Agonium

"You can do this, Lovi."

I never liked Dad owning guns. It scared me. I had this recurring thought that one day he would get so mad and resort to the pistol in his back closet. I always figured he'd end up in a drunken stupor and would shoot me one night.

He's only ever used the gun for weekend, recreational fun.

I haven't thought about this much, but at the same time, it's the only thing I've thought about. It's always in my mind, but I'm still numb. I've been hollowed out, and I know I should be crying, but I'm not. Why aren't I crying?

I wonder about who'll see me next. Dad's at work, and Leo's spending a day with a friend. I have about thirty voice mails from Mom alone and a few unread texts from Mase.

Nothing has felt right for a while, but I finally feel sure. The pistol in my hands is nice. The metal is cool, and I press it to my cheek. I'm struggling to breathe.

I don't know what the last words said to me were. I wish I was paying better attention.

This moment is so surreal. It's a lucid dream, but my stomach is going crazy, and now is not the time for my anxiety to kick in. Or maybe it is; I've never been too sure.

Somehow, I've started crying. It's not much, I don't know when I began, but there are tears running down my cheeks. I put the gun in my mouth, and this taste should not be sweet.

I know I have to count the seconds.

One.

I've packed my room over the past month. Everything I own has either been donated or sits in a cardboard box by the front door. Everything is finally clean.

Two.

I wrote my bank information on a sticky note. I didn't know how to write a letter.

Three.

Mom always told me that life wasn't worth living if you weren't happy.

Four.

What am I even living for anyways?

Five.

Leo's never loved me.

Six.

I'm trying not to puke, and my entire body is shaking. Why do I still feel empty? Why am I still not sobbing?

Seven.

It'll finally be okay.

Eight.

My fingers tense around the trigger.

I was never the victim.