"𝗜'm sorry," she sobbed, "I'm so sorry."
Blake kept her voice lower than a whisper as she spoke to herself, collapsing to the ground at the same time. She knew she needed to keep going—the dead body belonging to the man before her had tracked a trail of blood from the kitchen to where she was now, in front of Mason's door. She knew it was only a matter of time before they realized the pregnant one managed to kill someone and slither away.
Tears continued to roll down her cheeks in forms of hefty rivers the longer she looked at the man's lifeless, cold, blue eyes. Every time her hand patted a new area on his body, searching for weapons to defend herself, the more she acknowledged that she had become something she never intended to be. While she acted out of self-defense, the blood still stained her hands like hair dye.
"God," she continued to whimper, "Taryn, where are you when I need you?"
It was one thing to live amongst killers—she respected that those actions came with the title, and she never judged them, but there was a reason why she, personally, never became a full-fledged member when she started dating Mason, unlike Taryn with Isaac.
She couldn't handle it—she couldn't stomach it.
And now years later, pregnant and fat and bloated, she sat sitting in the corridor she practically grew up in, sobbing her eyes out for a man she didn't even know purely because she was the one that ended his life. After seeing the act over and over again whether it was displayed on clothing in the shape of blood or defense wounds on her friends—she never got used to it.
She had to force the bile down.
"Aye, amigo!" one of the bad guys shouted from the end of the hallway.
Blake gasped loudly, slapping a hand to her mouth the second she realized what she was doing. This house was no longer a place of solace, but rather an area of attack. Directly two hours after the gang packed up and headed toward the enemy base, Emiko, Caycee, and herself had finished preparing their night of fun when the electricity went out.
The storm hadn't started by then to cover up their tracks; it was clear they had become targets.
Standing in those same forced shadows now was the man that had just called out to his friend—the one dead and in her arms. His posture was broad and wide, so much so, that she could imagine each of his shoulder blades touching both sides of the walls.
Blake released the breath she'd been holding as he took a step forward. Luckily for her, the darkness hid her well, protected her; his thoughts pushed him toward the living room instead of down the hallway that he and his team had not touched since they invaded.
"Adonde se fue este imbécil?" (where'd the stupid motherfucker go?) the man mumbled.
Lowering her hands from her lips as he disappeared around the corner, she said a silent prayer. If the dead man before her now had not been so disingenuously nice to her earlier, she might still be trapped on the couch. But since he was moving in that direction now, her window of opportunity just switched from indefinite to a select few minutes.
The moment he saw the body, he'd find her.
It's not exactly like she had the means to hide it.
Slowly, she slid her hand against the knob of the door so as to not broadcast the normally loud squeak in its rusty hinge and to not displace her weight and make the floorboards creak. Her plan worked and as fast as she pushed it and crawled in, she just as inconspicuously she closed it.
She used the dresser next to the door to boost her to her feet.
Goddamn pregnancy belly.
"Momma, is you?" a small voice said from the bathroom.
Blake's head swiveled on her neck as she took in the tiny shadow illuminated by the dull light pouring in from the window across the room. Emiko's nephew, Tripp, was holding onto the trim of the wall, face soaked in tears, terrified as he must have run back here when all the ruckus started.
Dropping the knife she'd stolen onto the dresser without alerting him, she hurried over to the child and scooped him up, careful to cover his mouth as his cries began to bubble in the back of his throat. The emotional and physical connection she was offering to him was triggering a response that she couldn't afford right now, despite how much he deserved to feel his feelings.
"Hey, handsome—when did you come in here?" she gently asked.
"I heard a scary sound. Momma said go in here," his lip quivered.
Her heart dropped to her stomach as he grabbed a handful of her shirt and clutched it, pressing his forehead to her chest. His toddler tears melted through it and at the sensation of them, her role in this fight became clear.
Caycee and Emiko told her to run away and escape the moment she could because she was pregnant, but that wasn't fair to them and certainly not to this little boy.
The world would burn to ash before she allowed another kid to cry like this.
"Don't worry, sweet boy," she stroked his cheek, "Momma's just playing a game right now, she didn't mean to scare you. Do you want to play with us?"
He rubbed his eyes tiredly, but nodded.
"What playing?"
"Hide-and-seek," she replied cheerfully.
Blake flinched egregiously as a bloodcurdling scream startled her and vibrated against the walls of the house. After having been by Emiko's side for the majority of her life, she could tell from memory that her cry for help sounded nothing like that—leaving one other option.
It belonged to Caycee.
Something is seriously wrong.
"I'm scared!" Tripp cried, squirming.
