Hours after:
The drive home felt endless, the world outside the window a smear of greys and shadows. Finally, the familiar driveway. I slid the key into the lock, the metallic click echoing in the hushed evening air. The door swung inward with a low groan I'd heard a thousand times before.
And then I felt it—the silence. It rushed out to meet me, thick and wrong. In our house, silence was a foreign invader, beaten back daily by the clatter of pans, Dad's booming laugh, Mom's humming, and the static of the old radio. This was a deep, swallowing quiet, the kind that felt intentional. It clung to the walls, heavy and final.
My own footsteps on the hardwood were an obscene intrusion, each one a hollow report in the void.
"Hello?"
My voice, tentative, was swallowed whole. The living room archway loomed ahead, a rectangle of pure darkness.
"Mom? Dad? I'm ho—"
The words turned to ash on my tongue.
A silhouette, broad-shouldered and utterly still, stood framed against the distant window's faint glow. A man. His suit was a deeper cut of the darkness, impeccably tailored. The weak light caught the severe line of his slicked-back hair, the gel holding it in a perfect, unforgiving wave. In his right hand, held loosely at his side, metal gleamed dully. A gun.
His aura was a physical pressure, a cold that seeped into my bones. Menace, distilled and pure.
My gaze, against its will, tore away from him and fell to the floor.
Red. A shocking, violent crimson stark against the beige rug. It wasn't a spill; it was a saturation, a dark, spreading pool that had already soaked deep. And within it… shapes. Forms I knew by heart—the curve of my mother's shoulder, the familiar plaid of my father's shirt—now rendered strange and horrifying in their absolute stillness. Empty. Gone.
A choked sound escaped me, part gasp, part sob. The terror was a live wire in my chest. Yet, beneath the icy wave of horror, a bizarre, sickening thread of recognition pulsed. The set of his shoulders. The way he held his head. This spectre of death felt… known.
As if sensing the weight of my stare, he began to turn. Slowly, deliberately. The world narrowed to that pivot. My heart didn't beat; it crystallised, a shard of ice in my chest. The shadows began to slip from his face, revealing the harsh line of a jaw, the curve of a cheekbone—
I jerked awake, gasping, sweat clinging to my skin. Tears blurred my vision, hot trails rolling down my face. I was crying, my chest aching with the weight of it.
Above me, my mom's face swam into focus. Concern etched her features, and confusion was in her eyes, but she pulled me close anyway. Her arms wrapped around me, strong and trembling, holding me out of both fear and comfort.
This was the first time we'd embraced in so long.
"Sweetie… are you okay?" Her voice was soft, gentle, and soothing, like honey.
That broke me. I sobbed harder, burying my face in her chest. I may be twenty-one, but in that moment, I was just a child again. A child who still craved her mother's embrace.
And I couldn't let go. I clung to her as though she were the only thing tethering me to this world.
"Mom, don't ever leave me, please."
The words slipped out desperate, too desperate. A voice I had never used before with my parents, afraid it would sound too needy. But I couldn't hold it back. There's a first time for everything.
Thankfully, my mother noticed the change in me but didn't comment. She just held me tighter.
"I will never leave, Bella. Don't worry."
At that moment, I felt the most vulnerable I had ever been. She lay down beside me, her warmth surrounding me like a shield against my nightmares. Slowly, my breathing eased. Safe in her arms, I let go of the fear and drifted back to sleep.
2 hours before:
I push the door open as I return from college, every step heavy with exhaustion. My voice drifts into the living room, flat and tired.
"Mom, Dad, I'm back!"
The soft hum of the TV answers me first. They're on the couch, relaxed, Mom munching on chips, nestled into Dad's side. His arm rests around her shoulders in a calm, protective way. They look… at peace. Looks like they finally made up. Relief flickers through me at the sight.
"Oh, Bella, you're back," Mom says warmly.
I nod, lifting a lazy thumbs-up before dragging myself toward the stairs. Each step feels like it might be the last straw for my legs. By the time I reach the top, I'm nearly collapsing.
My room greets me in a warm glow as I flick on the lights. Cosy, safe, inviting. I drop my bag on the floor like it weighs a tonne and throw myself onto the bed, limbs sprawled like a sack of potatoes.
"Just a small nap and i will get up, just…3…0…min-"
The sentence dies on my lips. My eyes close. My body gives in. I drift into sleep, the weight of the day pulling me under.