𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫? - 𝐓𝐌𝐑 𝐀𝐔, 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐨

035 - oh.

"Help!"

Hearing her scream, Thomas yanks the door open and immediately runs out.

"Thomas, wait!" Minho calls, but it's too late.

I glance at Braedyn, and the look of horror on his face is most likely mirroring my own.

As if I have no care in the word, I make my own exit, running out after Thomas.

When the fresh breeze reaches me, I'm already frozen in my spot. Glass covers the ground. The grass is soaked by patches of blood. The sound of screaming and tears fill my ears.

It reminds me of my parents; the ground was soaked, the glass was everywhere, the cries filled my ears.

"Teresa!" Thomas yells from a distance.

Immediately, I follow the voice, sprinting for my life.

Or Teresa's.

My footsteps thud against the wet ground, barely grazing the blood–soaked grass before I'm they're in the air again, moving faster with each step.

My heart beats loudly, the sound blocking out the cries.

My mind races in frantic repetition.

Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay. It's all I can think, as if saying it enough times might make it true. I'll do anything, just please, please, please be okay.

My breathing speeds up, matching the beat of my footsteps as I round the corner. The sound of Thomas's distant yells rises, frightening me, though I force myself to keep going.

Nothing will happen to her, I remind myself, she'll be fine.

But will she?

I don't know.

I have to believe she will.

I have to.

I just have to.

I pass the main hall, and I catch a glimpse of Thomas's blue shirt. At the realisation he's here, and so is Teresa, I run around the back of the main hall, and am met with a horrifying sight.

There are three people—Teresa, Thomas, and a masked figure. I would've immediately thought the masked figure was Tyler, but they don't look like him. Unlike Tyler's body, they are slim, though they still have muscles.

It's someone else.

As I notice that, I don't realise what's happening. I don't realise why Thomas is screaming. The masked figure has a gun. And it's pointed forward.

At Teresa.

"Put the gun down," Teresa pleads, her voice shaking. "Please. I'll do anything."

The gun shifts towards Thomas, and the masked figure cocks their head, as if to ask whether they should shoot him.

Teresa shakes her head. "No. Not him."

The gun flicks back to her.

"If you want to kill one of us, kill me," she tells them. "Just don't kill Thomas."

Then, to my horror, the gun moves to the left. And it's pointed at me.

I bring my hands up to my head, eyes wide as I shake my head. "Please don't. We can talk this out, I know we can."

"Talk this out?" A loud voice echoes through the space, making my heart drop. I whirl around, trying to find the source, but all I see are the cold, detached figure in front of me, and my two terrified friends. My eyes scan the area frantically until they land on a speaker. That's where the voice is coming from.

"We can't talk this out. Never." The voice spits venom, each word dripping with hatred. "It's all your fault, Whitley!"

I freeze, the accusation hanging in the air, cutting through the chaos. The figure remains motionless, but the voice feels everywhere.

Who is this? It doesn't sound like Tyler.

"Everything is your fault!" The sound echoes in my ears as they continue. "Everything you've done. Oh, Whitley has always been the perfect girl. No. You've never been perfect! You have only tried, but never succeeded!"

I stare in pure terror, a piece of my heart breaking with every word that sounds from the speakers.

"You're a mistake!" They snarl. "You're a failure! You don't deserve the way everyone treats you!"

Please don't say that I'm—

"You're the reason that your dad is dead!"

Oh.

A single tear sheds from my eye as I swallow the rest of them down.

I can't show emotion. I can't.

"You've never realised it, Whitley," the voice continues, and I feel eyes burning holes into my skin. "But your mum doesn't love you."

"I have realised it," I choke through tears, voice breaking.

"No, you haven't," they bark. "You blame your mother for it. Sure, she shot him, but she shot him because of you. That's why you don't pick favourites. In anything. And I don't get why people think you're the favourite!"

Just shoot me already. If you continue to speak then I'd rather die!

"Whitley—" Teresa begins, but the voice interrupts her.

"Shut the fuck up, Teresa Tori Hunter." The gun moves back to her. "Do you want me to shoot you?"

"If you shut up about Whitley, then yes."

"Okay then."

The masked figure's finger shifts to the trigger, and I can sense the smirk on their face.

Don't kill Teresa. Don't kill Teresa. Don't kill Teresa. She doesn't want to die. I do. Kill me.

Just kill me already!

"Don't shoot her," Thomas orders, his voice desperate. "Please. Just shoot anyone else. Including me. Just not her."

The figure shrugs, the gun returning to face Thomas.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

I take a step forward, and like I suspected, the gun moves towards me.

Good.

"Keep talking," I order, my voice sounding way more confident than I feel. "Keep making me feel like I don't deserve to live."

"You don't," the voice echoes, saying the word as if it's nothing. "And sure. If you like feeling horrible, then I'll gladly tell you about how nobody likes you."

Ouch.

"Not even your father. He didn't like you one bit."

"Get his name out of your filthy mouth," I snap, anger taking over. "Why don't you flip that gun around and shoot yourself? It would make everything way better."

"Okay, I'm getting sick of you," the voice says. "What're your last words?"

"You're a sick—"

And they pull the trigger.