LEILA
.
.
She hugged him right in front of me.
Stepped into his space, into the space between him and my mother’s body on the floor, and wrapped her arms around him while the embracing felt so natural and in a more horrifying way.
It wasn’t a hug of comfort, or of grief, or of shared shock.
It was a hug of… connection.
Of intimacy.
He accepted her embrace.
He didn’t stiffen or maybe pull away.
He just… let her hold him, his arm still hanging loosely at his side, the gun still in his hand.
My blood ran cold, a deep, chilling cold that spread through my veins, numbing me, or rather terrifying me.
My mind screamed in silent protest, a desperate, internal wail.
No. No, no, no.
This wasn’t happening.
This couldn’t be happening.
This was wrong, all wrong.
Misa. My
