Guns and Roses

FIFTY-FIVE

♕Harley Anderson♕

I feel like the world is tumbling down. Like any sense of normalcy and sanity has vanished from my life and all I'm stuck with is chaos.

I don't move from where I stay seated on the floor. Just a few meters away from me lies Frank's body. A pool of blood surrounds it from where I shot him in the head and the gun that I used lies by my feet. I don't know what Danté and Mason are deciding to do with Frank. However, the both of them compose themselves well as they drag the body out of the building. The trail of blood that's left behind makes me bring up the waffles I ate for breakfast. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and lean my head back on the wall.

The feeling of pulling the trigger and seeing Frank's body falling to the floor makes me shiver. I didn't want to kill him. But if I didn't, he would have shot Danté.

"Harley." Danté says and I peek at him through an eye. "Come on."
He helps me to my feet, picking up the gun that I used and tucking it into the waistband of his jeans. I don't ask where he's taking me as I sit in the car.

"Where did you get the gun?" Is his first question and I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. I just killed someone and he's asking me where I got the gun.

"I found it under the kitchen island." I confess. It was by chance I had knocked my knee on it.

He doesn't say anything and when he pulls up outside of our apartment, I feel dreadful of what is to come. I killed a man- I can go to jail.

Danté doesn't let me think about it for much longer when he's climbing out of the car and rounding my side to open my door. I climb out and follow him into the apartment. His strides are calm but purposeful and when we enter the kitchen, he begins digging through various items. He knocks some out of the the cupboards but doesn't care to put them back. He pulls out cleaning supplies and sets them on the island.

I watch him from the doorway, not knowing what you're supposed to do after you've killed a man. Danté tosses all of the products into a packet before his eyes meet mine from across the room. He's by my side in a few long strides, clipping my chin and forcing me to look at him. His eyes are wide and look between the both of mine in worry.

"I'm going to take care of the mess. Just stay here okay? And please don't do anything... irrational. We're going to be fine." He says in one breath, gently, and I swallow thickly, managing one nod. He kisses my forehead before pulling away and grabbing the packet, leaving the apartment after watching me for a second too long.

When I'm alone again, I gulp and look around.

I start for his cupboards, too, and rummage through the contents. I stumble upon a bottle of whiskey and I unscrew the cap before taking a long gulp. The liquid burns my throat but I don't care, I drink some more. I shut my eyes tightly, the blood and lifeless body coming to my mind when I do so and I growl, taking another sip.

I take more and more, hoping to numb the pain and the reality of what I've done.

****

When there is only a third left in the whiskey bottle, I decide to call it quits and close the cap. That, however, is proven a difficult task as the buzz from the alcohol doesn't allow my cognitive skills to work that well.

I hate being drunk. I hate not being able to think straight or be able to act normal. But what else must you do when you've just killed a man?

That thought causes me to take another sip, the liquor making me cringe from an oncoming headache.