PROLOGUE

-

I screamed in agony.

It wasn't a normal pain, no. It was sheer torture. Mental and emotional. God, even physical to a degree.

As lights overhead flashed by and voices yelled frantically while they carted me away, I couldn't help but focus on the pain.

The smell of rubbing alcohol and antiseptic substances ruled the air and squeaky floors pierced my ears. My head rolled side to side.

Vision slowly coming in and out, hearing almost non-existent... I was beginning to forget where I was.

Yet, over and over in my head played a movie, a single scene from the movie, and all I could do was watch, my bones aching from the lack of action. Why did I survive? Why didn't the vest stop the bullet?

Answer me, dammit!

God, why did he have to die?

Please... Answer me.

-

Air rushed into my lungs with a gasp as I shot up from my bed. Darkness enveloped me and I was coated in a sea of black. I shook the sheets from my sweat-ridden chest and breathed heavily, waiting for my eyes to adjust to my surroundings.

"Daddy?"

I glanced to my right where a little, pale form stood in the doorway of the bedroom. Running my fingers down my face, I sighed and waved towards the figure to approach.

"Come here, sweetheart," I said with a weak smile. As she stepped into the moonlight, a disheveled little girl was revealed. Her pajamas twisted and scrunched, and her mocha brown hair tousled, Tilly Marshall tugged on the blankets that hung off the bed and attempted to pull herself up. I reached over to give her my support, as I always did, and helped her up beside me. She huffed and rested her head onto my chest.

"Did you have a bad dream, too?" I asked, brushing my hand over her head. She nodded, rubbing her eyes and snuggling closer to me.

While they weren't as bad as before, I still couldn't shake the nightmares. They typically occured once a week or two, but worsen when the anniversary approaches. Two years since his death. And two years that I can't accept.

I chewed on my cheek and squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that these flashing memories would subside.

"Let's get you back to bed, okay?" I whimpered out pathetically, patting Tilly on her head once more. She grumbled to herself before beginning to whine about not wanting to sleep in her bed. I rolled my head back, annoyed, and decided I didn't have the energy to fight her tonight.

She knew she'd won, promptly laying on her side and curling up into me. I couldn't be frustrated with her for long. She was the sweetest and most innocent creature that I'd ever encountered. And, though at times I'd get upset, I could never be angry with her.

Tilly didn't choose this life. I wasn't about to take anything out on her.

I tucked her into my bed, laid beside her for a few moments until her breathing slowed and she fell into a deep sleep. After attempting to get rest myself, I dug my fingers into my palms with frustration, eventually deciding that sleep wasn't in store for me tonight.

Every time I closed my eyes, there he lay. Begging for my help. Pleading for me to take the pain away.

With a grunt, I lifted myself out of bed and escaped the ever shrinking room. I made my way downstairs and flicked on the kitchen lights, scrounging around for a glass and my bottle of Jameson. Placing the two on the black marbled countertop, I turned and retrieved some ice for the glass and eventually poured myself one over the rocks.

Instead of enjoying my drink, I tilted my chin up and drained the drink, letting the liquid hit the back of my throat. Within seconds, the whiskey was gone, and I was pouring another cup.

"Fuck," I huffed after I finished a third drink. I leaned over the sink, my eyes trailing across the entirety of the kitchen, looking for, well, I didn't know, something to take my mind off of the past.  I spotted a picture frame faced down on the other side of the room, vaguely remembering why it was turned down in the first place. I stumbled over there with my fourth drink and lifted it up.

It was Gabby.

Blonde hair, blue-eyed, delicate frame. Bitch.

My grip tightened around the silver frame as I wondered why I even kept this picture. Then I noticed my daughter with her toothless grin, and her messy, long brown hair framing her face, wild like she was. She was my daughter, after all. And beside the two was me. A shaved face, clean cut, brown hair, and dimples that were probably the only reason Gabby fell for me.

Now, those dimples were hidden behind a beard, slightly graying and probably in need of a good trim or three.

It's been five years since things were normal. Five fucking years.

I've been in this house for that long, suffering from the consequences of my wife's decisions to up and leave her family. In a drunken stupor, I took the framed pictured and threw it against the floor, the glass shattering across the tile. The noise bounced off the walls of my home and echoed loudly in my ears.

Tears welled and I had no choice but to bite them away. I had enough.

No more torture. No more pain.

Tilly was young enough that she wouldn't be adversely affected if we up and left, too. Somewhere calm, somewhere that the city couldn't touch. A place that Gabby couldn't find us, even if she wanted to. And a place where I could shove out the old memories and make room for the new ones.

On May 9th, I decided to take Tilly and our belongings and leave Detroit, Michigan behind us.