The Man and His Pistol
"Bad things like me can happen to a good girl like you. Y' sure you want to get involved?"
"She's probably dead…"
"So…?"
"Should we just…leave 'er?"
"Hmm…"
"You go…I'll…I'll do something with 'er…"
"…Be back in an hour…"
"Sure thing pardner…sure thing…"
"Reno… Don't tell me what happens."
"I won't pardner…I won't…"
"Good."
"See ya…"
"In an hour…"
She can hear their voices mumbling in and out, one slow and hesitant, the other husky and dry, still full of life. Full of him.
She can hear Momma's voice speaking now, she can practically feel the venom from her restricting voice, 'And I told you never to run off with people you didn't know…'
Too bad, she knew him.
She remembers seeing darkness, or maybe that's just because she was so far from the streetlight, she can't really think straight. However, she can think to herself 'no fuck, who would be able to think clearly in this kind of situation?'
She knows she wouldn't be able to. For fear that if she escapes that cloud of uncertainty, there'll be more afterwards, heaps and loads, and big slopping piles of panic and insecurity.
She remembers that you can't really see darkness, as much as you can feel it, crawling up your skin, and seeping into your eyes the way light usually does, but at a much more fearsome rate. It's that feeling you get as a child, when your Momma and Papa kiss you goodnight, and flip the switch to 'off', and the only thing illuminating you is the street lamp.
And even the flickering glow of the firefly's can't comfort you, because once that switch is turned down, the shadows come out from under your bed.
Sometimes it's your Mother, her face scarred and ripped open from countless beatings, or your Father's drunken face slimy with sweat, eyes bloodshot with exhaustion.
She remembers the clouds in the sky, and she remembers how her sweat coated on her cheeks in slimy caked layers of lukewarm with panic.
Except as she woke from remembering, the slickness coating her cheeks and running into the cracks in her teeth, was not sweat. Cool like rain, hot like blood.
A bit of life, a bit of copper.
A little bit of yin and yang to accompany her as she, lies plastered to the cement, the husky smell of smoke and cologne washing over her. She can feel the other stalking off, turning the safety on his gun before clicking away in a talkative beat of Turkish dress shoe delight. And one remains, silently breathing.
She can feel him looking at her.
Looking at the blood, looking at the earring lying scattered on the ground, a foot away from her torn earlobe, raw from something from earlier…
She can almost feel him crying.
On the other hand, maybe, because it seems like only hours ago, she feels like crying herself. Because by damn, she thought that she kind-of-sort-of-liked-him. Only for her reasons.
'Yeah…keep telling yourself that…'
She remembers back two hours ago, back to the tangy stench of booze and the greasy smoggy feel of the men's greedy fingers as they pushed coins into her palms, and demanded more. More drink, more music, more this, more that.
Then, as she looked for a means of escape, her gaze lingered on a solitary figure drinking the strongest thing they had, and silently pleaded for his assistance.
It wasn't as she had never met him before. He had only recently become a regular with her bar, after her previous relationship left in conquest of a ghost, and the children had started growing up. He became a regular, when she needed someone to look at.
Coincidence…
Sometimes it was hard to tell herself that it was.
Fate…
Fate was what she was looking for.
Too bad, it didn't exist.
He was an interesting man. He had killed many people, shot them point blank on the street, and literally walked away with their bodies hanging loose on the curb like used Christmas decorations. He was just doing his job.
Dirty as it seemed…
Life was life.
And she remembered a time when not too long ago, she was basically doing the same damned thing. Just for the other side.
So when she looked at him, and he sucked a little harder on his straw, gazing intently with his surprisingly blue eyes in her direction, she didn't really know how to react. All she knew was that all she had to do was look at him, and he would leave.
With her close behind.
So she did.
She could admit, he was not at all hard on the eyes. With his messy disposition, he could probably go days without washing his hair, or even giving a shit about whether his tie was draped loosely around his neck. However, he was still wild. And heavens knew she liked a man who had spirit. His hair was crimson, and if she hadn't known him, then she would've thought that his hair had been dyed. However, she knew better, everything about him, at least everything, was natural. She wasn't quite sure about some things, but most of them, came naturally. She knew that his attitude did. She actually didn't mind rubbing her hands through his hair, undoing his ponytail, throwing the rubber band down to the ground as her lips lingered near his ears.
At least she never minded thinking about doing it with him.
Well…
She chose not to think about that as she closed the bar early, and followed him into the darkness, waiting for him to stop, to say something actually worth her time.
When he turned around, his eyes almost glowing with an animalistic pride, she almost bolted, remembering what everyone expected of her. But the whole point was, was that she never ran away. And as he smiled wryly at her, his eyeteeth pointing slightly out of his puckered lips as his tongue slipped languidly out of his mouth to lick his lips, she couldn't help but tremble.
She can remember starting to open her mouth, trying to say something, and then suddenly, he was pressed into her, her shoulder digging in an almost deliciously painful way into the slick wall. Slowly, his hands started at her hair, tugging it slowly before going lower, tracing a circle on her collarbone before lingering on the flat of her stomach, swiveling in lazy circles as he let his eyes smolder in her direction. His nose buried into the dip of her shoulder, he swept his tongue over her skin before darting it closer to her ear, nipping quickly at her earring. She could feel his breath puffing in a warm wet mist against her neck, his fingers pressing her shoulders into the wall behind her.
This was real.
And she couldn't stop to let herself breathe.
