It hit her like a baby grand that falls out of the sky in every old cartoon. She didn't want to lose him. Not like this. Running back into the apartment, she froze at the sight. She didn't think it would ever come to life versus gun. But now... it was real.
Just how long had he been teetering on the brink of disaster?
Where had her naive country detective gone? You know, the one who once wore his heart on his sleeve?
He turned to face her, partially wanting to react, but mostly he just didn't care anymore. He never should have left home. Hell. He didn't even have a valid conception of home anymore. He silently pleaded with her to say something meaningful—to give him some real, tangible reason as to why not to end this hell that people call life. But he knew there was nothing she could say. And he resented her that much more for it. Not that he'd listen to whatever came out of her mouth anyway... he just didn't see the point in caring anymore.
No. Things were clearer now then they ever had been. He could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.
It'd have been so simple too, if it weren't for those deep honey-brown colored eyes. She hadn't changed a bit... that sparkle was still there, though sad; it was the one she'd only allow him to see—as if her eyes were a window into her soul.
"Just put the gun down. Please. Just put it down..." she whispered, extending a trembling hand toward him, trying to bridge the rift that remained. He didn't say a word, but instead stared intently at the intruder who had taken his heart for her own, and proceeded to step on it, multiple times. She'd never seen that look come over him before... he was, completely expressionless and strangely calm. It terrified her to the core.
Time, it seemed, stood completely still.
She glared right back, trying to figure out what to do to get him to put the gun down before he did something she'd never live through herself. She took a second to size him up, for she had been so infuriated before, she hadn't taken the time to notice his worn down, severely battered frame.
He looked like he had survived Auschwitz… it was that bad.
He definitely hadn't been eating right. That is, if he'd even been eating at all. His wrinkled shirt hung loosely over his shoulders, and that belt had been pulled a few holes tighter. And as he repositioned his hand, she noticed how his watch slid off his wrist and partially down his forearm. He wasn't the same, not at all.
But then again, looking at him standing there, broken, and about to seal off his fate to the powers that be, made her realize that his heart was in fact still worn on his sleeve. Some things never change...
Only now, that heart was cold, bitter... no longer beating. And his eyes, once so bright, were now a dull, eerie shade of blue—almost completely devoid of life, or rather, the will to live. He had to be in there somewhere, she cried silently to herself. She wanted him back, so badly, and the situation was quickly becoming dire.
"Please..." her voice became desperate now, yet barely audible. She went to step cautiously towards him, hoping he'd give up his inner quarrel and let the old farm boy back in. Trying to touch his shoulder only succeeded in making him snap. He was angry with her; she knew that, but doing something like this never solved anything. It was a permanent solution to an often temporary problem. She should know—she had tried a different version of the same goal years back, and something inside her was always grateful it never really worked. But now there was a gun and her best friend in the equation.
"Get the hell out of here." he growled in a low, threatening voice... barely recognizable to her ears. Petrified of this transformation, she backed off, but didn't leave. Her legs wouldn't take her there, though her brain was screaming at her to run before she had to witness a suicide.
She didn't want him to die, why couldn't he see that?
"I. Do. L-L-Love... you..." she stumbled over the words, under her breath, trying to ease her own fear as well as talk him off of life's little edge. If only she could find more of her voice...
"Please, don't do this to me..," she tried again, though she sounded more like a mouse than a person. She was trembling fully now, not wanting to push him off the tip of the proverbial knife he'd been wavering on for the past minute and a half. He needed to be saved... badly. And she didn't know what to do.
"Get out!!" he yelled angrily.
"I c-can't l-lose you..." her meek, completely frightened voice tried yet again to make him understand. It wasn't working though, and she contemplated wrestling him for the gun—but that had no real chance at a favorable outcome either.
"Damn it! You already have!!! Don't you see? I'm gone, as good as dead, you said so yourself. Now get out of here... you don't need to see this, and then have to clean it up later. GET OUT!!" he choked, even angrier at her for simply being there. He was confused, lonelier now that she was standing right in front of him, and sincerely agitated because of it. He just wanted it all over with, the lies, the deceit, and the living hell.
His index finger twitched, nearly setting off the trigger, and she flinched. Turning away, she decided no matter how strong she thought she could be, she couldn't watch him do this, and he showed no mercy in backing down. He had made up his mind. He was adamant.
Tears filled her eyes as she bore a hole into the floor with her gaze. And her heart jumped as she heard three piercing shots fired in rapid succession.
One... two... three... Was it really that easy to end a life?