Gun
She shook her head, looking at him as tears streamed from anguished eyes. "Hate you?" she said in a voice barely above a whisper. "No, I could never hate you. But I do hate what you did." What he had done had changed everything. EVERYTHING. Due to that single violent act, she felt hopeless. How could she ever recover from this? How could she go forward in her life? How could fate be so cruel to her, because there was no doubt at all; she loved this man. She knew it that first night, and she knew it now...but despite how she felt for him, he was still the man who had hurt her. The brutality he had forced upon her should be unforgivable. Knowing it would take a miracle to ever get passed it, her entire being was in a state of intense grieving. What kind of future could there ever be without forgiveness?
A look of extreme anguish upon his face, he stared down at his hands, no longer able to hold her gaze. "I hate myself for it," he uttered. "I don't deserve to live because of what I did to you. If I wasn't such a coward, I'd end it now." His own grief was killing him, knowing what he had done and knowing she had every right to hate him for it. His heart was in mourning, thinking he had destroyed it all, and now there was nothing left. What could there possibly be for him now? He was certain he was losing her forever. He couldn't hold her captive here any longer, against her will. He had to let her go. It was the least he could do, considering how he had hurt her.
"I'm going to let you go now. You're free to leave," he said as he undid the shackle which bound her wrist. "Go turn me into the police, whatever you need to do." She made no move to sit up, just lay there, staring up at him with those beautiful dark-blue eyes of hers. Neither of them spoke as their gazes locked. Then she did something entirely unexpected. And he reacted as though burned when he felt the soft, tender touch of her small hand against the flesh of his arm.
"I can't go," she said in a voice drenched with grief. She couldn't leave him now- not like this; though a part of her wanted to run from him and never look back. Something in his eyes compelled her to stay. There was so much pain there behind the mask he always wore, the shroud he always snapped into place so he could fool others of his strength and his power. Only she had caught a glimpse behind that mask. There was something else there, and that is what made her stay.
His hand had touched upon the discarded gun lying there upon the floor. Reaching for it, he placed it carefully in her small hand. Before she could stop him, he raised her hand holding the gun to his chest. "I deserve to die for what I did to you," he said as he took a deep breath and waited for her to end the agony. "Aim it here, at my heart... and pull the trigger."
"Do it!" he insisted.
