Ava

TW: violence, mental health, language

this is an exerpt from a longer story I wrote. js for context, Charlie (the main character), and Ava are best friends and have sleepovers frequently when Ava's parents aren't home. they are currently having a sleepover.

I turn into the kitchen, digging through the drawers for the popcorn. I hear Ava get up, I hear her walk towards the bathroom. I wait until the door shuts with a click before slipping up the stairs to Ava's father's office. I shove the papers and folders off of the safe before quickly punching in the code. It opens with a quiet beep, and I grab what I need.

  I tiptoe downstairs and shove a bag of popcorn in Ava's microwave, starting it as she comes out of the bathroom.

    She walks into the kitchen with a confused grin. "What the hell are you doing?"

  "Making popcorn?" I say with a laugh.

  "I told you to get the Skinny Pop," she sighs, trying desperately to control her giggles. "Here. In the pantry."

  I follow her inside, the guilt a wave threatening to destroy me, to sink me, and I want to sink down right here and now because it's too hard. It's too hard.

  But I have to. This is for my own good.

  "Found it!" Ava exclaims, holding up a family-sized bag of popcorn triumphantly.

  I smile and follow her back into the living room, fingering the object in my pocket, feeling the cold metal against my clammy hands. I squeeze it, and somehow it calms me.

  Ava jumps onto the couch. She looks at me mischievously, opening the bag of popcorn and shoving a handful into her mouth, before stealing the good blanket from my side. 

  "Slut," I glared at her playfully, grabbing the popcorn bag out of her hands.

  "Bitch," she shoots back with her mouth full, a sly smile tugging at her mouth. 

  I grin and settle down, eating the popcorn while I watch Ava scroll through the movies. She eventually settles on The Joker, and she clicks play. I wait for it, for the perfect moment, counting down the seconds. I count from eighty three.

   Ten, nine, eight, seven...

   "Charlie, I forgot to ask you, but you're okay with this movie, right?"

    Six, five, four...

    "Charlie?"

    Three.

   "Answer me, you bitch," she laughs.

    Two.

    "Charlie, what..."

   One.

   I take it out of my pocket and hold it to her head, the cold metal stinging my hands, the metallic color shining eerily in the light of the television.

  Ava is still, completely, totally still, not looking at me, not speaking. "The gun," she finally whispers.

  "I'm sorry," I try to say, but my voice is gone, it's run away from me, from what I'm doing right now. My hand trembles as I force the barrel closer to her head.

  "Bitch," she says forcefully, shakily. I know she's not joking this time.

  "If you could read my mind, you would be in tears," I say, my voice cracking. "You would know, you would understand-"

  She refuses to look at me, tears streaming down her face. "Why would I ever trust someone as angry as you?" she murmurs, her voice shaking from the crying. "Why would I give you a gun? Why would I give you a second chance?"

  "Ava, I fucking hate myself for this," I whisper. "I fucking hate myself."

  I watch her blue eyes, her teary, crystal blue eyes, like the ocean that once decided I was the one it wanted to try to kill that day, and it took me and I was never coming back, but only for a moment do I, did I hesitate, because I'm stronger than that. I'm strong.

  I hear the bang, and Ava's animal-like cry as she crumples to the floor.

   Shit---

   I sink to the floor with her, catching her body in my hands, her soft t-shirt so fucking familiar, the fabric I'll never feel again, because she's dead, because I killed her, because, because, because.

  My vision blurred with tears. "Ava," I whispered. I whispered her name over and over, two times, ten, fifteen, forty--

  I wish I hadn't done it. I wish, I wish, I wish.

  I drop her body, my hands now cradling my face, like how my mother never used to cradle me, and I realize my face is wet, from the tears, probably, but I see my reflection in the mirror and it's blood, and I'm screaming, but it isn't me, and all I can hear is her.

  Ava.

    I stop. Everything stops. The room is silent, now, and I had the power to do that. I did that.

  Maybe killing Ava was the right decision.

  I pick the gun up off of the floor and shove it in my pocket. I ran upstairs and into Ava's room. I open her closet and take one of her hoodies, her old softball one, with the eighty-three on the back. It smells like her. I love it.

  It's my trophy.

  I run downstairs, to the door, the hoodie and the gun in my arms. As I'm fumbling with her house key to unlock the door, I glance at the photos lining the walls. Ava with her parents, her older brothers, her other friends back in middle school, and-

  Me.

  It's not me. It can't be.

