𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍// 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟑

Thirteen-year-old Will set down the rag and got to his feet. His body ached, and exhaustion weighed him down. He walked to the living room,wincing--and paused in the doorway, surprised at what he saw before him.

Naomi Solace was passed out on the couch. Her blonde hair was messy, her make-up smeared. Her purple cocktail dress was stained with liquor. A bottle of the foul stuff was still clutched in her hand.

For as long as Will could remember, his mother had a drinking problem. Since she was gone a lot (either recording songs at the studio or partying at a bar), Will had to clean the house. He'd learned the hard way to keep the house spotless, lest Naomi beat him-- or worse, take a cigarette lighter to his shoulders.

Now, as he looked at his sleeping mother, he thought she looked almost... peaceful.

Her purse was on the floor-- and the world seemed to pause as he beheld what was peeking out of the top.

The hilt of a pistol.

Reaching down, Will pulled the gun out of the purse, holding it in both hands. It was heavier than he expected.

He looked at Naomi, his mother.

Will could've justified himself later on, could've said that he was being stupid and impulsive, that he hadn't been thinking straight. But his thoughts had been clear. He had known what he was doing.

He didn't feel an inch of fear, a fraction of remorse, as he leveled the gun to Naomi's head and pulled the trigger--

There was a click, but no bang. Will gasped, stumbling away.

The gun had jammed.

For a moment, he stared at the pistol in his hands, at Naomi's sleeping form.
Then he shoved the gun back in her purse and sprinted away-- away from the gun, away from his mother, away from the damning truth.

That he'd almost-- he'd almost--

Will bolted upright with a scream that seemed to shatter the silent night. He thrashed, then fell out of the bed, hitting the floor hard.

He staggered to his feet and stumbled through the darkness, his hands clawing desperately at the walls as he searched for a light-- search for anything that could have saved him. Terror roared through him, until he could hardly think past it.

His hands scraped at metal-- the doorknob. He grabbed it and pulled, but it wouldn't open. Will pounded on the door, screaming until his voice was hoarse.

Footsteps on the other side of the door. He sobbed with relief when he heard Kayla's voice. "Will! Are you okay?"

"Let me out!" he shouted.

"What's going on?"

He couldn't get out. There was no light. He might as well have been back in that cell--

"LET ME OUT!"

The door opened, and Will rushed out into the lit hallway. He braced his arms against the wall, sucking in lungfuls of air.

"You're okay," he whispered to himself. "You're okay. There's nothing to be afraid of." He blinked back tears as relief swept through him, nearly making his knees buckle. "You're okay."

"Will!" Austin, slowly and cautiously, set his hand on his brother's shoulder, as though afraid Will would shatter at the slightest touch.

But how could Will shatter when he was already broken?

"What happened?" Kayla asked gently. "What's wrong?"

Will went rigid.

Naomi-- the pistol--

Whipping around, he sprinted to the bathroom. He barely made it to the toilet before he was sick.

He had aimed that gun at Naomi's head, knowing very well what he'd been doing. And had never regretted it.

While he had been in combat, he had used a bow-- but it had been self-defense, life-or-death. And even then, he sometimes had a hard time doing archery. But going to shoot his mother as she was sleeping...

Doubling over, Will vomited again. He was only faintly aware of his siblings at his side, rubbing his back and murmuring soothing words.

And if that gun hadn't jammed... If it hadn't prevented him from shooting Naomi, hurting her, killing her...

Will slumped against the wall, curling in on himself. It took his siblings nearly an hour to get him back to bed.

Will didn't sleep the rest of the night.