Flashing lights, colours I used to rush the windows to see, barely reach the edge of my blurred vision. 

The arms of my dad, shaking and urgent, wrap around me. 

My mom's voice, a whimper; nothing like the assertive, collective tone it usually is, loses the battle against the damn ringing in my ears. 

Then, days have passed. I don't remember them. I can't recall what happened, where I was. I do remember seeing my brother's face, feeling his warmth as he pulled me into a desperate hug. When did he get here? Why…Why would he hug a killer? 

"Jas, sweetie, you need to eat." My mom says, snapping me back to the present. Her eyes are droopy, dim. The fire in the amber stopped roaring that night.

I raise my fork, starting on the meal everyone else already finished. 

They all know how I feel. My skull turned to polished glass, displaying my every thought and mood clear as day. In just a few minutes I had become a killer, stealing a life that wasn't mine to take. But…I didn't have a choice. I, my parents, we all would've died if I hadn't done it. 

That's why they keep telling me, "It's not your fault." I look up to my mom, taking in her warm smile. "You saved our lives, that's amazing. You did what most people definitely could not."

"Yeah, the hell? My annoying ass little brother became a hero. Glad you were there, I couldn't have done it." Chris pipes us, a playful smirk on his face. His joy is dim, forced, but appreciated. 

"'cause you're a wimp." I mumble, the corners of my mouth tilting north the smallest degree. It's the first smile I've made since that fatal day. 

"Uh– rude! I'm tryna make you feel better!" He laughs. 

I catch my mom's gaze again, seeing the bright smile on her face. There's a flicker back in her eyes. "You're amazing, sweetie."

"Thanks." I breathe out, looking down to my plate. I'm so consumed with thoughts that gaps in the noise around me go completely unnoticed. It's so loud in my head. 

"Chris, help me clean up. Give Jas a little space while he eats." My mom talks quietly, standing up and leaving with Chris on her heels. 

Amazing. 

Heroic. 

Brave. 

Not a killer. That's how people see me. Aunts and Uncles, cousins, neighbours, kids from school all animatedly chat about how heroic I am. That I'm cool and brave. I even got a few cards telling me that with silver swords painted on the front.

The front door opens. I stay still, entranced by my mind. By visions of flowing crimson pooling on the floor of my parents bedroom. It isn't until my dad, exhausted with hair sticking up in every direction, rests a hand on the table opposite me, that I'm brought to the now again. He's looking past me, into the kitchen with a face of stone cracked by the weight of his guilt.

My dad's been taking frequent trips to the police station to talk with investigators. They hadn't come up with anything, until now.

"Liz," my dad calls out, searching for my mom's attention. He quickly gets it, both my mom and brother come sprinting to the ornate dining room. "She was hired. Somebody put a hit on me." His tone is sharp, shakey yet serious. 

The words are quick to extinguish the new flame in my mom's eyes. She rounds the table to take my dad in a comforting hug. Chris sits down next to me, expression cold.

"Do they know who ordered it?" My mom asks with a voice so faint I almost didn't catch it. 

My dad shakes his head. "They found the address of the woman who broke in. They're hoping to find information there, anything that could help. I've been instructed to make a list of people that could have it out for me." He explains, taking a long breath. "I want Jasper out of this as much as possible."

I stare into his grey-blue eyes, watching the stormy ocean crash with every spike of nerves. They all continue talking, tears threatening to wash over my dad's eyes.

Amazing.

Heroic.

Brave.

The woman I killed was a hitman, ordered to kill my parents by the money of some sadistic asshole. If the police don't figure out who, my family could be attacked again. I should be worried–scared even. 

But blood is the only thing I see when I close my eyes. The red sparkling in the moonlight, staining every white and grey surface around it with its striking beauty. It's a shame it doesn't stay that bright, left in the air to darken and brown. 

Heroic.

For taking a life. 

I don't feel scared, I feel pride. I did something right, something heroic. I'll treasure this feeling, I've never wanted anything more.

I think red might be my new favourite colour.