Let Go

TW: Guns, PTSD.

Revenge is not the only thing on Ida’s mind when she walks in. The grip on her gun is painfully calm, and somewhere in the back of her mind she registers this as problematic. But she needs this. She has to do it. She has no choice. It had been haunting her for months. 

“Oh, hey Ida.” Too casual. Her breath leaves her, grip tightening on the gun in her pocket. There are shouts going off in her brain, memories on constant replay.

You did this to me 

You did this 

You did this 

You did 

You did this 

To me 

You- 

A gasp of pain erupts from her. Morgan either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. She wipes the name from her mind. She hates her. It shoots through her veins like pure poison and she suddenly wants to both run to her and kill her, Morgan is so-   so- 

Shut up. 

Her body is exploding in warning signs, panic raking it’s cruel fingers through her chest, seizing her heart and squeezing it in it’s cold fingers. She can’t breathe and she doesn’t want to- 

“Hi.” 

The voice is hardly a whisper, vines wrapping around her throat. Their last conversation is ringing dully in the back of her head.

“I hate you!” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry! Would you have rather me let you die?”

“Yes!” 

“You are so unbelievably selfish! Why should I have to live with that?” 

“Maybe we all should have died there!” 

“What did I do to deserve this?!”

“What’s wrong?” 

“Hey, Ida, you feeling okay?” 

“Yeah. Just tired. Physics test is going to be the end of me next period.” 

“Heh. I’m sure you’ll do fine. What’s the wo r s e that could ha p p  e   n?”

What’s wrong?

What’s wrong?

What’s wrong? 

What’s-

It’s only been a few weeks-

It’s been eight months.

She really thinks she’d-

Fire. Shoot her. Get out. Get out. Run. 

Run, Ida. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m doing what I ha-”

No. 

She shakes her head, memories clattering to the floor, shards jumping up to bite her. They’re crawling up her skin, rebuilding themselves again and again and again. It doesn’t matter how many times she shatters them, they keep pushing back together. If only she could sew herself together, stitch after perfect, clean stitch. Instead, she is a jumble of crackling bones and fracturing mind. Unlike her memories, she cannot be put back together. There is only one way to do that. 

She raises the gun. She sees the fear and it smells so good, breathes life into her, the vines relax and there are tears streaming down her face-

“I’m doing wha-” 

The air smells sweet and she feels sick to her stomach. The gun never wavers, not even as the safety clicks off. The girl in front of her is terrified. She’s never seen her so utterly terrified before- 

“I’m doing-” 

-and it’s thrilling, being the cause of it. The gun shakes for the first time. A tear drops from her face and splatters to the floor. It reminds her of the blood. 

Why didn’t anybody help her?

“Ida.” 

“No.” 

“We can work throu-”

“We can’t do anything-”

“You can beat this-”

“You couldn’t beat it-”

Why didn’t anybody stop her?

“I tried- you know I tried-”

“You wanted me to get over it!”

“I never wanted you to get over it, Ida, just to move on-” 

“This is me moving on!” 

“Not like this, Ida, please-”

“I have to do th-”

“I’m doing what I-”

“Shut up!”

“I didn’t say anything! Ida-”

“You- you- stop it!” 

“Stop it!” 

“I’m do-

-i-ng what I hav-”

“Enough!” 

“I’m doing what I have-” 

“Please stop!” 

“Ida, breathe!” 

She wants to explode.

Everything is wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. She needs to end this, but she is fal l i n g- 

She can’t get up, the pain is crusHING, 

P l e  a se. 

There’s not enough air for her to breathe, and how are they still standing why isn’t the gun shaking shecan’tbreathecan’tstandcan’tmovecan’tcan’tcan’tcan’t 

F a l ling 

A p a  r    t. 

 “I’m d-” 

The gun goes off and she jumps, but Ida doesn’t move-why didn’t sheflinchwhatisw r o ng. 

“Ida.” 

“Don’t say my name.” 

“We were friends a-”

“No we weren't, you killed her-”

“Ida, please put the gun down.” 

“You didn’t!” 

“No, he didn’t. But it wasn't my fault, Ida-” 

“I hate you so much!” 

“Just drop the gun, I'll never speak or show my fa-”

“Stop lying!” And she knows the girl isn’t lying but she is sheisheisheis- h  e  l p.

She wants to scream and vomit and there are hands around her neck, squeezing, pulling, tying, she’s being lifted off her feet-

“Drop her!” 

“Ida, we have to leave!” 

“That’s my sister!” 

“Ida-” 

“What are you doing?!”

“I’m doing what I hav-” 

And Ida screams, her soul is being sucked out of her because she cannot be gone but she is. She has been. 

She’s gone. 

Gone. 

Gone. 

“I’m doing what I-” 

She doesn’t want to live with that, cannot live with that. 

She’s gone. 

You couldn’t save her. 

“Why?”

 Br  o   k e         n.

“I don’t know.” 

“She was nine.” 

“I know.”

“I was supposed to protect her.”

“No, Ida-”

“This is my fault!”

“I took you out of there, it's-”

“I’m pointing a gun at you and you say it’s your fault?” 

“Ida-” 

“Your fault?” 

“It’s their fault! Enough of thi-” 

She can’t do it anymore, she can n o t. 

    “Ida.” 

Her failure. 

Morgan. 

Morgan shouldn’t have done it. 

It’s Morgan’s fault.

“It’s your fault!” 

Please, God, let it be Morgan’s fault. 

“Ida stop-” 

It can’t be her. 

“What are you doing?!” Morgan is rushing to her, cellphone clattering to the ground, arms reaching for the gun turned on its owner-

“I’m doing what I have to do.” 

S   m     i           l          e.

The gun goes off with a bang, and Ida crumples to the ground, memories finally pooling out with her blood. 

            “I’m sorry!”