He bit hard, and she drew in a harsh breath, hoping that it didn't sound too much like a satisfied sigh.
He liked things like that. Little breaths concealed in the shadows, bodies moving together, fast friction, short, sweet and to the point.
He whispered in a low dangerous voice, his hot breath stabbing the now raw skin on her earlobe.
"Bad things like me can happen to a good girl like you. Y' sure you want to get involved?"
And as he slowly kissed her neck, she could only nod her head up and down, as his palm snaked its way into her skirt, cupping her heated skin.
That's how it had started, slow, sensual.
It turned into an explosive battle for dominance.
And he had won by a million.
After they sat against the wall, panting, slick with sweat and rain, lips and tongues swollen—red—he turned his head towards her, hair in a messy knot of disarrayed messiness. She kept her gaze forward, afraid that if she looked, then she might cry, because…
It wasn't meant to be a sort of attachment.
"This wasn't part of the job y'know…"
"I know."
"So…I have to finish it."
"I know."
"Aren't you going to fight?"
"No. I have no reason to. You came to do what you were hired to do. I knew that it would eventually catch up…"
"We've known each other for years."
"And you'll remember that we knew each other for years to come…"
She remembers being almost thankful that at least he's telling her it's not personal, in his usual Reno way, and she remembers blinking before feeling the cold steel against her waist, the muzzle pointing neatly towards her stomach. She remembers looking in his direction and smiling wryly.
"It you shot the head it would end much quicker…"
She remembered him coughing, eyes quivering as one of his left fingers twitched.
"I'm just doing my job…"
She sighed dramatically.
"Okay then. Just hurry it up,"
She remembered him sighing, mumbling something under his breath, and then looking in the opposite direction as his finger squeezed.
She remembered not feeling anything, and then she remembered a wave of fire in her midsection, burning and burning, slowly melting away into a sticky mess.
Then she remembered the lights going out.
And, she woke up.
"She's probably dead…"
"So…?"
"Should we just…leave 'er?"
"Hmm…"
"You go…I'll…I'll do something with 'er…"
"…Be back in an hour…"
"Sure thing pardner…sure thing…"
"Reno… Don't tell me what happens."
"I won't pardner…I won't…"
"Good."
"See ya…"
"In an hour…"
"I might not look the same Rude… Nothing personal of course…"
"I know..."
So, she lies on the ground, slowly hearing the bigger man walk away into the night, slowly cocking his gun, and flipping the safety on. Then she hears him slumping to the ground and picking her up, fingers inspecting her stomach. She manages to choke out blood, something like copper flavored bubbles rising up out of her throat as she gurgles unceremoniously.
"You shoulda just shot my head…d-dumb f-fuck…"
Slowly, she hears him taking out the gun from his jacket, and smiles as the blood fills her mouth and she manages to dribble it out from the corner of her lips, forcing a mad grimace at what she presumes to be him.
"So…you f-finally g-gonna off m-me? I g-guess I'll s-see ya in hell…"
Then as she hears his response and frowns, the blood rising in tides now, running over her cheeks, into her hair. As she gurgles out a 'no' as she can feel the rain pounding down, and she can practically see it running in little red rivers down the gutter.
"No. I think, we'll be going there together… Heard the tickets are cheaper that way… If you're okay with one way babe"
His voice is slightly strangled with the lifeless pun, and even though her eyes are closed, and her arms are now lying on the ground numb and probably cold and lifeless, she can see him looking over her, his green eyes piercing into her as he frowns, voice edging dangerously close to insanity. Somehow…she always knew he would eventually reach that point. Somehow, she always knew she'd reach it sooner…
The safety clicks off. And she can hear a deep intake of breath.
"Y'know… You never should have asked me for help. We know each other. But, we also know about running from each other as well…"
She takes an effort to open her eyes, blinking at the brightness of the darkness as her head turns slowly towards his face.
The gun glints against his chest.
"I-I'm tired of r-running from…from…the t-truth…"
"The…truth? And what in this world is truthful."
He startles her, his breath getting closer to her lips.
She can feel that much. And wishes, she could feel it again. The hot sour breath of alcohol and the acerbic scent of tangy cigarettes and the smoothness of skin and aftershave.
"Y'know…R-Reno… P-people say…mmm…t-the worst e-enemies…m-make the best…love…l-lovers…"
He takes the leftover precious thirty seconds that she knows she'll be able to hold on to, and whispers hotly in her ear, kissing the edge softly before biting down.
She barely feels it, and somehow, deep inside, wishes she could.
"Maybe later babe…"
She can only spurt out a weak laugh, feeling her heart slowly stop, churning, and sputtering as she moves her lips, useless slabs of painted flesh.
"H-ha…"
She can almost see him holding one of her hands, his other hand cocking the gun at his chest.
She can almost see his finger pulling the trigger.
And when the bullet goes through, she can imagine him saying something so unrealistic, she knows that she's two seconds away from being dead.
He knows, that in those two seconds, she's dead, and as for him?
His heart will stop soon enough.
Therefore, as he falls, and Momma flips the lights off, he can almost imagine himself saying something only an insane person would say. And he can almost imagine her hearing it.
"No more running…"
A/N
Yes.
This is what I do when I pissed. I think about Reno and Tifa, and get depressed. and then I write all about it. And, for the readers enjoyment, I get depressed again, and write something else.
Comments? Questions?
Ask me, i'm pleased to answer.
-TMoh