"Scar, you know you can trust me to the ends of the Earth, right?"

I sighed. "I know, but I don't want you guys to worry. I'm alright but recent events have just dragged me down."

"Like your birthday?" Bash pointed out.

"How did you-?!"

"Scar, I have known you for four years and every year on one particular day you shut everyone out and seem to become trapped in your head." His compassionate and worried tone softened me.

I stuttered before speaking, "Why... Why didn't you say anything?"

"It was obvious you needed space, but lately I'm fearing that the last thing you need is space. It is evident something is really worrying you."

My resolve to keep my thoughts and nightmares to myself was cracking. Way sooner than I expected.

I knew that if I told him, he would drag me out of the range and back home. But I was glad to be out and even more glad to be a gun range. I used to frequent this gun range quite often, and it had practically become a second home to me. It was refreshing to be back.

So instead of revealing myself so soon, I turned back around, picked up the gun, and went back to shooting down the range. Taking a deep breath, I focused down the line of sight and steadily pulled the trigger.

It was addicting. That was the only way to put it. Every time I pulled my target back and saw the consistent and accurate shots in the middle or corner or wherever I had decided to aim, it was a rush.

A whistle pulled my attention away from the lane, and I turned to see who had made the noise.

"Holy shit Doll," Lincoln exclaimed. "I haven't seen a talent that honed in a couple of years."