detonate (ON HOLD)

Chapter Twenty Two

        "you better run, better run faster than my bullet,"

        Running never truly appealed to me. Sports were one thing but just plain running was a no from me. It's not even that I disliked exercising. It was simply that running seemed more like a chore than anything else. When I developed shin splints my sophomore year, it definitely did not change my views. In fact, it merely deepened my distaste for it, and the figurative sour taste in my mouth was present with every footstep that fell in the godforsaken halls of Westwood High that haunting Tuesday in April. Each movement was torturous as it felt as though the bone were being shucked like an ear of corn. The pain had made me wince, but it did not stop me. After all, I was in the process of running to find anybody that I could and get them out safely. I could have just as easily slipped out the building after the bomb, but I couldn't. For me, I never truly thought much of my own life but of the lives of others. All I needed was to ensure that Michael, Calum, and the rest of Westwood High would make it out alive. Sure, it was an impossible task, but the only way that I would be stopped was if the gunman decided to put a bullet in my head. That I swore to.

        My chest felt as though it were about to combust at any given moment. My mouth hung agape as I sucked in short, shallow breaths in an attempt to return some oxygen to my struggling lungs. As I rounded the corner to the next hallway, my shoes scuffed and created such a high pitched noise; however, it was still unable to drown out the helpless screams of the victims. The close proximity of the gun shots made me stop dead in my tracks. I whipped around helplessly as I searched for anywhere to hide. Despair seemed like concrete that weighed heavily in my veins as I had come up with nothing. The vast expanse of lockers and classrooms laid ahead of myself, and I knew that there was no safety that resided there. Defeat over took my body as I sank to my knees. Salty tears streamed down flushed cheeks. 

        When a hand had been extended and brushed lightly against my shoulder, I had nearly lept out of my own skin. Sharply, I turned myself around while cowering backwards with my back slamming against the nearest locker. Golden strands of my overgrown bangs fell into my face before I shakily tucked them behind my ear.  

        "Brielle, it's okay. It's only me," Her silky voice soothed me. "I'm not here to hurt you. I promise."

        Her pale blue eyes searched me with sympathy and concern filling them. Despite her stony features, she had a softness and comforting nature to her. Before Michael, Calum, and Luke, she had been the closest thing to a best friend that I had. Her kindness was often taken for granted by many of the other popular kids, but yet, she never denied anybody help. I don't think there was one mean bone in her entire body.  

        "Cassadee?" I asked in a hushed voice.

        "Yeah, it's me," She began hesitantly as she threw a paranoid glance over her shoulder. "Look, Bri, I know that you're probably hurt, but I need you to keep pushing onward. We need to get somewhere safe. He's close by, and I will not die today. The wings of my eyeliner aren't even."