Clichés were not nor had they ever been her thing. Fairy-tales were for the lonely who were discontented, those who needed the flicker of hope that came from 'happily ever after'. There were no endings like that, as she knew, because everything good had a starting and an ending point. It was not an infinite stretch of time; forever could end in two hours time. Her promise of forever had been an empty one, as she'd known when she first spoke the words. Ambition was her fatal fault, which lead her to where she was now.
In a deserted diner. Listening to the imaginary clock tick away in her brain.
Stay alive and suffer; stay alive and chance Jethro.
Die and end this son of a bitch all the way around.
Give her a tough decision.
She saw the SUV pull up outside and stood up, moving back a little and readying her stance, steady and level. No hesitancy. Ten seconds left at most.
She lied to him. Repeatedly. Unforgivably.
Five. Four. Three..
Was she sorry? Partially. She had never meant to hurt him, hadn't banked on him being part of this mess. Definitely hadn't thought of falling in love with him.
Self-sacrifice? It sounded noble; something cliché out of a Shakespearean play, and she hated clichés.
But she was willing to make an exception for him.
Two.. one..
It was better this way. It had to be.
Shoot. Shot. Finished.