I thought he quit years ago. He used to smoke, but when I told him about the dangers of long-term nicotine use, he gave it up like it was nothing. To see that he’s still smoking, just behind my back, hurts something inside me, and I can’t stop myself from saying something.
“So, you’re back to being a smoker?” I call from across the lot.
Kolter’s head whips to the side in alarm before his eyes round. I’m stomping my way towards him, but if I thought I’d be the most upset person in this scenario, I was dead wrong. Anger like I’ve never seen blooms across his face as his heavy boots slam into the pavement towards me.
“Nay? What the fuck are you doing here? Did you follow me?”
I’m frightened by his tone for a moment and swallow roughly as we draw closer. “I just… I wanted to see what you’ve been doing when you’re not at home. Do you just sit out here saturating your lungs with chemicals while you play guard dog?” I say, a little more fire in my tone now.
Finally, we’re only a few feet apart so I pause, but that’s not close enough for him. He doesn’t stop until his steel-toed boots bump into my tennis shoes and his chest hits mine. He looksdown at me, those sharp blue eyes I’ve always loved turning hard and sharp like a knife.
“You need to leave. Now.”
“I just don’t understand what’s happening to you. I used to think I knew you better than anyone. You’re my brother,” I argue, though the words taste like ash the instant they leave my mouth.
Kolter makes a face as if he doesn’t like them either before shaking his head. “I’m serious. This isn’t safe—you need to leave before someone sees you.”
He grabs my arm and starts to walk me away, but I pull out of his grip and shake my head.
“If it’s not safe for me, then it isn’t safe for you. I’m not going home until you come with me.”
“Goddamnit, Peaches. Do as I fucking say, or I will make you regret it,” he threatens, violence flashing in his eyes.
I know I should be scared of him—he’s basically threatening me. Deep down, though, I know he’d never hurt me.
I’m about to say as much when a car drives by and a window rolls down. Everything happens so fast. One moment, I’m standing, having it out with Kolter. The next, I’m down on the concrete, his heavy body on top of mine before a loud popping sound echoes through the night.
Looking up, I see Kolter’s drawn a gun and is shooting towards the car as it shoots at him. He must hit someone because the car swerves and crashes into a telephone poll. When the passenger door opens, though, two shots are fired simultaneously. One drops the dark-haired man from the car, a perfect hole penetrating his forehead; the other hits Kolter in the chest.
My brain struggles to process what I’m seeing.
Kolter presses his hand to his chest then pulls it away, staring down at the blood coating his fingers.
“Oh fuck,” he mutters before dropping to the ground.
Panic races through me as I scramble towards him, frantically scanning his body. Oh God, what do I do? What do I do?
Pressure, right? He needs pressure. And a hospital. Badly.
Quickly, I press one hand against the hole in his chest as I reach for my phone, only to realize I left it on the charger at home. Stupid, stupid!
I pat around in his pockets and find his phone.
“Kolter? Kolter? You’re gonna be okay. Okay? Stay with me!”
That’s what people on TV say to keep injured people awake, right?
“Peaches,” he rasps. “Go. You need to go.”
“I’m not leaving you!” I retort as I dial the police.
“911, what’s your emergency?” the operator asks.
“Hello! Hi, hello? Help! My friend has been shot.”
I look down to see Kolter shaking his head in disapproval, but when he tries to stand, he winces and lies back down fully.
“Okay, what’s the address of your location?” the operator asks.