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It’s just a little guy, some kind of Spaniel, and my stomach rolls, hearing its strangled breathing.
It’s suffocating.
The prick that sped off must’ve hit it.
“Shouldn’t the kid go sit in the car?” the woman asks, looking at Rika next to me.
But I don’t spare Rika a glance. Why did everyone try to coddle her? My mother, my father, Trevor…it only weakened her.
The lady’s kids sat in her car, calling for her, and I looked down at the dog, hearing it whimper and seeing it jerk as it struggled.
“You can go ahead and go,” I tell her, gesturing to her kids in the car. “I’ll see if I can find an open vet.”
She peers up at me, looking half uncertain and half thankful. “Are you sure?” she asks, shooting her children a glance.
I nod. “Yeah, get your kids out of here.”
She stands up, gives the little dog a sad look, her eyes watering, and then she turns and gets in the car. “Thank you,” she calls.
I wait for her to leave and turn to Rika. “Go sit in the car.”
“I don’t want to.”
I narrow my eyes on her and snap, “Now.”
Her tear-filled eyes look up at me desperately, but she eventually spins around and rushes for my car.
Kneeling down, I put my hand on top of the little dog’s head, feeling his soft fur between my fingers, and stroke him gently.
His paws shake as he fights for breath, and the gargled sound in his throat is making my eyes blur and my heart pump painfully.
“It’s okay,” I say quietly, a tear spilling down my face.
Helpless. I hate being helpless.
Closing my eyes, I stroke his head and then slowly trail my hand down.
Down the back of its head, down the back of its neck…
And then I curl my fingers around its throat and squeeze as tight as I can.
It jerks, its body shaking just barely as it musters the last of its energy to fight.
But there’s barely anything left.
My body burns, every muscle tight, and I steel my jaw, trying to hold out for one more second.
Just one more second.
I squeeze my eyes shut, tears caught in my throat.
The dog spasms, and then…finally… he goes limp, the life drained out of him.
I let out a shaky breath and pull my hand away.
Fuck.
Acid bile fills my throat, and the pangs of nausea hit the back of my mouth. I heave, but I force deep breaths in and out, pushing it back down.
I slide my hands under the dog and lift him up, ready to carry him to the car, but as soon as I turn around, I stop. Rika is standing a few feet behind me, and I know she saw everything.
She looks at me like I betrayed her.
I avert my eyes, hardening myself, and walk around her, putting the dog in the back of the G-Class.
Who the fuck is she to judge me? I did what I had to do.
I grab a towel from my duffel bag, having just gotten done with basketball practice before picking up Rika, and laid the dog on it. Taking out another towel, I wipe up the small amount of blood on my hands and then lay that on top of him as well, shutting the back hatch.
Climbing back in the car, I start the engine as Rika opens up the passenger door and plops down, not saying a word to me.
I speed off, gripping the steering wheel, and her silence is as loud as my father’s insults and berating.
I did what was right. Screw you. I don’t fucking care what you think.
I breathe hard, getting angrier by the second.
“You think that the vet who put your cat to sleep a year ago is any better?” I charge, shooting her glares as I watch the road. “Huh?”
Her lips tighten, and I can see the tears pooling again. “You did it with your hands,” she cries, turning to me and yelling. “You killed him yourself, and I could never have done that!”
“And that’s why you’ll always be weak,” I throw back. “You know why most people in the world are unhappy, Rika? Because they don’t have the courage to do the one thing that will change their lives. That animal was in misery, and you were in misery watching it. Now he’s not suffering anymore.”
“I’m not weak,” she argues, but her chin trembles anyway. “And what you did didn’t make me happy. It didn’t make me feel any better.”
I smile nastily. “You think I’m bad? You think less of me? Well, guess what? I don’t give a fuck what you think! You’re a thirteen-year-old piece of baggage my family has to look after that’s going to turn into nothing but an eighteen-year-old copy of your drunk mother!”
Her eyes flood, and she looks about ready to break.
“Only you probably won’t be able to land a rich husband with that scar,” I growl.
She sucks in a breath, looking stunned. Her face cracks, and her body racks with sobs. She grabs the door handle and begins yanking and pulling it, trying to get out of the car.
“Rika!” I yell.
I’m going sixty-fucking-miles an hour!
I dart my hand over, grabbing her wrists and swerving the car off to the side, screeching to a halt.
She fumbles, unlocking the door, and jumps out, running away into the trees.
I put the car in neutral and set the parking brake, pushing open the door and jumping out.
“Get back in the car!” I yell, slamming the door shut.
She swings around. “No!”
I run after her. “Where the hell do you think you’re going? I got shit to do! I don’t have time for this!”
“I’m going to see my dad,” she calls over her shoulder. “I’ll walk home.”
“Like hell you will. Get in the damn car and stop pissing me off.”