Sitting in the stale hotel room, she wonders suddenly if she might be making a mistake.
She is perched on the orange polyester duvet, disturbed by thoughts of what germs could be thriving on the grimy table. She’d already tried the TV, but should’ve known better- $29.99 a night wasn’t going to get her much more than a moldy mattress and a deadbolt.
She thought of Charlotte. How different would this all be if she hadn’t had a baby, didn’t have a daughter to feed, to protect, to love? The loving was easy at least, and free. Easy and free. She nearly laughed out loud at the thought. As if.
After 10 minutes, she musters up the courage to unzip the duffel bag. She picks up the gun, surprised by its weight. She had assumed that the bottle of vodka had made the bag heavy. Not about to trust the cleanliness of the spotted glass by the sink, she chooses to swig straight from the bottle instead. Cheap. She forces herself to swallow, cringes into the mirror and sees a gaunt face, the desperation in her eyes. If only… If only it hadn’t come to this.
A sharp knock at the door wrenches her back into the room. Her heart doubles pace. She snatches the gun off the orange bed, clicks off the safety with shaking hands, moves to the door slowly. Deep breath. Do it for Charlotte.
She opens the door and aims.