Our Broken Ending
Step, step, step. He doesn't care and he's walking away from her again. She realises now, now that her eyes have been opened and she's seen the closeness that they share, that this is how its always been. Her watching his back as he walks away.
She could let the cycle continue. Let him walk away and keep his apathy and keep her pain cradled close, all hers and her burden alone, to fill the hole that craves his attention and his acceptance and his love.
But the pain is both too much and not enough. This plan has been building secretly within her for a long time and tonight, here in the darkness, she knows she has the power to carry it out and break the cycle of rejection.
If you can't love me…
She never sees her targets as human, just as moving and messier versions of the cardboard cut-outs on the training grounds. His back could be one of the black cut-outs at the shooting range (they stick in her mind because she has a special memory of the shooting range. Once when she was just a beginner his hand brushed against her own as he adjusted her aim, she remembers how excited such a simple touch made her and then on that mission she saw how Jose curled around Henrietta, so close his breath stirred her hair, and realised that the touch she had perceived to be special was in fact in impersonal and probably an accident on Mr. Lauro's part) he's so close, it's an easy shot and she has the whole range of his back.
If you won't love me…
Some small part of her dislikes this, shooting him when he is open and unaware. She supposes that she should really turn him around, look into his face as she raises the gun, and then shoot him straight through the heart, but she has always been more practical than melodramatic. (Besides, the very reason she is doing this is because it is unromantic and this will make her a traitor, so she may as well use a traitorous shot.)
She mentally paints white rings over the black of his jacket and is not surprised that her hands don't tremble. (This is what you trained me to be, can't you give me even a little of your pride?)
Then don't love anyone.
He flops forward, as ungraceful as a puppet with its strings cut (or is that her? She's meant to be the puppet but she's broken free of her strings - except puppets can't live, can't do anything without their strings).
This feels like the first time she's ever done something out of her own free will, done something that was her choice alone and this could be beautiful and exhilarating and tragic, this could be a modern rendition of Romeo and Juliet…but he didn't love her and instead she's empty and tired, so very tired.
Look down this metal tunnel; this is the tunnel between life and death.
Will there be a light at the end for you?