  I'm laughing, hugging Ava, looking back, away from the camera, being wild, not holding back, not a care in the world. This was before, when Ava's hair was short, mine was long, when I would still wear lots of color, reds, oranges, yellows, the entire rainbow, when we were both happy, and what is that again?

  I swallow hard and tug open the door, slamming it on my way out, not daring to look back.

  Never looking back. 

  I skip school the next day, and I sit on the couch and watch the news for hours. It's really quite depressing, but what else do I have to do? I can't have Ava haunting me. That'd be even worse than if she was alive.

  I suddenly have the craving for ice cream while skipping through channels, so I flip back to the news and walk to the kitchen. As I'm walking back, I suddenly hear, "In the quaint town of New Hills, Idaho, a tragic event has occured."

  I stop and drop my spoon, dashing back to the TV. No. Fuck no.

    "Sixteen-year-old Ava Caddel was shot in her own home. Her parents found her at two am in the morning, coming back from a late-night gala."

   Shit, shit, shit-- 

    My heart is pounding as the narrator continues. "Ava was supposed to be with her best friend, however, there was no sign of him in the house, or that he had ever been with her. Two items were also reported as missing from the household: one of Ava's hoodies, and her father's gun from a locked safe in his office."

  I freeze. I wasn't careful. They'll find my fingerprints, and it'll be all over.

  "Detectives are searching the body and the household for more clues, and will be interrogating people close to Ava, or people who might have been in contact with her the night before. However, most clues point to this being a suicide, except for Caddel's hoodie being missing. We will update tomorrow with more information."

  "Ava's on the news?" my mother pokes her head in, and I whip around.

  "She's dead," I say lowly.

  "Oh." My mother makes a weird face. "Whatever."

  I blow out a breath as my mother leaves, switching off the TV. I need to hide that hoodie. I need to get rid of it, somehow.

  I dash up to my room, snatch the hoodie from my bed, and run out the back door. I need to put this somewhere, anywhere. Somewhere where no one can ever find it.

  I find myself running to the local playground. I toss the hoodie in the bushes, and then run back, my eyes squeezed shut in order to not cry.

  I can't take it. I can't.

  I find myself running to Ava's house. I walk inside, completely numb. The officers look at me strangely. Mrs Caddel, Ava's mother, is there, too, and her head whips around. Her eyes fill with tears as soon as she sees me. "Charlie," she whispers.

  "She's dead," I say numbly. "Ava--"

  "Oh, honey," Mrs. Caddel says, walking over to embrace me in a tight squeeze. "Don't worry, Charlie, we'll find out who did it, I promise."

  I nod along, but I'm torn. How could I do this to her? Why would I do this to her? And Mrs. Caddel, and Mr. Caddel, too, and myself? How could I hurt everyone like this?

  "Who's this?" a plump man with a scruffy beard walks over, and Mrs. Caddel breaks apart from me.

  "Charlie Carter," she says, taking my hand with a smile.

  "Ava's best friend, correct?" the officer says with a nod at me. "I'm Detective Smith. How are you?"

  "Getting by," I murmur.

  "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Carter. However, we were just about to pop over to do a little bit of questioning. Would you mind if we just did it now?"

  I shake my head numbly. Nothing matters right now. I'm gone. Everything's gone.

  The detective leads me up to Ava's father's office, and (unfinished sentence because I am fucking unorganized haha)

  "Don't. Move." I hiss, holding the gun. This time, I'm not shaking. It's not Kaylee, or Colin, or Ava. I'm done. Nobody dares to cross me thinking they won't get badly hurt.

  "Mr. Carter, please hand me the weapon," the detective says.

  "Out of the room," I order him. "Let me go. Now. And nobody gets hurt."

  "I'm afraid if you don't put away the gun, I'm going to have to--"

  "I'm afraid if you don't leave me alone, I'm going to shoot you." I hiss.

  He slowly takes out his gun, and suddenly, a flame of rage engulfs me.

    "I'm going to fucking kill you!" I roar, colors flashing in front of my vision. I don't think, I can't see, I can only hear as I pull the trigger, two times, ten, fifteen, forty, and---

    Shit

  There's a sharp stabbing pain in my side, and I fall, and I hear the gun fall, and I can't hear anyone yelling or crying and everything's blurry, it's all fading. "Fucking leave me alone!" I yell, and I'm not sure whether I'm crying or screaming or what.

  Ava.

  Ava, I'm so sorry.