Recognizing the full severity of the situation, she grabbed him by his hips and placed him on the ground; she knelt to the ground as close as she possibly could with her belly in order to make him feel more comfortable—to make him feel like he was in a game, and not that he was being talked down to. Holding him by his shoulders, supporting him with a look and with a type of touch, she stared into his beautiful green eyes and plastered on her biggest smile.
"It looks like your Momma found our friend Caycee hiding somewhere," she faked a laugh, "It sounds like they're having fun out there. Don't 'cha still want to join them?"
Once more, he gave her a kid-like nod, flustered from cheek to cheek.
"That's great, buddy!—and guess what? I know the perfect hiding spot!"
Grabbing his hand without warning, she ushered him to follow her across the room to the other side of Mason's bed. When she first moved in here with him, she declared that she needed more space to put her clothes, so they bought a bed that had drawers attached to the side. It was a blessing in disguise that she no longer lived in this room; they were cleared out.
"Wait!" Tripp complained, tugging back.
"What is it?" Blake accidentally snapped.
He didn't pick up on it because another scream followed by the sound of glass shattering covered up her voice. She winced as a loud thump and a secondary crash signified someone getting shoved, pushed, or thrown into a wall or walls as she turned back to the little boy.
They were getting closer to finding her, she could tell.
But as far as she knew, they had no intel on Tripp—she planned to keep it that way.
"Sharing is cheating!"
"No, it's not, buddy."
"It is!"
Iron-toed boots slammed against the hardwood on the other side of the door, introducing a new character to this part of the house. Frantic now, Blake took Tripp by his shoulders and carried him; slipping the tip of her sneaker underneath the drawer handle, she pulled it out and laid him flat across the inside of it.
"Listen to me, Tau," she said as gently as she could, "You need to get in this hiding spot and you need to stay there until me or your Momma or Caycee comes to find you, okay? I promise there will be no cheating, but if you don't listen, the bad guys will get you!"
"I don't like bad guys!" he started to cry again.
"Me either, so you better follow the rules, or they'll ... they'll ... they'll take all your toys away!"
Tripp shuttered in the box almost as if he had been doused in ice-cold water. She wanted to smile, grin—do something to make him more comfortable, but the sound of the footsteps had died considerably down and it frightened her.
Either they were being listened to or the man had given up his search.
She couldn't imagine it was the latter, but she had to be sure.
"Be so super-duper quiet," she whispered as she closed the drawer.
She was glad that after a moment of silence, he still had not made a peep.
Climbing to her tippy-toes, she crossed the room delicately, and slow-paced, mustering all the strength in her body to be nothing more than a feather in the breeze—and she had to work harder than before. After the second scream, the home became as quiet as dust settling.
The lump in her throat increased dangerously as she pressed her ear to the thin wooden door. Hearing was never a problem with these kinds of structures, so the fact that she heard nothing was more horrifying than hearing her friends' shrill terror.
She knew this was the part in a horror movie when she'd be screaming at the screen to turn around and run—to make like Tripp and find a clever hiding spot—but there was more at stake than just herself. Emiko and Caycee were somewhere out there, alive, or dead, and she would rather be with them in either instance than cower behind a wall like this.
Shakily gripping the doorknob, she grimaced to herself and twisted it; she was not as smooth with the squeak this time, so she prayed and hoped that no one else heard a thing and her paranoia plainly stemmed from her hyperawareness.
Her eyes calmly scanned the ground; the guy she killed earlier was still lying where she had left him. Feeling more confident that her position hadn't been blown after all, she pulled the door half an inch more and stared at the unchanging walls and shadow-filled corridor.
It was almost like fiction—the girl wins the game without even participating.
Almost.
"No!" she yelled.
The broad-shouldered man stood cloaked under the darkness.
Blake took a fast step back and attempted to slam the door in his face, but he was ten times stronger than her alone, and that was not taking her pregnancy into account. She shouted in anguish as the golden knob slammed into her lower back with the force of his blow.
She barely had time to react to that before her head was ripped back on her neck as he grabbed a handful of her hair. He yanked her backward, not caring that she was tripping over her own feet. Swear words and disgusting language disguised in Spanish overflowed from his mouth as his hot breath stung the outer edges of her ear. His fat hand cupped one of her boobs without a second thought regarding the fact that there was a child growing inside of her.
It made sense now why he separated her from Emiko and Caycee when they ambushed them.
"Get off of me!" she shrieked, blindly kicking her hands and feet.
The man growled and ripped her hair even harder, promoting fat water droplets in her eyelids.
"Stay still, puta!"
"Let go!"
Blake continued to fight—to her very last breath—she would die fighting her way out of this for the sake of her child and Tripp's life. She clawed at the air, desperate for something to magically appear to at least break up his hold on her and give her a shot at winning. Her pleas were answered as her hands slid across the top of the dresser; her eyes widened as the blade she'd taken earlier skimmed her finger.
