Page 111 of The Sound Of Us

Abandoning the idea of trying to get out, I go on a hunt for the gun. My body shakes at the thought, but what other choice do I have? I search high and low with zero luck. Desperate, I tear the bathroom apart.

The gun is at the bottom of the hamper.

Inhaling sharply, I stare at the object that, in Frank’s hands, had brought me so many terror-filled nights.

Now, sitting here on the floor, looking at it, it doesn’t seem so scary. I can’t help giving this gun a personality. The way it was able to silence me so many times in the past. It’s ability to make me so powerless and afraid. How it looks like Frank’s best friend in Frank’s hand. This enemy of mine that controlled me while Frank controlled it now lies innocently amongst its master’s dirty laundry.

With shaking hands, I reach into the hamper and pick it up.

Cool to the touch and heavier than I’d imagined for something so small.

I don’t even know how to check if it’s loaded, where I shouldn’t be touching to make sure it doesn’t go off.

I stand, holding the gun away from my body like it’s a live snake. I don’t know where to keep it. When Frank returns, who knows what mood he’ll be in? I need the gun to disappear or remain with me.

The time on the T.V. says two hours have passed. I take a look around the house. It looks like there’s been a robbery. Like the place was ransacked. A thought begins in my head to clean up. Because Frank hates clutter. What he’ll do when he gets back and sees the place like this. I steel myself against the thought. I don’t plan on being here when he gets back.

And as the thought forms, the kitchen door handle rattles. Pepper circles me, weaving between my legs and whining softly.

I shove the gun into my pocket and step out of the bathroom.

Frank smiles from across the kitchen with a bag of Chinese food in his hand. “You done with your episode?” he asks. Someone might think he was referring to a tantrum I might have thrown over not getting to watch my favorite show.

I don’t answer him.

He inspects the place with a roll of his eyes. “Guess not. You just gave yourself extra work, Ax. You’re so dumb. You’ll be cleaning all fuckin’ night.”

No. I won’t.

I’m ashamed to say that in a country whose soil cries for the blood spilled by gun violence, Frank’s taunts feel different now that I have a gun in my pocket. I hold on to it by the tips of my fingers, assured and afraid in equal measures, but there is a sense of power as my finger grazes that cold metal.

“Where’d you go?” I ask.

“Just down to work. I put in a last minute leave day but Peter owed me some money. I also wanted to go thank him for being a good friend and telling me about you and that deaf cunt.”

That fucking creep.

“I got us some Chinese on the way back. You should thank me. Now where the fuck am I going to find my lighter?” Frank gives the place another disapproving once-over as he sticks a cigarette between his lips.

“On the microwave,” I reply quickly. Because the few steps it will take him to get it will get him a few steps away from the door. And if he doesn’t remember, he will leave the door unlocked.

Fuck. Frank locks the door and gets his lighter. But my eyes have a hard time staying off the keys he’s left dangling from the keyhole. The other two locks above the main one are unlocked.

He’s had a drink. Not enough to be drunk, but enough for him to mellow out just a little. I don’t know how long it will last, but I’ve got to think quickly. My finger strokes the gun. Frank lights his cigarette and goes into the bathroom and just like in the horror movies, when I reach for the knob, it’s stuck and Frank comes flying back out of the bathroom.

On instinct and with the will to just fucking not die, I pull the gun out of my pocket and, with my hands clutching the weapon clumsily, I lift and aim directly at Frank.

He freezes and the power oozing out of the weapon and into my very fucking bones gives me the courage to keep my hands raised. The weight of the gun is almost unbearable, but the look on Frank’s face is priceless.

“Axel, the gun is loaded. You don’t know how to handle it. Put it down.”

His voice is calm, kind. Rational. Like a mother talking her beloved child off the ledge. I’m the crazy one with a gun pointed at another human being and one wrong move could end up with both of us dead, since I have no idea what the impact would be if I were to pull the trigger. Safety catch? I’ve heard that phrase before. Not a fucking clue what it is. Fuck, I should have paid more attention to the intricacies of this weapon that had plagued my life for so long.

But, I reason, as long as it is in my hands and not Frank’s, my chances of not dying are better.

“Put it down. Axel. Let’s talk about this. So we had a little problem. You got a little carried away with the newcomer. I get that. It could have happened to anyone, but we’re gonna make it through. I promise, Axel.”

Tears fall from my eyes and I scream with an instant rage. Not for what Frank is telling me, but because of these fucking tears. He doesn’t deserve my tears.

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