Lola With The Phat
Russ and his mom are here, searching for the cameras Lemmon hid. I’m hiding and safe for now.
My stomach rebukes her message, bile, and a three-day-old chicken biscuit courtesy of the “hashtag mom life” stirring in my gut.
I hurry to check the door; it’s locked the way I rationally knew it would be, but I couldn’t help but make sure anyway.
It feels like I’m vibrating, watching as I move through my motions, as if I’m having an out-of-body experience.How is this happening?Isthisbody doubling?
Isabela is asleep in her nursery, blissfully unaware of the utter hell surrounding her. I move on unsteady legs, carrying myself through the house, plugging in the code to the safe and pulling out the Glock I had Cynthia, the town’s sometimes-friendly arms dealer and volunteer firefighter, help me acquire.
I’d gotten it for this exact reason, but I’d never truly believed I’d be sitting here, waiting to use it.
My phone pings with another message.
Lola With The Phat
They’re coming for you!
I now know exactly what the term “bone-chilling” feels like, and I can say with absolute certainty I hope to never experience it again—andnotbecause I’m going to die tonight.
I have too much to live for to let some dumb bitch and her even dumber minion kill me in my own goddamn home.
It’s not ideal for my hands to be shaking the way they are while holding a gun, but I’m scared shitless, and thank God for that, because usually, I’d be on the toilet with anxiety shits by now.
When I get to Isabela’s room, it’s dark, a quiet lullaby playing from the projector of swirling constellations on her ceiling. I open her closet door, setting the gun down on her dresser before pulling her into my arms.
I kiss her forehead, hot tears streaming down my cheeks, my lips trembling as I lower her into the bassinet I have stored in her closet.
She stirs in my arms, but she continues sleeping once I have her down. I count my blessings for that.
“I really should’ve looked into gun silencers or something,” I whine, grabbing blankets and pillows to use as a buffer around the sides of the mesh bassinet, praying no one from the AAP throws a lightning bolt to smite me for the risk of SIDS. I think we have more pressing matters.
I gently place a pair of tiny earmuffs over her head that one of my cousins had sent for my baby shower, not taking into consideration that I live inOklahoma.
Rosalia, you uselesspendeja, thank you.
I hear something slam against the front door, pounding on the wood, followed by the shattering of my window.
Those windows arestained glass. They have gonetoofar!
I rush to shut the closet and angle myself facing the door, my back pressed against the wall.
The Glock I’m affectionately naming “Betty White” is trembling in my hands. Okay, fine. That’s me, but I digress. I can do this. Ihaveto do this.
They’ll come in here, I’ll stare them straight in the eyes, and I’ll shoot the shit out of whatever body part I can manage.No, no,like you practiced, Mayte. You know where to shoot. “Come on, Mayte. Pull your big girl panties on and get your act together,” I whisper under my breath.
I hear Amy and Russ as they get closer to the room, the lullaby still playing, obscuring their conversation, but Amy’s grating voice is hard to miss. “Don’t you mess this up. You got it? We get her to tell us where the recordings are, and if she doesn’t know, we use her as collateral.”Goddamn the state of Oklahoma and their one-party consent laws.“Lola will be forced to admit to insurance fraud, and we can use that to get your investors back. They’ll take pity on you once they realize how awful your ex was.”
I square my shoulders and prepare for what’s next as their footsteps grow nearer.
Door. Open. Shoot.
Door. Open. Shoot.
Door. Open. Shoot. Door. Open. Shoot. Door. Open. Shoot. Door. Open. Shoot.
I chant this new mantra over and over until the door is cracking open, all the chaos in my mind going blank. My eyes zoom in on Russ’s shiny kneecaps, and I blow those motherfuckers right off his scrawny body.
