So this is how I die.
Not like in the movies: no violins, no dramatic flashbacks. Just me lying on the floor of a house that smells like chemicals and rot, waiting for the air to stop hurting. The carpet sticks to my skin. Wet in some spots. Crusted in others.
Every breath scrapes my ribs like broken glass. Something in there is cracked—I can feel it shifting when I inhale. My throat burns raw. When I swallow, it feels like shards sliding down my neck.
They're gone. All of them. I should feel relieved. No shouting. No footsteps in the hallway. No pretending to be asleep so I wouldn't be noticed.
But the quiet feels worse. Twelve is too young to die. Maybe I did something terrible in another life. Maybe this one is the punishment.
Penance.
I used to like words like that, big words that made me feel smart. Around here, smart gets you hit. The taste of metal floods my mouth. My jaw doesn't close right anymore. One eye won't open all the way. When I breathe too deeply, something twists inside my stomach and pain spills through my chest.
There's blood somewhere inside me. I can tell. My skin is freezing, but my insides burn.
Come on already. Jesus.
Even my murderer couldn't give me a peaceful death?
Then—
BANG. BANG. BANG.
"Police! Open up or we're coming in!"
Guess not today, Death. The door explodes inward. Boots pound down the hallway: heavy, fast, angry. Mom's rule flashes through my head. No shoes in the house. Said it kept people from stealing. She'd lose her mind if she saw this.
"Jesus Christ," a man whispers.
Then louder—
"I've got a body!"
No.
No, I'm not a body.
I'm still here.
A hand presses against my neck. Pain explodes through the bruises, and a sound rips out of me, thin and broken.
"She's alive!" the man shouts. "Get the paramedics!"
Fabric rustles. Something heavy settles over me, a jacket maybe. It smells like sweat and cigarette smoke, but it's warm. Warm is good.
"Hey… stay with me, kid," the man says softly.
His voice is rough, but careful. Like he's afraid I might slip away if he talks too loud. I want to tell him I'm not going anywhere. But my lips won't move. Voices blur together.
Footsteps.
Metal clatters.
Bright lights flash red and white through my half-closed eye. Pain surges through my legs, ribs, neck, until the whole world turns white. I can't hold on anymore.
So I let go.