I'm biding my time now as I go through the crowd, managing to get myself to the bar - I know that drinking probably wasn't the best thing to do before things started to unfold, but my hands were shaking to the point where I doubt I would be able to do much of anything else.

Three shots. Take them fast, let them burn. Let the alcohol sizzle through my veins, calm me down.

This - this entire endeavor is going to drive me to more drinking than I've ever even thought about doing, but - there was only one way to drown the feeling of apprehension, the fear that something would go wrong, and it would all backfire.

There were too many things to worry about, and no time to worry.

"Hailey?" A hand rests on my shoulder, and I glance up, startled, but - manage to calm just slightly when I realize who it is. Randy. I must be bothering him something fierce, simply sitting here and brooding over hidden plans of death and destruction.

After all, he's much more used to me being his supposed plaything; or perhaps he is mine.

I'm not sure who's technically using who at this point. I suppose, for our own purposes...

"Hai..." I can feel my hair being moved away from my neck, fingers lightly brushing it over one shoulder as a burst of hot air meets my neck. The feeling of teeth pressing down, tiny little nips and kisses. Occasionally, he'll start with trying to lick the side of my neck, but I twitch uncomfortably.

He knows I don't like that, and like a trained puppy, he pays mind to it.

There're words again, murmurings of near concern, dirty thoughts given breath, simply -

I know he doesn't like the fact that I'm sitting here like this, and part of me, perhaps the part with three shots of vodka dancing in her bloodstream, wanted to go back and forget about all of this.

Simply fuck and forget.

I wish I could. But I can't.

"Not now..." I'm moving from the barstool now, pushing him away slightly - there's a flicker of something in dark eyes - surprise maybe. No other girl has ever pushed him around like I have, I presume - no one's ever told him he had to wait for something, and that it may not come to him on a silver platter.

He waits, though, taking my seat and looking forlorn for a moment, then asking the bartender for - something. I'm too far away to hear now, but -

I pass Ric, and I can see him watching me, starting to follow now that he knows that I've pushed myself into 'alone' mode again; it doesn't happen often, it seems, but when it does, it's obvious I'm at my most vulnerable.

Or at least that's what he thinks.

Outside - outside. The old man follows me, and there's visible drunkeness in his swagger. A few steps away - to the alleyway near the bar.

I wait, leaning against the wall, eyes closed, until I can feel the presence of another standing directly in front of me, filthy thoughts of his already starting to take action. He knows there's no one around, and is acting accordingly.

No one can hear me, he assumes. Then again, that means no one can hear him.

I let this go on for a while, all the time trying to hold down the rising taste of bile in my throat, the illness that comes from this - the moment itself, the plans, the...

Everything.

He rips the top of my dress, trying to get to the creamy flesh beneath, and - that's when I strike. A sharp knee connects to his groin, and my eyes flash with fear for a moment before he doubles over.

This is it. This is where the ball starts rolling.

Where it starts. Where it could all stop.

Fingers fumble with the gun, tugging it out of my purse as he staggers toward me again, mumbling curses under his breath.

Fumble with the safety.

"You stupid bitch..."

Shaking finger on the trigger.

"...what the hell are y..."

BANG.

One shot tears through, and I can already see the red spout from the wound, oozing over the white dress shirt.

BANG. BANG.

Three bullets to the chest - it was something I was positive would be lethal, and I shrieked then, knowing that the shots would ring out into the night, maybe catch someone's attention.

I was right. Someone had heard. Someone...

"You little..." Hunter's voice interrupted my somewhat panicked thoughts, and I froze in my tracks, gun skittering onto the pavement below me. This could be -

"Hailey!" Ah, no. Here comes my little hero, and even while he knows what happened, even if he's seeing life slowly drain from the oldest man in their trio, Randy's arms wrap around me, around my fragile, shaking form.

"...he forced me..." Burying my face into Randy's chest, I started sniffling, trying to force myself to cry - the fear had taken hold of me, a sense of shock - so it really wasn't that difficult.

I'd killed someone. Killed.

I was a murderer.

"He followed me out here, and he tried to forc...oh, god..." My knees buckle, and I can feel his grip tighten around me in order to keep me from falling on the ground.

Hunter, however, was still not pleased, and had gone to get the police, all while glaring at me.

Everything I said was the truth, though. I had not verbally said it was all right for Ric to start doing what he had, and he had followed me out here, and...

My story would hold up when asked.

"It's all right, Hailey..." There was another flash of darkness in the youngest's eyes, and his lips met my forehead gently, his arms pulling away only so he could brush away the tears that had started to fall against my face.

Murderer murderer murderer.

Maybe he knew.

That was silly - he knew not of my reasons for being here, nor for any other reason I would hurt anyone - he couldn't know, but...

That look in his eye scared me. That - contempt.

Murderer he knows...