Shots Fired

Chapter 4

It's Christmas Day, we don't have a reason to get up and celebrate. There's no presents under a tree, there's not even a tree. I don't get out of bed until two in the afternoon, I mean what's the point in celebrating. I walk into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of milk. Austin was passed out on the couch with a bottle of whiskey next to him. This is affecting both of us in many ways that can't be put into words. I heard my phone ringing in my bedroom. I run to go see who it is. "Hey Sophia, how are you doing?" My friend Juliet said. "Not good." I replied. "I was wondering if you want to spend Christmas with us?" "No thanks I'm just going to stay with my brother." "Okay, if you need anything we'll be here." "Thanks." I hung up the phone and walked to my suitcase pulling out the picture of my mom and dad. "It all seems like a dream, a nightmare." I said to the picture of my parents like they were here right now. "I don't want to believe you guys are gone. I want to know why you opened the door, you seemed like you knew him. Did you?" I know they weren't here to listen and give me answers I just need to talk to them and this is the closest way to. "I should of stopped him. I know parents say I'll take a bullet to save their kids lives but I never knew it would actually happen." Tears streamed down my face landing on the picture. "Today's Christmas we don't feel like celebrating and Austin's passed out on the couch because he drank so much last night while I was sleeping." I opened the frame taking the picture out. I folded the picture sticking it in my pocket. I needed to get my mind off things. I looked at Austin's books and tried to find something to read but nothing caught my attention. I left a note on the counter in case Austin wakes up and wonders where I am I wrote that I was going to walk to the library. When we were driving down here I noticed that there was a book store just a few blocks away. I grabbed my jacket and gloves, we live in North Carolina so it's a little cold outside. Before I left I made myself some coffee to go and then I was out the door. The area was nice, it was close by the college so I assume a lot of the college kids live around this area. "Hi, do you need any help finding a book?" A lady asked me as I entered the book store. "No thank you." I hate when people ask you if you need help right as you enter a store. I browsed the store looking up and down for a book that I might like. I picked up several books but placing them back down. I came across some John Green books I heard he was a really good author so I thought I'll give it a try, I found the book looking for Alaska and thought I would give it a read. "Is this all?" The cashier asked. "Yea." "Okay that will be $10.54." I handed him the money and took the book. I didn't want to go home just yet so I walked into this little cafe around the corner. I opened the book and started reading, I was probably in there for hours just reading the book. I was so drawn into this book because Alaska the main character in the story. For years Alaska blamed herself for her mothers death when she was younger, she always drowned her sorrows in a bottle of alcohol and cigarettes. When she missed the anniversary of her mothers death she lost it, she was drunk and her friends let her leave with the car keys. She was in a car accident she hit a cop car straight on she didn't even bother to swerve off the road to dodge it, she just kept driving. I feel like that sometimes, blaming myself for the death of my parents. I could've stopped him but I just stood there. Sometimes I wish I could just keep driving to my death but I have to stay here for Austin, he needed me and I needed him. He's been drinking a lot until he passes out on the couch. We both aren't doing well I stay in my bed for most of the day and only get up if I have to go to the bathroom. I haven't been eating much either, everytime I eat I feel like throwing up. I can't get these images out of my mind, my parents falling to the floor, dead. I was covered in their blood. I wonder what the man who killed my parents feels guilty, feels anything.