HOLLOW
490 Words
POV: Sasha
---
The gunshot echoed in the small room.
Ivan crumpled. Blood spread across the concrete, dark and thick. His eyes were open, surprised, like he couldn't believe I'd actually done it.
I couldn't believe it either.
"Sasha." Marco's voice, distant. "Sasha, look at me."
I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. The gun was still in my hand, still warm.
"Sasha."
Marco was in front of me now. His hands on my face. His eyes searching mine.
"It's done," he said. "He's gone. You're safe."
Safe.
I'd never been safe. Not once in my entire life.
I dropped the gun.
---
They found us an hour later.
Antonio's men swept the warehouse, secured the perimeter, took care of the bodies. Antonio himself came, stood over Ivan's corpse, and said nothing.
Sofia was with him. She crossed to me, took my hands.
"Come on," she said. "Let's get you out of here."
I let her lead me.
Marco stayed behind to talk to Antonio. I watched him through the window, his face hard, his hands steady. He'd seen death before. He'd caused it.
So had I.
But never like this. Never someone I'd known. Never someone who'd shared my blood.
---
The safe house was different this time. Nicer. Cleaner. Sofia sat with me on the couch, a blanket around my shoulders, a cup of tea in my hands.
"You did what you had to," she said.
"Did I?"
"He would have killed Marco. He would have killed you. He would have kept coming until one of you was dead."
"I know."
"Then why do you look like you're the one who died?"
I stared at the tea. The surface was still. My hands weren't.
"Because part of me did," I said. "The part that still hoped. Still believed he could change. Still remembered the boy he was before our father made him into this."
Sofia put her arm around me.
"That boy died a long time ago," she said quietly. "You just finally admitted it."
---
Marco came back at midnight.
He found me in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
He sat beside me. Didn't touch. Just sat.
"Antonio's men are tracking Dmitri. We'll have him within the week."
"Good."
"Sasha—"
"I killed my brother, Marco."
"I know."
"I killed him, and I don't feel anything."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then: "That's not true."
"It is."
"Liar." He took my hand. "You're sitting here, shaking, because you feel everything. You just don't know how to name it yet."
I looked at him – at this man who'd seen me at my worst and stayed.
"What if I can't come back from this?" I asked. "What if I'm broken now?"
"Then we'll be broken together."
He pulled me close, held me tight.
And for the first time since the gun went off, I cried.
- Writer