Looking through her peripheral vision, she spotted his foot just shy of her own, and though he was wearing a protective type of footwear, she confronted her plan head-on. Lifting her shoe, she slammed the thick heel into the dip in his boots; the man did not react due to agony, but rather in hesitation, confused about what she was trying to accomplish with that pathetic move.
His grasp on her hair loosened and with a centimeter more of space, her hand clasped the base of the blade. Hurling her body in the opposite direction, throwing him for a loop with her crooked movements, she randomly whipped the knife in the air; the tip of the blade ripped under the skin of his neck, cleanly slashing it.
"Oh, god!" Blake cried, having done it again.
The man fell to his knees in front of her, clutching his wound, trying to place pressure on it. In an efforted last struggle, he reached for her to bring her down with him, but his fingertips were just shy—she had already started slipping past him before the thought even crossed his mind.
The only thing on hers now—were the others.
Her journey came to a halt a few feet shy of the kitchen as her bafflement took over. Bent over, propped against the edge of the couch was Caycee—beside her, another one of the bad guys. Broken photo frames and pools of blood decorated either side of her.
"Caycee!"
"Argh!" she replied.
Blake found her side at the same time Caycee removed a chunk of glass from the side of her shin. She grunted in pain, clearly not showing her how bad it truly felt, and flicked the shard away; her hands were shaking and a large cut covered the length of her palm, but other than those injuries, she looked put together and her worries simmered.
"I'm alright," she bit, "Go help Emiko."
She didn't need to be told twice.
Flying up, she ran into the kitchen only to be stunned once again. Around the corner of the island, just barely in her line of sight, she saw Emiko's shaken body lifting and falling repetitively—hands above her head, rising and dropping at the same rhythm. The sound coming out of her mouth made her stomach churn specifically because they weren't sociopathic—she was simply crying.
"Die! You! Stupid! Piece! Of! Shit!"
Emiko said each word individually as she stabbed him.
The enemy's body flailed every time she drove the kitchen butcher knife into his stomach, but other than that, there was no indication that he was still alive. She knew that she needed to pull her from the moment and she understood that's why Caycee sent her here.
"Emi!" she called out.
She stood a foot or so away, not wanting to get cut by accident.
At the sound of her voice, her head popped up.
Blake wore the world's calmest expression to help her come down to Earth easily, but as her dilated eyes began to revert to normal and the splashed blood on her cheeks started to drip down them, the thought of that seemed nearly impossible.
"Blake," she whispered, "You're okay."
"I'm okay," she beckoned to her with her hands.
"I-I thought that guy killed you," she slowly stood up, "I was so worried about you."
"I felt the same way—I heard you and Caycee screaming."
Emiko dropped the knife to the ground with a clatter and took a step toward her. She was completely unrecognizable, but she wasn't going to let her know that. Blake wanted her to believe that everything was going to be okay; she couldn't handle her leveling panic attack whilst trying to gaslight herself into believing she wasn't close to one too.
"Wh-where's my son?" she asked cautiously, looking around.
"He's safe, he's in—"
"Watch out!" Caycee's wail interrupted.
Blake turned her head toward the pitch of her voice at the same time the backhand of the man she thought she'd slain came soaring across her cheek. The force behind his hit was so powerful that she tumbled to the ground, landing on her stomach.
No!
My baby!
"Stupid bitch!" he shouted, "Shoulda cut me deeper!"
The next few seconds passed in a blur.
The coldness of the metal implant in his shoe was a feeling she would never forget; a kick right to the center of her belly. She let out a disgruntled noise as the force of his wind-up sent her soaring into a weight-bearing wall. Her back connected with it so hard, she dented it, becoming one with the crumbs of drywall and layers of sheathing.
"Blake!" Emiko hollered.
Flattening her hands on the floor, she did her best to pull herself from the hole. She managed to collect enough energy for a second or two, but it wasn't enough to get her out of this; she collapsed and laid still, propping her eyes open to watch the other three while she focused on reading her own body.
From what she could feel, there was no cramping—and while there was soreness from where he kicked her, she didn't think there was damage beyond that.
"I'm okay!" she shrilled.
Blinking slowly, she glanced as the man grabbed Emiko by the thickness of her throat and slammed her against the refrigerator. He used the appliance as a fallback while he lifted her higher against it—so high, her feet were no longer touching the floor. She scratched and fought his grip, but her efforts were exhausting her, not helping her.
"Wine," Blake declared meekly, "Emiko!—have a glass of wine!"
If there was a golden rule when it came to women, it was to never interrupt them during girls' night. In the instance an unknowing male decided to do just that, a bottle of wine always lingered to pop him in the head. Alas, it only worked when it was within grasp—for Emiko, it was just shy.
