I Think I Love You

Chapter 5: Mia

Chapter 5: Mia

Is it over? I ask myself as seconds of silence go by. I hear whimpers and sobbing escape from almost every bookshelf end. It seems safe to cry, but I can't be sure. I take the risk anyways, untangling my hand from Brayden's to bury my face in. Screw it! I'm scared as hell. I tell myself there's no need to be brave. I let myself purge and feel my insides collapse. All I can think of is getting out of here alive. Alive. I think about what it means to be alive and steady my breathing thinking if this is even real. I start to think this library is no longer a library. For some, this is our hiding place. For others, I choke to think this is their grave. I turn to Brayden who's still crouched beside me. His head has been down for so long, barely making a noise as I cry. I wipe my face as clean as I can with my sweater which is now looking like an old rag. He raises his head as I turn to him, and he nods as if he knows what I'm thinking. A moment pauses before he silently starts to make his way towards the centre of the library. Is this guy insane?! I catch a hold of his sweater begging him not to go. He's daring to see if the coast is clear, and I dare him not to move. I watch as he takes a seat across from me, his breathing controlled as we decide to stay put.

Without skipping a beat we hear the doors barge open. "PUT YOUR HANDS UP! HANDS IN THE AIR!" The screaming puts me in a panic that makes me want to take cover.

"WHERE'S THE GUN?" A loud voice demands. The cries coming from every corner of the room speak for themselves. It hits me when I realize the police has come to rescue us. Be brave I tell myself, now is the time.

"He's here! Shooter down!" I hear someone radio in. Those words pull me back into survival mode, and I see that I am traumatized by those words.

"Shooter is unresponsive" someone confirms.

A school shooting and a suicide. This hits me. This is real and it's happening at Forest Glade High. How naïve of me to consider this would never happen or even be possible when so many have been victims before.

Another voice is commanding for all survivors and able bodies to quickly exit the library in an organized fashion.

Just then, I see Brayden move out into the clear with his hands swinging up. "We're over here!" he yells, waving his hands as he tries to direct them to the boy in green. Not a stutter or crack in his voice. I find myself surprised to hear how he sounded, when just moments before we wouldn't dare to make a sound. I hear medics come in asking for who's hurt and who's not.

People are screaming from left to right bringing attention to their friends who need medical help, while the rest of us are itching to leave.

After flagging someone over for the boy in green, Brayden looks back at me urging me to move quick, following the directions of the officers. I manage to pull myself to my feet as I see a number of bodies come out of hiding. No pushing or shoving just like they asked. He waits for me and we move together. We're getting out of here in one piece. Police officers escort us out, still asking us to keep our hands up. Like a herd of sheep, we run one behind the other or in twos. Careful not to fall as we make our escape, I watch where we pass and see bullets scattered on the floor. I can't help but take a look around the room as I knew it. The S.W.A.T. team has swarmed in and organized themselves in a planned formation surrounding a body. I count the people that lay lifeless on the ground and walk over the now blood-stained carpet. Moving fast, I notice some medics are already loading students onto stretchers. I can't tell if the bodies are alive, injured, or worse. I don't want to imagine, but reality hits me. The boy who sat across from me playing Fortnite — he was motionless and I see the crack of his hard-rimmed glasses about a foot away. That could've been me. Maybe it was supposed to be me. Suddenly, I get a flashback of the killer's eyes locking on mine —I watched him pull the trigger. I force myself to believe that he meant to shoot me, and guilt settles in. Just then, two bulky men come in carrying a large black bag. I see them crouch down beside Ms. Monroe and in synchronized motion, they pack her in and zip the bag, bottom up. I guess her blonde hair was sticking out as I see one of them re-open the bag to tuck it back in. I try not to stare but I can't look away. Seeing them collect the bodies into a bag doesn't seem right.