Jaime Snr didn’t reply.
“You know, you should have rotted in prison. You should have died behind bars for what you did to her.”
“Son, I…”
“Do not call me son, ever!”
Jaime’s head was beginning to swim. He was feeling very drowsy like he could fall asleep right then and there. His dad must have seen his momentary lapse in concentration, because he got onto his feet and made a lunge for the gun. But Jaime had remembered how his dad’s mind worked. He knew that you were at your most vulnerable around the man when you were distracted.
He pulled the trigger.
The gunshot ripped through the silence of the night.
The bullet hit his dad in the chest. He fell backward again, screaming out in pain as a thin streak of blood ran down his shirt.
Jaime could barely hang on to consciousness. He had half a clip left, but he suddenly felt like the crying pile of shit which was his father didn’t deserve to be put out of his misery quite yet. His vision was darkening, the room swam before his eyes.
“No one’s coming to help you,” he managed to say, “You’re going to die, just like she died. Scared, and alone.”
Jaime pressed the gun to his temple and whispered one final repentance before pulling the trigger.
“Claire, I’m sorry.”
Our Dead Bodies [Anthology] Page 20