Instead of using it to bash his head in, the bottle teetered against the counter before ultimately falling and shattering on the floor between her feet. Her last attempt at helping her friend did nothing more than piss the guy off more; she was forced to stare helplessly as the love of her life's face began to turn blue with asphyxiation.
"Emi!"
"B-Bl—"
Just as the tears began to spill down her cheeks and the memories started to be un-recreatable, an angel with green and brown hair swooped in. Smashing a wine glass against the back of the man's head, one they'd taken into the living room before this all started, Caycee knocked him off balance.
That lingering millisecond it took for him to reconfigure and drop Emiko was the millisecond Caycee used to hop onto his back and wrap the phone charger she had in her hands around his neck. She embedded it deep into the neck wound Blake had already given him. Her lip curled in disgust at the sound of his flesh tearing, at the sound of his blood splattering against the floor, at the final bout of squelching before death.
Caycee jumped off as his body fell to the floor.
"Jesus fucking fuck nuggets!" she breathed, staring at the corpse.
"Men don't do anything properly, huh?" Emiko tried for humor, rubbing her neck.
"Nope—can't even die the right way," Caycee threw her hands up.
Blake let out a laugh.
And then another one and another one and another one.
So many that by the time the two of them reached her side to help her up, she was out of breath and they were staring at her like she was a dragon with three heads. It was the most inappropriate time to act out, but she knew that if she didn't laugh, she'd keep crying.
"Alright, giggles, get up," Caycee guided her.
Once standing, she wrapped her arms around her neck and roped her in, hugging her tightly in a way that silently thanked her for saving the both of them while being hurt herself.
When they parted, her cheeks were so red, she could practically see the steam.
"And Emi."
"What?—"
Cutting her off by tucking her frazzled blonde hair behind her ears for her, she smiled as her blue eyes followed Blake's fingertips. She dragged them down the curves of her jawbone, stopping under her chin, and tilting it up. As she closed her eyes, she let everything, all the pain, all the sadness, all the insecurity, and indecision roll off her back.
When their lips connected with shyness and sensitivity, a shock reignited a thought in the back of her brain—this was the woman she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. She knew back then with her straight black hair, and she knew right now with her golden strands and pretty pink lips.
It was easier than blinking.
Smoother than drinking water.
More desperate a desire than living.
When it ended, she wanted to start it back up again.
"What was that for?" Emiko uttered softly.
"Life is too short for me to not tell you how I feel."
"And what you feel is—?"
"I love you," she grabbed her face with both of her hands, "I loved you when we were fifteen and I loved you when you walked back into my life and I'm hoping, if you'll have me, that I'll get to love you for the rest of my life."
Emiko's eyes glistened with unshed tears.
"I love y—"
Her words were cut off by the sprinting of a child's footsteps off to the side of her, but it was okay, she knew what she was going to say. Blake looked down just as Tripp ran smack into the middle of her legs—forehead into her thighs and all.
"You cheat?" he questioned.
"Nope!" she smiled down at him, astounded that he hadn't seen the dead bodies behind him.
"I found this little goober hiding in a drawer," Caycee claimed, walking back into the room.
She shot a wink over to Emiko, telling her without words that this was all a game to him and that she should play along so that he didn't see the truth in the situation.
"Wow!—what a good hiding spot, Tripp!" Emiko exclaimed.
"Momma!"
She crouched to the floor and took him in her arms, squeezing him so tightly he farted. Blake tried her best to stifle her giggle but at the sound of his, she couldn't help it. But as her lungs filled with air, a twinge of chest pain and constriction halted her emotions.
Placing a palm over her heart, she felt the beats accelerate at a pace that was strange for a person who had only been standing in place for the last five minutes.
What the—
"Tripp, did you get hurt?" Emiko's concerned inquisition filled the room.
"No, Momma!"
"Then what's all over your ..?"
Her sentence hung in the air as she looked over; her head was even with Blake's legs. While she couldn't see what the problem was for herself, she could tell from the expression stuck to her face that there was something that was out of place.
"What is it? What's wrong?"
"Blake, I think your water broke."
"What?! That's impossible!—it's two months too soon."
Bending over as much as she could, she touched her thighs. She retracted almost as soon as she began, surprised to feel how fast her hands grew slick with liquid. The distress she felt increased as Caycee began to scramble around the house in search of a light.
Her anxiety beat in her ears, practically bursting her eardrums.
"Here! My phone!"
Something was off.
The baby shouldn't be coming this early.
Her flashlight kicked on.
It was unmistakable. Identifiable. Terrifying, but real.
Very, very real.
Blood.
"Fuck," she whispered.
Before promptly losing her balance and consciousness alike.