(Warning: This chapter contains intense emotional distress, themes of self-preservation, and depictions of violence. Reader discretion is advised.)
Natalia wanted to disappear, to melt into the floor and vanish from the chaos surrounding her. The weight of everything pressed down on her, suffocating, unrelenting. But as she blinked through her blurry vision, her gaze landed on a familiar figure sitting on the bed.
"Mom?" she whispered, her voice trembling, a wave of relief rushing through her. The storm inside her raged on, but seeing her mother felt like a lifeline—something solid to hold onto in this endless nightmare.
"You called me, baby. How could I ever ignore a call from my daughter?" Her mother's voice was soft, carrying the warmth Natalia so desperately needed. She smiled—a small, simple smile that felt like a beam of light cutting through the overwhelming darkness.
Tears welled up again, spilling over as Natalia stared at the only person who had ever made her feel truly safe. Her heart ached, her mind raced, and the walls around her seemed to close in. She couldn't hold it in any longer.
"Mom, I'm stuck in hell," she sobbed, the words escaping in a broken whisper. "I don't know what to do. I don't understand any of this. Please... please take me with you." Desperation clung to every syllable, as if she believed, somehow, her mother could pull her out of this nightmare.
Her mother's expression softened, but her voice held firm. "Natalia, are you really going to turn back now?" There was no anger, only a deep knowing in her gaze. "You've survived so much—me, your father, that terrible accident. And now, you want to give up?"
Natalia squeezed her eyes shut. "But I'm tired of surviving, Mom," she admitted, her voice raw. "This—this isn't my life. Blood, crime, fear... I wasn't meant to live like this." She buried her face in her hands, the weight of everything crushing her.
Her mother watched her closely, her voice turning softer yet unwavering. "But you made your choices, Natalia. Now, tell me—honestly—is any of this truly your fault?"
Natalia hesitated. The truth stuck in her throat, tangled in all the regrets and what-ifs. "No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No, it's not. I didn't report him. I never wanted this. I just wanted to protect him..." Her voice cracked, her confession hanging heavy in the air. She had only wanted to protect Brandon, even from himself.
Her mother sighed, reaching forward as if she could pull her daughter out of her pain. "That's where you were wrong, my child," she said gently. "Your mistake wasn't in protecting him—it was in forgetting to protect yourself."
Natalia froze. The words struck deep, unraveling everything she had ignored for so long. She had been so consumed with saving Brandon that she never realized she was the one who needed saving.
As if sensing the shift within her, her mother's expression softened. But before Natalia could say anything, the faint creak of the door pulled her back to reality. She turned—
Her mother was gone.
Just like that. No trace, no lingering presence. The ache in her chest expanded, suffocating, unbearable. But she couldn't dwell on it. Not now. There was no time to waste.
A strange sense of determination took hold as she walked toward the almirah. Her fingers trembled as she pulled open the hidden drawer at the back. And there it was.
The gun.
The cold metal felt heavy in her grasp, its weight grounding her in a way nothing else had. She didn't know what she was going to do with it, but holding it gave her a sense of control—something she hadn't felt in a long time.
She slid the gun into the back of her waistband and began pacing, her mind racing with thoughts she couldn't quite grasp. The faint creak of the door shattered her daze, sending a sharp jolt through her spine.
She turned.
Brandon stood in the doorway.
Something about him was different. The confidence that once oozed from him was gone, replaced by something quieter, something... uncertain. Natalia's pulse quickened.
Protect yourself.
The thought echoed in her mind like a relentless mantra. Before she even realized it, her hand moved on instinct. In one swift motion, she pulled out the gun and pointed it at him.
Brandon's eyes widened in shock, fear flickering in his gaze. It made her hesitate—for only a second. She had never seen him like this before, vulnerable and unsure. But she couldn't let that stop her.
You have to protect yourself.
Her grip tightened. Without another thought, she squeezed the trigger.
One shot.
Then another.
And another.
The recoil sent a sharp jolt through her arms, each shot louder than the last. The bullets slammed into his chest, forcing him backward. His body crumpled to the floor with a sickening thud.
Natalia stood frozen, the weight of her actions crashing down on her like a tidal wave. The room felt suffocatingly silent. She could still hear the echo of the gunshots ringing in her ears.
Brandon lay motionless on the floor, but his fingers twitched, his body clinging to the last remnants of life. A strangled breath escaped his lips, and something inside Natalia twisted painfully.
She found herself moving toward him, her legs weak, trembling. Kneeling beside him, she stared at his paling face, her own breath hitching.
What have I done?