One second ago, you'd never been closer to her. She'd seen you at your weakest, most timid, most afraid. She'd screamed at you, ordered you around, forced your hand. She'd nearly cried in front of you, and you'd done the same. She'd begged you, held you. Believed in you. Trusted you. You'd done what she asked and she'd grabbed your hand, just for a second.
You had saved him. Together. Connection.
Then the tables turned. He'd turned the gun on you and she'd put her body in front of yours. She'd put her hand your back, spreading out her fingers to cover as much of you as she could. You'd draped your body over his prostrate form. You'd shielded each other. Connection.
She'd made him talk and you'd used your toes to tell everyone else. Connection to the outside world. She'd been proud of you. She'd grabbed your arm and you'd loved her. Connection.
And then he'd swung his big gun around and grabbed his smaller one. And he'd come toward you and he hadn't stopped.
And you'd held her back. You'd put your hand on her back and she'd shifted to keep you out his sight. But he'd come for her.
He grabbed her out of your arms. He pulled her away from you. All you could do was say her name again and again until the smoke bomb, too little, too late.
And now. Now you've never been further from her. Only a wall separates you. Only a wall and a gun and a man who has lost everything.
But so have you.
You pour out the door in time to watch her bring the gun into herself. You scream her name but it does nothing. You run to her but it does nothing. All she does now is bleed.
One second ago you felt her heart pump under your hand and you'd been safe. And now you feel her blood pump into your hand and you've never been so exposed. She's slipping away. You're losing her. She's gone.
Separation.