Hi! Okay, I'm trying to alleviate a little of my guilt about taking so long to update so I'm sending out a short teaser for the next chapter. Judy xoxoxo
Chapter Nineteen (teaser). Revenge Part Three – Waiting
I was sitting on the couch in the living room when I heard the back door being forced open just after midnight. He was so predictable. I knew he would come and bring his bodyguard with him to do his dirty work, and that made me happy. I was looking forward to seeing both of them again.
I felt for the gun my dad insisted on giving me weeks before he died that was tucked between the cushions. I was the daughter of a police chief, and I knew how to handle a gun. I felt the strong presence of my dad when I touched it and remembered all the whining and complaining I did about the hours of practicing he forced me into. He literally turned me into a sharpshooter by the age of 18. I always told him I didn't think that was a very useful life skill to have, and he always told me knowing how to protect myself might come in handy one day when I least expected it to. I whispered, "You were right, Dad," when I put the gun in my pocket. The three days I had been waiting had been the loneliest days of my life, and thinking about my dad was nice. It made me feel less alone.
I thought about killing them on the days I waited and played it out in my mind over and over. It was very satisfying when I thought about it, but I knew I couldn't actually kill anyone. I knew I would shoot to wound and incapacitate them, just like my dad taught me to. I could see my dad's face so clearly when he talked to me about killing a man in the line of duty. He never really put it behind him, even after five years, and still second guessed himself and carried regrets that tortured him at times.
"It's easy to pull the trigger and kill someone, Bella. It's much harder to try to live with it afterwards. I still see the man I killed. I see the look he had on his face as he took his last breath every day and ask myself if there was something I could have done to avoid it. Most of the time, I'm convinced there wasn't. On the bad days, I'm not so sure."
I asked my dad to watch over me as I walked toward the kitchen to face them. I hoped I had the courage he had, that it had been passed down to me, because I was terrified. It was hard to control my shaking hands. It was hard to breathe. I kept asking myself what the hell I was doing with every step I took and had to stop myself from turning around and running out of the house.
And then I saw him.
When he smiled before he said, "Well, Ms. Swan, we meet again," I remembered what the hell I was doing. I remembered the last time I saw that smile when I was young and scared and pregnant. I remembered how vulnerable and powerless I was then and how he took advantage of that. I remembered everything and any fear or hesitation I had disappeared. I was ready to wipe that slimy, disingenuous smile right off his fucking face.
You are defined by the way in which you treat the people you love. And, the people you hate. - Iain Thomas