Damien’s father, Luke, pulls her away from me and she sobs into his chest.
It’s not until the paramedics arrive and they load Damien’s body into a black bag that reminds me of a bag that belongs in a trashcan, except it’s thicker, that I move from my spot. I hurl my body at one of the paramedics and knock him to the floor. “You can’t take him!” I scream, tears pooling in my eyes, a stabbing pain in my chest. “You can’t take him! We belong together!” I throw my body over the bag and scream hysterically. My chest vibrates with sobs. There are small streams of tears running down the bag. “No! No! No!” More tears. More pain. More screaming. “We were running away!” Hate burns in my eyes and I glare at Marlena. “We’re running away from you!” Marlena turns her head back into Luke’s chest, and she sobs harder than she was a minute ago. I think she blames herself for this happening more than me, but she’s the type of person who’d never admit to it.
It takes two paramedics, two cops, and one sedative to pry me away from Damien’s body. A police officer stays with me as they load Damien’s body into the back of the ambulance and the only reason I’m calm is because of the drugs in my system. More than anything I feel empty inside and I’ve convinced myself that my heart lies bleeding on the floor in my bedroom, drenched in Damien’s blood too.
An hour later, the remaining cops load me into the back of their car. “Are you okay, sweetie?” an older one with kind brown eyes and graying brown hair asks.
I don’t answer him. I’m staring at my house through the mirror above the dash, replaying everything that just happened in my mind. Damien’s face swirls around behind my eyes. The widened, stunned look in his sapphire eyes imbeds itself in my brain. It was the moment he realized he’d been shot. His face fades away, now all I see is his lips. His full pouty lips and the last words he’d ever have on the tip of his tongue, “I love you.”
Those words are no one else’s.
They belong to me.
Forever.
Always.
No matter where he is now.
And I can’t help but have a morbid thought during that second, about how badly I want to come back to the house I grew up in, douse it in gasoline, strike a match, chuck it at the porch, and watch with a sadistic smile as the house burns to the ground.
Now there’s pain again. The sedative can’t take this kind of pain away. It doesn’t matter how much drugs they give me, I know this. No amount of drugs can ever take away the pain that accompanies a broken heart.
~ ~ ~
On the way to the police station, something comes over the radio, “The suspect has been caught. He had the murder weapon in his possession.”
Daddy.
I hope they either fry him or lock him away for the rest of his life. I hope they make him understand the meaning of the word pain.
For Mommy.
And for Damien.
The police sit me down in a small, square room and try to question me. I tell them what I can about the tragedy that just occurred, but I’m not sure if I’m much help. I can’t keep my voice from trembling. I can’t keep the tears from falling. I can’t keep myself from bringing my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth, gripping onto my hair, and screaming at the top of my lungs. The officer questioning me looks at me like I’m crazy.
Who knows?
Maybe I am.
The cop questioning me leaves for a while. When he comes back he grips me by the arm and helps me out of my chair. “Where are we going?” My voice quivers.
“We’re taking you away from here.”
“Away from here?” I repeat in a melancholy state.
“Yes.” I don’t meet the officer’s eyes, but he has a kind tone in his voice. “We’re sending you somewhere where you’ll be able to get better.”
I laugh. “Get better?” We turn a corner and the white blurs in my eyes from the walls of confined corridor. “Get better?” I laugh harder. It’s almost uncontrollable. The kind of laugh a person laughs when they’ve truly lost their mind.
There’s a worried look on the cop’s face and he looks away from me as we continue walking. These people are morons. I know they’re only trying to help, but they are still morons.
Because only I seem to be the one that sees things clearly.
I’m never going to get better.