It was a question that just poured out. She didn’t even know what exactly she was asking, or maybe she did. Why was she so weak? Why the f**k couldn’t she deal with pain like normal people? What was wrong with her!
The vision of her father lying lifeless in his hospital bed with her mother sitting by his side hit her suddenly. It felt as if someone had taken her bat and pummeled her with it.
“No!” she screamed, shaking her head as if the louder she screamed the more she could will the vision and the reality that her father was gone. “No!”
Scrambling onto her knees, she scurried toward the wooden chest, spilling the near empty bottle of wine on the floor in the process. Flinging the chest open, she grabbed at things—old pictures, Ryan’s baseball glove, everything she hadn’t wanted to look at in over a year—and flung them all aside until she saw it: the gun.
Her heart pounded against her chest, and she began shaking, but she reached for it. She reached for the box with the ammunition too and took it in her other hand. Holding the cold gun in her hand brought back all those memories of that dreadful day, the day she’d been interrupted. “Not today,” she said with conviction and stood up shakily.
She made her way up the stairs to her bedroom, nearly tripping along the way. Thoughts of Brandon and how her fall had brought them together came to her, and she nearly smiled. Then reality slammed into her mercilessly, and she felt her face crumble again.
Rushing now, she opened the door to her bathroom and walked in, locking it behind her. She’d do it this time, and the world would be rid of her pathetic ass once and for all.
She sat on the cold floor for a moment, silently, as the tears continued to roll down her cheek with one thought: Brandon. How naïve she’d been to think his love could make her better—his presence in her life could somehow make her stronger. She was hopeless. Even her beautiful Brandon hadn’t been enough to give her the strength to fight through this suffocating pain.
Setting the gun on the floor, her hands nearly shook out of control as she reached for the box of ammo and took a single bullet out. It was all she needed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Brandon
Glad that it was Friday, Brandon had arrived at work that morning, somewhat dreading to see Regina. He’d been both surprised and disappointed she never showed up or even called him back last night. Twice he’d almost given into the temptation of calling her. Even arguing with her would be better than going the whole night not seeing or speaking to her.
Mainly he’d dreaded seeing her today because he knew how badly it would hurt if she did or said nothing to try and rectify the situation. Clearly, she didn’t care enough to call him back last night, and he knew telling her to go to hell had a lot to do with it. He’d actually been disappointed when he realized she hadn’t come in to work today.
He thought of her anxiety issues. The possibility that maybe this fight and his telling her it was over could have made her lose it, had him calling her by noon. He’d put it off, telling himself she was fine and that she was probably just being melodramatic by not showing up today. Even he had considered staying put today—calling in sick—something he’d so rarely done in all his years in the Marines. He’d seriously considered it today, not to be melodramatic but because after tossing and turning nearly the entire night he’d been tired as shit this morning. He knew he’d be a zombie all day. The only thing that got him out of bed and to work was the possibility of seeing her.
Regina had ignored all his calls, but he left no messages. Even though a small part of him worried that she might not be well, an even bigger part was still pissed—pissed that she’d gone as far as calling Sofie to get the whole truth. It still burned him up that it’d taken one conversation with the sweet and fair Alex Moreno to trigger enough doubt or suspicion that she’d be acting like she did when she got home. One f**king conversation. She’d even flinched at his touch! It’d been such a huge blow—such a huge disappointment—he still couldn’t get over it, and he doubted he would any time soon.
He’d actually driven around his block twice after work, talking himself out of driving down to her place, because he could hardly stand going another minute without seeing or hearing from her.
Deciding he’d call her again, he frowned when the line beeped just as her line rang. He glanced at the screen on the off chance it might be her, but he didn’t recognize the number. He waited for her line to ring again, but it didn’t. Like all the other times, it went to voicemail. Then suddenly it hit him. The phone number on the screen was familiar, and he remembered Pat had his number. He glanced at the number on the screen and cursed himself for not saving her number that day.
Remembering why Pat had called him last time, he hit the answer button, dreading why she might be calling him again if this was her. “Hello?”
“Is Gina with you?” Pat asked a little too quickly—too panicked.
“No why?” he asked, turning left towards Regina’s place as his heart sped up.
“I’ve been calling her all day. So has Bell. She hasn’t returned our calls. None of us remember her saying if she was going into work today or not. She was fine last night when she left the hospital, but—”
“The hospital?” he asked, punching the numbers into the keyboard at the entrance of the closed gate of Regina’s community gate. “Is your dad sick again?”
Pat went quiet. “She didn’t tell you?”