013

                                    

                                          
"You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... Until you climb into his skin and walk around in it." — Harper Lee
The new lock on my door is high-tech.
It even has a dead bolt, which is a huge upgrade from the flimsy thing I had before. I looked around for any cameras in the hallway, but I couldn't find any.
My phone buzzes, and I look at it to see a notification reading, 'Motion detected outside the front door.' I open the app, which Harry must have put on my phone, and see a live video of myself in the hallway. I look at the ceiling. but I still don't see anything.
When it clicks that Harry and possibly others might be looking at the video right now too, I get embarrassed. I open the door.
The weight of everything hits me when I close the door behind me. The fact that I thought these people might have turned into my friends is alarming. They're in a drug cartel, and I don't know anything about them.
My life is in danger because I was at the wrong place at the wrong time, and I will never get the sight of Jimmy being shot out of my mind. And now all of these dangerous people know who I am.
The hardest thing for me to accept is that I am being forced to put some level of trust in the person that I just saw murder someone in cold blood. He's the only thing standing between me and death right now.
I'm exhausted.
-
When I wake up, I have a new text from Aaron. I'm going on a work trip for a few days. Be back soon, babe. 
I hate that I have no privacy anymore. People are literally monitoring my phone to make sure I don't turn them in or do something stupid. I don't know if that means they can read every message I send and receive or not.
A text from Clove comes in, reading, Can we talk?
No. I hate you. I reply, Sure. 
A text comes in immediately, saying, I'm so glad you said that because I'm walking up your stairs right now.
Moments later, my phone pings, and a video of Clove pops up. I open the door, and Clove pulls me in for a hug that I don't return.
I welcome her in anyway, and make us both coffee as Clove looks around my apartment. We sit on my couch, silently drinking for a few seconds.
Clove says, "I'm just going to get right into it, Kiz. The first time I saw someone get shot, I fainted. It was a few years ago when I suspected Zayn was keeping something from me. We shared an apartment for a while, and he was always sneaking out. I followed him one night to some warehouse and witnessed a man get shot in the head. Not by Zayn, but Zayn was there, and he watched it with such ease... I think that's what scared me the most—that my caring brother was so desensitized to murder."
I feel that way about all of them. All of those people just witnessed a murder, and it was normal for them.
Clove continues, "Zayn found me passed out in my hiding spot behind a dumpster. I don't know what would've happened if someone else found me. But the sight still haunts me to this day, even though I've seen worse at this point. I don't think I will ever get over the first time I saw someone die."
"I'm sorry you went through that," I say. And I am sorry. I just don't have enough capacity in my brain right now to feel sympathy for any of these people.
"No, that's not what I meant. I just want you to know that I understand how you are feeling right now. And I'm sorry that this happened," she says sadly.