SEVENTEEN

thinking about where my feet would take me. I ran until my lungs burned and my eyes watered, until my feet beneath me were in lacerated shreds. Still I kept going.

I couldn't stop. Couldn't allow myself to think. Even tears couldn't be forced from my eyes; they blinked and stared blankly, my mind and heart numb. I barrelled down the quiet streets, too scared to think about what had just happened, scared that I was still in danger, scared full stop.

I flew around a final corner and found my hands pummelling on a door. Chest pressed against the wood, I smacked my fists into it again and again. I was relentless as my dry mouth heaved around silent sobs.

Finally the door opened a crack, just enough to peer through. Warm brown eyes met mine. Slanted at first, skeptical, then softer.

"Lucas, L-luke p-p-please-" I stammered as tears flooded my face. I pushed at the door but he held it steady. "P-please, Luke, I need to..."

Lucas glanced over his shoulder quickly then released the door, allowing me to stumble into his arms. He held me up as my legs gave out.

"Florence," he breathed, concern lacing his voice. "What is it?"

"I-I-I-"

All of the tears I hadn't shed came flooding out at once. Sobs wracked my body so hard I couldn't speak.

"It's okay," Lucas whispered, his tanned hand rubbing my arm. "Shh. Breathe."

He kicked the door behind us and led me through his apartment as I struggled to hold myself together enough to take a breath. I couldn't recall, but he must have sat me down on the sofa and handed me a glass of water. It shook in my hand.

"Jesus, Flo," he cursed quietly. "You're hyperventilating."

"I'm s-sorry, I-"

The glass slipped from my hand and water pooled all over my lap and the sofa. I cried harder.

"Hey, shh, it's okay-" Lucas assured me, picking up the glass.

"Uncle Luke, what's wrong with Flo?"

Lucas froze as he heard Rachie's high pitched voice sound from the corridor. She stood in the doorway, teddy hanging from one hand, a confused look on her face.

"Flo is just a little upset, Rachie, she'll be fine. Why don't you go back to bed and I'll come and tuck you in once she's okay?"

At this Rachie took a step closer and her face screwed up.

"Is Flo hurt?!" she cried, dropping the teddy.

Lucas rushed off the sofa instantly and scooped her up into his arms, shooting me an apologetic glance. He wiped his niece's eyes hurriedly and passed her teddy back, mumbling reassurances as I fell apart on his sofa. He disappeared through the door with Rachie, while I frantically dabbed at the spilt water on my lap.

My hands were shaking and so too was my vision. All I could think about was the feeling of that gun in my hands, the recoil as I fired.

I jumped when Lucas sat down beside me again.

"Hey," he lulled, "it's okay. Shh. Breathe."

He handed me a towel, but when he realised I was capable of doing little more than holding it, he began mopping up the mess for me.

"I-I- I didn't mean to," I sobbed frantically, shaking my head. I didn't even recognise my own voice.

"It's just water," Lucas chuckled.

"N-no," I hiccuped.

He raised his eyes to me to see if I would elaborate but I could force no more words out.

"Are you hurt?"

My head shook vigorously.

"Okay. Good." He set the towel down on the table and looked into my eyes. "What happened? Was it him?" The venom in Lucas' voice was unmissable.

"N-no," I spluttered desperately. "No, no, no..."

"Okay, okay," he soothed. "What happened?"

I tried to form a cohesive sentence but the fresh memory of what had happened was too much to bear. I opened my mouth and a sob tore out of it.

"I-I -"

"Flo, listen," Lucas interrupted my gibberish by cradling my face in his hands. "It's okay. You're okay. I need you to tell me what happened so I can keep you safe."

"Th-th-there was a gun," I stammered.

"Arturo's gun?"

I shook my head.

"Your gun?"

"J-just a g-gun." I brought my palms up to my face as if I could push all the tears back in. I couldn't catch my breath.

Lucas pulled my hands away and met my watery gaze. "And what about this gun?"

"I-I shot it!"

The realisation hit me once more and I crumbled. It felt like my chest caved in and I sagged on the sofa, curling up on the wet material with my arms around my legs.

"Jesus, what happened to your feet?" Lucas ran a hand along the bottom of my leg and paused at my ankle. "Where are your shoes?"

I smacked his hand away roughly. "That's not the point!"

"You're bleeding," he persisted, returning his hand to my foot. "Let me clean you up."

"No."

"You might need stitches," he pressed, examining the battered skin. The furrow between his brows deepened and he let out a sharp breath.

"No," I repeated, more firmly.

