I warn you, this will be quite dark.
But enjoy, at any rate.
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Bianca DeSousa can feel her own heartbeat. It's pulsing blood through her dry veins, providing her with every breath of the cold air that burns her throat. She counts each thud, focusing only on the simple rhythm that keeps her alive right now.
Somewhere, Adam Torres is writhing in pain. He's clutching at the wound engraved on his shoulder, the bullet with Bianca's name plainly burned into it. And she knows the scar will be there forever, an everlasting reminder of all the irreversible damage she's brought upon the people who deserved it the least of anyone.
Adam's innocence is like Bianca's own wound. The twinkle in his eyes brings tears to her own, and the dimples on his face jab away at her heart. This shouldn't have happened.
The air is cool and crisp, and it's still hurting her throat. But then again, her throat was raw to begin with. It has been for awhile now. The gun is reflecting shadows in the darkness, but she doesn't watch them, too distracted by her shaking hand.
She'll make things right if nothing else. She'll repair the irreparable damage; she'll reverse the irreversible mistakes. She'll do whatever it takes to make sure that no one else gets hurt on this cold night.
The wind brushes over her skin, leaving a fresh trail of goose bumps in its place. Nights like these are rare this time of year, but she has a feeling that the whole world is cold right now. That's alright, because maybe the ice will freeze over the paths that she took to get here.
They were all wrong, each and every one of them. And now she's far too lost to try and retrace her steps. Maybe, she could have turned around a long time ago. Maybe, if she had just stopped to read the signs, to reason for once, she could have spared everything. But the damage is done now.
If she plays it right on this cold, summer evening, she may be able to clear the future for them, even if it means sacrificing her own. Bianca DeSousa's hand is rigid, and she fears that the gun will fall and clatter on the pavement.
Everything is flashing before her now, and she doesn't make an attempt to stifle the memories that jab at what's left of her ragged heart. It will all be over now, regardless of the pain that comes with knowing what she is about to lose.
The first time she discovered Adam's secret, the first time she denied him a ballroom partner. At least, that's one wrong she's been able to correct. But the rest of the pain that Adam's suffered for her will go unforgiven. Maybe that's her greatest punishment of all.
She thinks of Drew and the first kiss, the first time she realized that something may have turned out okay. The first time she felt like her life was something worth living.
She repaid him with nothing but pain.
And she'd take it all back in a heartbeat if she could. She'd sacrifice everything to make sure this present day never came, even if it meant she never changed. Even if it meant her life was still useless. She'd do anything if only she could not be standing here right now.
But what she's done is irreversible, unforgiveable, final. And life will keep going when she's gone.
Lying in front of her is the empty body of the man who turned everything she needed away from her. But he was only the one to feed the flames that she ignited, and his death will never truly make up for what has happened on this night.
Bianca's hands are covered in Vince's blood, and she can smell the iron and the salt. She's done what needed to be done, but now, she must do what will really make things right, the only thing that she can do anymore.
Bianca DeSousa brings the gun to her own head, and closes her eyes. The cold summer night's air is brushing her cheeks, and she wonders if it's cold enough to freeze the tears streaming down her face.
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Toronto is quiet on this cold summer's night. The city is dark, and it makes you wonder what stories lay down the shady alleyways that line the streets.
Two shots have been fired this night, one slightly after the other. And no one knows how much pain and sorrow and guilt one girl has felt in the small period between them. The piercing noise can be heard from the hospital room where Adam Torres is now wrapped in bandages and gauze. And it can be heard from the dark street Drew Torres and Katie Matlin are wondering right now, trying to save a girl who is already gone.
It's heard by students miles away at a school dance, recovering from what they think is the real tragedy, and it's heard by teenage girls crying in their rooms over boys who have hurt them and by quarreling lovers in their apartments who think they can never feel worse.
And no one knows that somewhere out in one of Toronto's shady alleyways on this cold summer night, lies a girl who has left the world she almost figured out how to survive in.
No one knows how close she came to happiness.
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This is, by far, the darkest thing I've ever written. Please, don't ask me what it is, for I truly have no idea. It's 1:30 in the morning as I write this, and I'm quite sorry if I just depressed anyone that read it.
Review?