I reach up and pull the lockbox down from the shelf in the closet. My dad went to bed around an hour ago, and Josh hasn’t called me or anything. I turn the key in the lock and open it, pulling out the gun. I take a bullet from the ammo box and put it in my pocket. I put everything back, and limp back down the stairs, into the basement. I load in the nine millimeter bullet into the gun and look at it. I take a breath and feel the gun over with my hands. It’s cold. I put it to my head and have my finger on the trigger. I take it away and aim it at the floor, shaking. Do it. The gun starts to feel like its getting heavier. The window well crashes and my finger grips the trigger. Bang.  I drop the gun to the floor and look at the bullet hole in the wall in front of me. “David!” I put my hands to my mouth as Josh climbs through the window. “What the hell were you thinking?!” he’s screaming at me, kicking away the gun. I start to cry. He turns the lights on and looks at me. I hear my dad get up and come pounding down the stairs. Josh puts his hands on my shoulders and looks at me. “David…” he says softly. He holds me as my dad starts to try and breakdown the basement door. “I read it on AnotherLife. I would’ve come through the front door, but I figured with your dad…” he trails off as my dad comes down the basement stairs. “What in the hell is going on?!” he yells, and looks at the gun, then me. “You son of a b****.” He says as he puts his hands to his eyes. He doesn’t say it like he’s mad though; more like he’s tired. After a minute or two of silence, we start to hear sirens coming. “Shit.” My dad looks at me, furious. “You son of a b****.” He says again. “You know what? Just shut up, okay? He just tried to kill himself because of what you do to him.” My dad looks stunned at Josh. “That’s none of your business.” My dad says, looking at the broken glass on the carpet. We hear voices upstairs, yelling to clear the house. Two police officers come downstairs. They see the hole in the wall, then the gun on the floor. “Is he shot?” one asks, looking to me. “No. But he can’t walk.” Josh strokes my hair trying to calm me down. “I thought you said he didn’t get shot.” Josh nodded. “He didn’t. His dad beat him.” Some paramedics come down the stairs with a stretcher. They pull me away from Josh and put me on it as the police tell my dad to face the wall and spread his legs. They look at my knee. “What happened?” One of the paramedics asks, looking up at me. “He… got fired… and he kicked my knee. Messed up my wrist, burnt me with a cigarette, and punched me in the stomach.” I say softly. He looks at my wrists and declares it broken. Josh follows us up the stairs, and into the back of the ambulance. The neighbors are out on their porches, watching everything.