If I were deranged, I could walk into the bedroom, grab one of the dozen guns he collected, and shoot him in the back of the head. All the odds were in my favour. At such close range, I would hit no matter how bad of a marksman I was. I’d planned every detail of my escape, but now that it was time, I almost couldn’t go through with it. I found myself standing in our bedroom with the gun case open, wondering how difficult it would be to pull the trigger.

The gun felt heavy in my hand, but not………..




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