With regret, Chaeyoung

ELEVEN

Eighteen years earlier...

"Dad, no!" she yelled just before the pain sliced through my side.

My ears rang from the sound of the gunshot echoing in the tiny kitchen, and the scream I'd been holding since I'd watched my father collapse finally ripped free from my chest, shredding my throat on its way out.

The girl protecting me fell backward, taking me down with her and causing my head to crack against the door. We both landed on the tile, her heavy body hitting me like another bullet, stealing the breath from my lungs.

I couldn't move.

I couldn't run.

I couldn't even scream again.

I was trapped beneath her, her body limp, our warm blood mingling and pooling at my side.

Everything hurt, yet as her father prowled closer, the fear was the most painful of all.

"No," I groaned before resorting to begging, but the word please wouldn't come out.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I turned my head into the girl's neck, ready for the horror to finally end, even if that meant dying.

At least then my mom would have been there. And my dad.

Anyone who could make the fear slaying me from the inside out stop. There was a grunt before the girl jerked, my heart lurching with her.

My eyes flew open just in time to see her land a kick in her dad's stomach then scramble drunkenly to her feet. I was able to breathe again, but I was also left completely exposed.

Hot tears rolled down my cheeks as the gunman went tumbling down. My hero took early control, landing her fists across his face. But the bloodstain on her back from the bullet that had gone through us both was growing by the second.

My side was on fire, but I had to move. My girl wasn't going to win this fight. Her dad was too strong. But there was nowhere to go. The way out was to get past them, and as they exchanged punches and banged into walls before rolling onto the floor, it was impossible.

I found my voice with another scream when the sound of the gun rang out once more, deafening me all over again. I scrambled on all fours, slipping in my own blood as I wedged myself into a corner.

The fighting continued.

The grunts. The groans. The sound of my sobs.

She was losing.

She was on her back.

That man was going to kill my girl, the only safety I had left. And just like with my mother, I had no idea how to save her.

Drawing my legs up to my chest, I begged the universe, the stars, the gods, and Jesus himself to help us.

And then, just as quickly as my hero had arrived when I'd been lying on the floor in the middle of the food court, holding my dead mother's hand, our savior appeared in the form of the big tattooed guy I'd seen hiding behind one of the tables.

Blood roared in my ears as I watched him enter the kitchen. He no longer looked like a frightened child, but rather a murderous man on a mission. His face was tight and his eyes were hollow pits, but his steps were filled with dangerous purpose that broke the dam inside me, flooding my system with hope.

Without hesitation, he dove into the fighting, tackling the gunman off my girl.

I tried to keep up, but it was all happening so fast. My girl shouted for someone to get the gun.