Lana's POV
Once again I felt the pain that I've been trying to suppress all evening and my eyes began to tear up again. How my parents were assassinated and how my mom ended up in a coma when I was just fourteen.
It's something I carry with me every single day, a heavy weight I can't put down, no matter how much I wish I could. I remember that night as if it were yesterday: the thunder, the rain, the awful silence afterward, the moment everything fell apart.
I was up in my room, reading a paperback novel I'd gotten from the school library. The kind of book I used to lose myself in, a way to pretend I was somewhere else, somewhere without danger or death.
The thunder started first, a low rumble that made the windows tremble, and then the rain began to pummel down, bouncing off the rooftop and adding its own sinister soundtrack to the growing unease I felt. I remember glancing up from the page, thinking I should close the window, when I heard something; a crack, a sharp, piercing crack, a gunshot.
The kind you see in the movies, the kind you think you'll hopefully only ever hear from a safe distance. But this was close. This was in my own home.
I remember freezing, unable to move, and then forcing myself up from my mattress and stumbling toward the staircase. I called for my dad first.
"Papa? Papa?" in a voice that was already shaking. The rain fell faster against the glass, casting wild patterns of shadow and light across the landing. I made my way down, slowly, quietly, trying not to make a sound. I remember turning the corner toward his study, that room I'd always felt safest in, only to find him slumped over his heavy wooden desk, his pen still in his hand, a growing pool of blood spreading across the blotter, staining the papers underneath.
His face… I can't erase that image. His skin was already turning a sickly color. His jaw was droops like a kind of disbelief or maybe a moment of peace. I fell to my knees, shaking him, begging him to wake up, ignoring the growing warmth seeping into my jeans.
Then I turned and saw my mom.
She was just a few feet away, slumped against the bookcase, a trail of blood creeping down from a wound I couldn't see. Her breathing was shallow, barely there, and I remember placing my finger under her nose just to make sure there was something.
Anything. I begged her to hold on, I screamed for help, I called 911, but all I got was a busy signal. The phone fell from my grip, bouncing against the hardwood floor. The thunder seemed to grow even more aggressive, a wild chorus matching the chaos in my mind.
I tried to staunch the bleeding, pressed a towel against her side, used whatever I could to ease her struggles, but I knew I was losing her. I remember thinking, "Please, please, I'm not ready to be without you… I'm not ready to grow up without you." The rain fell faster outside, and I fell faster into a kind of disbelief.
This couldn't be real, not my parents, not this moment. This kind of tragedy happened to other people, not to us, not in a home filled with love. The clock on the wall kept ticking forward, a horrendous, indifferent march toward a future I hadn't yet been forced to contemplate.
I remember the moment the first police officers arrived. The heavy knocks at the door, the way their voices seemed distant, through a thick wall of shock. I remember a kind-faced woman placing a blanket over my shoulders, kneeling down to speak quietly to me, while I kept shaking, kept crying, kept begging someone to tell me I was in a nightmare, that I would wake up safely in my own bed, to find both my parents alive and unharmed.
But I didn't. Instead, I fell into a world without them, a world I hadn't been prepared for, a world I hadn't chosen.
All these years later, I still replay that night in my mind. The thunder, the rain, the moment I turned the corner and saw their lifeless forms. The way I fell to my knees, powerless, yet desperate to bring them back. The silence afterward when the rain fell and fell washing away traces of their blood, but not the memories.
The memories stayed. The memories forged me. And I carry them with me, not just as a heavy weight, but as a vow, a vow to find justice, but I had to make sure my mom was awake first. I felt so weak, I didn't realize I was slowly slipping away from reality.
"Lana…is everything okay? You look pale, Lana." He made to reach for me and I stepped back but my vision suddenly became dizzy and I remembered that I hadn't had anything to eat today and I knew that I had to get away soon but as I made to leave the room, my legs suddenly gave way and the last thing I remember was hearing my name one last time.
I opened my eyes to his face glancing down at me and for a moment I wasn't sure if he was there or I was imagining things. I noticed the soft surface surrounding me and then I realized that I was on a bed and before I could think about what I was doing, I rose up from the bed and that was when I realized I didn't imagine his face over mine, he was actually there but then before I could rethink my next line of action, I felt warm lips on mine. There was absolutely no way that I was imagining anything this time.
He wasn't kissing me, I was the one who woke up without thinking about the fact he was in the same room as I was and worse still, he was right in front of my face. I pulled back the moment the realization hit but it was already too late. His eyes were still and I knew that contact riled him up, I half expected him to pull me close and kiss me but he didn't, he just pulled back and grunted but for some reason, something in me wanted him to. I wanted him to kiss me so badly.
"Miss Lana, you pass out and I have to carry you all the way from the bar lobby to my room and this is the first thing you do when you open your eyes?"
His room? Surely he couldn't be talking about his apartment right?
"What do you mean by your room? You do not mean you carried me all the way to your apartment" I said searching his face for answers.
The expression on his face didn't look like he heard what I said and before I could repeat my question, he pulled me to him and crushed his lips on mine. It was so sudden but it was warm, soft and sweet and for some reason, I didn't want to let go.