Lucas shuffled out from beneath me and stood up. "At least let me clean the wounds."

I opened my mouth to argue but he had already walked off into the kitchen. I wrapped my arms tighter around my legs and closed my eyes. I could hear gunshots echoing through my mind.

"This might sting a little."

My eyes shot open and I found Lucas kneeling in front of me. He held some cotton wool in one hand and some sort of rubbing alcohol in the other. The sight elicited no emotions in me. I didn't wince as he doused the cotton with liquid and pressed it to my raw feet. I didn't feel it. The only thing I could feel was a paralysing guilt.

That's what I felt, most of all: guilt.

Always mean it when you pull the trigger, Arturo had whispered to me. But I hadn't meant it; I still didn't. And now the bullet had been released, there was no way to get it back.

"I-I didn't mean it," I shook my head, overcome suddenly with emotion.

Lucas looked up from his work, startled. He must have seen the pain in my eyes, because he put the cotton swab down and leaned closer.

"I don't know what you did, and I don't care," he whispered. "You are a good person, Flo."

I felt like I might be sick. I had never been more repulsed at myself, but I was all out of words. None could sufficiently explain how disgusted I felt, or how tightly guilt constricted around my chest.

Lucas picked the cotton back up and went back to dabbing my feet. Occasionally a pinprick of pain would penetrate my numbness, but mostly I felt nothing.

"You know, Rachie has really missed you," Luke said quietly. He raised his eyebrows as if the statement meant nothing, a passing comment about the weather.

I stayed silent.

"She's always talking about you," he continued. "She says you make better pancakes than me."

The red cotton swab was discarded into a bowl and a new, clean one set about tidying up my other foot.

"You should come by some time under normal circumstances. Rachie would really like to hang out with you again."

"Lucas," I snapped, "shut up."

He glanced up for a second, brow creased. A lock of blond hair had fallen in his eyes. He blew it away with the corner of his mouth and shrugged, a half smile forming.

"Okay, so maybe I miss you."

"Lucas-"

Before I could argue further he reached behind him and pulled out a pair of chunky socks. He slipped one onto my left foot, careful not to disturb my lacerated skin.

"They might be a little big," he apologised with a faint smile. "The other option was Rachie's..."

The material pooled loosely around my ankle. "There," he said, easing the second one on.

"Lucas..." I tried again. My voice caught.

He pushed up from the floor and picked up the bowl of used cotton, taking it, along with the alcohol, away.

"I'm pretty sure we have some ice cream in the freezer," Luke nodded to himself. "You love mint choc chip still, right? I mean I think Rachie has strawberry, too, but-"

"I-I can't eat ice cream," I said, adamantly shaking my head.

Lucas halted and slowly turned around.

"Sure you can. You just scoop it up with a spoon and put it in your mouth. You're pretty proficient with spoons, if I remember correctly..."

His humour was met by my vacant stare. Even the memory of lobbing a spoon at Luke couldn't rouse in me any form of positive emotions.

"Maybe I shouldn't have brought that up," he muttered. He scratched the back of his head and stared at me, utterly at a loss. I could tell that he had no clue what to do with me, nor did I have a clue what to do with myself. It felt like the bullet I fired had torn a hole inside my own chest. And now, through that hole, all of the good things were being sucked away into a vacuum.

"Are you really sure you don't want ice cream?" Lucas ventured hopefully.

I shook my head.

"Well." His hand, that had only been at his side for approximately .5 seconds, moved back to his head. He expelled a heavy sigh. "Do you want me to call someone? Call...him?"

The thought of Arturo finding out what I had done stirred inside me a cold sense of dread and fear. Immediately I sat bolt upright, eyes wide as I attempted to convey just how bad an idea I thought that was.

"No!" I cried, biting down on my lip. "If he f-found...found out..."

"Found out what?" he wondered, frowning slightly.

"About the gun."

"He's seen his fair share of guns, Florence. I really, really doubt it would surprise him."

Suddenly the damp towel on my lap became very interesting. I picked at its threads and mumbled, "you don't understand."

"You've had a long day," Lucas said eventually. His mouth was pulled down into a grim line, and even when he forced a smile, I could see that it didn't meet his eyes. "I'm going to get you some ice cream."

"Luke!" I called desperately.

"What?"

"I shot somebody."

This time he slowly turned around. "What?"

My eyes burned.

"I shot somebody! Okay! I killed someone-"

Just as my words were finally forming faster and faster, there was a loud bang from the door of the apartment that sent my heart juddering.