pretty when she cries ; fitz

chapter eighteen

he stomps into the room, pointing the gun straight at cal.

"hey! lower the boomstick, mate!" cal stands up from the bed and holds her hands up, and so does amalie. amalie quickly sits into a squat position on the bed.

glen shoots cal in the shoulder without hesitation. cal screeches, holding her shoulder in pain. just as amalie tries to leap over to her friend's side, glen shoots her again in the neck and again in the lower stomach. the sound echoes in amalie's ears.

cal falls to the ground, unconscious.

"what are you, huh? fucking crazy?" amalie screams in pure venom, tears burning down her cheeks.

glen turns to amalie, his eyes so puffed they were almost completely shut. his stride was woozy and unbalanced. amalie cries out again as he nears her, trying to come up with a way to defend herself against her drugged up uncle glen. but he has a gun. he loads it again with a quivering hand. as he does, amalie thinks quickly and lunges at him, tackling him to the ground.

he lets go of the gun, it rattling against the floor. he tries to push her off, but amalie was far too strong. she had the upper hand in the position she'd took. his niece scratched at his face, slamming her fists into his eyes and chin out of pure anger.

he finally gains a better position, and slams her face-first into the ground. shrieking in pain, her vision turns blurry. the light on the nightstand makes her head ache, and she was sure her left contact fell out of her eye. but she rolls over and sees glen holding the gun, pointing down at her.

she kicks his wrist, her soccer skills coming in handy, and the gun goes flying across the room. the psycho tries to go after it, but she kicks his legs out from underneath him. amalie somehow mustering up enough stability to stand, sending more kicks to his body.

all of her pain and frustration. she thinks about the things she'd lost: the distant faces of her family appearing in her thoughts. her friend on the floor. she cries, kicking at his sides, his neck, his head like the day before she left UNC; when she took out her anger under her coach's supervision. he was a soccer ball. this made her kick harder, his body jerking under the force of her foot.

glen sputtered out blood, his eyes rolling back. she quickly grabbed possession of the gun while he was groaning in pain and tried to call up cam from her phone.

to her own fucking luck, her phone had been all smashed up. what are the fucking odds?

she cries, sobs escaping her violently as she runs around her room and throwing as much junk as possible into her suitcase (her wallet and her useless phone too). amalie hucks it down the stairs, returning into the room.

"it's gonna be okay, cally..." amalie said over and over again.

her head pounded like never before. she shrunk to cal's limp side, caressing her friend's face. her tears dripped onto the body. amalie contemplated taking the gun with her.

"you're gonna be okay! you'll be alright..."

her eyes scanned the wounds, and she knew her words (though they meant well) were not enough to heal her friend.

rising again, she saw stars in front of her. though she had to keep going. she needed to get cal to the hospital.

fight or flight? well, she was doing both.

scanning the room with blurry eyes, the brunette located the weapon and stuck it in the waistband of her pants. the cool metal scraped against her skin.

bending her knees, amalie grabbed cal by the shoulders and dragged her limp body down the staircase. the dirty blonde's hair now streaked red, an immense amount of blood fleeing from the bullet wounds. amalie lugged her friend's body into the passenger seat of the car; at that moment amalie was very thankful for the 5am lifts coach made the team do every other morning.