There was no smoke in the air, but he felt as if there might have been. The purple-black colour by her eyes. The gun, held tight in her trembling fist. The lanky, lithe beauty of her form. At first he found it hard to breathe, so he had waited to get himself back on track before addressing her. Didn't want to embarrass himself. Not in front of a girl as strangely attractive as this.
Looking at her, he had the feeling that she did not see herself as beautiful. Perhaps didn't even want to be beautiful. The gun was pushed tight against his chest now (of course, she wouldn't shoot. She wasn't quite that wonderful) and he could see every ethereal detail of her face. The drops of sweat beading on her forehead and smeared into her perfect pixie crop. The dainty shape of her nose and lips contrasted against the blaze in her eyes which was by this point almost subsiding into irrational fear. And last but, oh, certainly not least, that gun.
Could there be anything more beautiful than a girl with a gun?
"Is it real?"
"Do you want to find out?"
Why not? he'd almost retorted. At that point he had been wondering what guy wouldn't to be shot in the chest by a girl like this. Her hand had twitched, she obviously didn't know how to aim properly. He'd almost laughed. Almost offered to teach her.
"It's a re-drilled replica." Answering his question was giving in, they both knew that. Games like this had strange rules, but they were the sort of rules you could learn just by looking into someone's eyes. And God, he was looking into her eyes. Still. He was disappointed. She had given in. He had almost been hoping she would actually be crazy enough to shoot him, the air was so intoxicating. Not the air. The atmosphere. The metaphorical smoke. "It shoots bullets, okay?" Well, he knew that. He had seen her firing away, small fingers working the trigger with such determination she might have deactivating a bomb. A nuclear one.
Matty felt as if a bomb of just that sort had gone off inside his chest the moment he'd seen her. But that wasn't the kind of thing he intended to betray quite this quickly. "Bullets for bitches?"
"What?"
"Is this how you have fun?" Inside his head he was being cruel to himself. In the real world, the world of beautiful, possibly murderous girls, he was being cruel to her. He could see something change in her eyes.
"I don't have to take this shit anymore."
She hadn't sounded like she meant it. "No, you don't," he had told her, kindness and tenderness he hadn't expected himself to be capable of, but that didn't sound it either. People didn't tend to understand Matty Levan. He wondered if she would be a brief, five-minute exception. And here he was. That brings you up to date. He was standing there, in complete control of the situation, which was ridiculous because she was the lovely one - and more to the point, she was the one with the gun.
"Bang." She jumped and now he really had control. He did not so much as flinch himself, even as her finger twitched suspiciously on that beautiful trigger. If he could muster up the courage to be irritated with this - this - vision - he would have been irritated then. Why was she even still holding that gun? She obviously didn't mean to fire it. "You're beautiful." Again, words that should have been sweet. A peace offering. They almost seemed to scare her, and his own fingers trembled, although she couldn't have seen that. Even if she had, he doubted she would have believed her eyes.
"No," she began, which was stupid. He was hoping she would be an exception to the all-teenage-girls-are-embarrassingly-insecure rule. But still, she seemed to muster more confidence as he continued, and he liked that. "No, I'm not. I'm - I'm a no-good shit magnet. I'm - I'm nothing."
Doesn't mean you can't be beautiful. "So why do I see a... glorious fucking head-fuck thing?"
Because she was that. Undeniably. Glorious. A battle word. Head-fuck. A different kind of battle.
And one that, with this girl, he most certainly intended to fight.