The warmth of her skin, her pulse thumping wildly in your palms... This isn't just another illusion. Your hands are wrapped around her throat, squeezing the life from reality.
She's still alive, still conscious, and eerily calm. You've strangled enough people to know this isn't a normal reaction, no one is ever stoic while running out of oxygen. There should be fear, desperation, panic, but you only see peace in her eyes. She's not fighting back at all and it only makes you want to choke her more, the fact that she's fine with dying.
For the smallest moment though, you think she wants to live. When you feel the press of her hands against your waist, when you feel her fingers begin to curl and claw through your shirt, you think she's wised up and willing to tear you apart.
But you're wrong. So very wrong. God damn this woman, her intention was never to push you away, just to pull you in for a closer kill.
And you don't understand it. Her, this, what you're even doing anymore. You ease up, but make it very clear that it's not out of any sort of compassion. The only change of heart you had was deciding not to kill her. Yet.
She gasps for air and it's the most vulnerable side she's ever let slip, but the wall comes back up in an instant. It was her eyes that gave her away, you knew the smirk was coming long before she ever moved her lips.
You growl something treacherous and shove her back against the edge of desk, erasing the damn grin from her face. The pain, you hope it reminds her that you're not messing around. "I'll give you one last chance. Tell me where he really is."
"I've already told you. You just didn't want to-"
You shove her again, rougher this time. Her spine hits harder in the same spot and you finally get the reaction you wanted all along. She clenches her eyes and sucks in a sharp breath, and good. Maybe now she's starting to realize how much you're going to hurt her.
They flicker open and you see the whites of her eyes shaded in red, the pupils blown and glossed over, shimmering hypnotically in the light. There's traces of guilt as she reaches out, some qualm in the tip of her finger that points to your chest.
"Here," she says and taps the place over your heart thumping a mad rhythm. "Hit him here, the bullet. He bled out in less than a minute... right in front of you."
You shake your head, search her face for those tale tell signs that she's lying and find nothing. It confounds you.
"Strange... you think you'd remember the person who saved your life."
"No..." You don't remember it because it never happened. Cole is your partner, he's your friend. You would never let him do something so stupid like take a bullet for you. That's your job, you do the protecting.
"I suppose you don't remember this either," she says, glancing below to the space in between, to her other hand still pressed to your stomach. She releases and it feels like you've lost something vital. The warmth is soon replaced with another, eerie and superficial, blossoming from your side. As she brings her hand into view, you see it's glistening red, the fresh color of blood.
Your grip lessens and your eyes dart to the source. It's too late when you realize it's your blood. And though you can't see the contrast of it soaking through the black fabric, you feel the damp sticky heat clinging to your skin, you feel it steadily pouring out of you from a wound that shouldn't exist.
"Seen shots like that before," she says, rubbing the crimson slick between the pads of her fingers. "You're gut shot. You're done."
You think, like hell, and remember where the door is, but your once steady legs buckle under the new and heavy you.
A blood stained hand hooks around the back of your neck and stops you from leaving this time.
"I can help you get it all back," she holds and promises, "Everything."
Only, you don't know what it is you've lost, besides the contents of your life pouring out at an alarming rate. The things she speaks of, the memories, it's like they never belonged to you. There is no recollection, you can't go back and reread the chapters if the pages are all blank. Her offer is empty, because you can't want something if you don't know what that something is.
"All you have to do is trust me," she says, like it should be the easiest thing in the world for you.
"Why should I?" you seethe when breaking apart is impossible. Though her grip is gentle, it's uncharacteristically strong for someone with her slender frame.
A smile seizes her lips. Anguished and endearing, she glosses a look like you're the stubborn but lovable fool in her eyes. "Don't be afraid."
You're not afraid, and you try to argue, but the pain strikes you fast like a bolt of lightening, splitting your gut. It renders you speechless, the agony and the realization that she's the reason for it. She reaches inside, into you through the inexplicable wound as if she's on a mission. Exploring mercilessly with her fingers, probing deeper and deeper, ripping you apart and there's nothing you can do.
"Ah," she chimes, having found what she's been searching for. She lets go and you stagger back the few steps before falling to your knees. "Pesky little thing."
This tiny, blood covered pellet thuds against the floor. A bullet, 45 calliber, still perfectly shaped from the second it had expelled from the cartridge and buried itself in your flesh. With a trembling hand, you grasp it and wipe some of the blood away to read the markings. Your vision fluctuates with the off beat of your heart, going in and out of focus. You think the scratches read ISA one moment, and something else the next, the middle letter resembling a number instead.
Indigo 5 Alpha. A bullet with your name on it. Possibly, but there's no mistaking where it comes from and who it belongs to.
"Now do you see?" she says, stalking closer the way a predator does, as you retreat like some kind of wounded animal.
Out the window, abaft of her, the world isn't calm, it's falling apart. Black smoke billows high in the air from the buildings below, lit up in a blaze. They burn and they collapse, crumpling to the ground with a boom, shaking the bedrock. The floor rumbles beneath your feet, the ceiling above chips and sprinkles dust.
"Stay," she says, and you just shake your head. You need to leave, you need to go far, far away. From this place, from her. Treat your wounds, heal, and come back with a vengeance.
The handle of the door glows brighter than before. You look to it, wonder and care less about the consequences of touching it.
"Sameen..." she pleads and you turn back. She's not quite the same person anymore, she carries herself now with the weight of a thousands wounds on her shoulders. Anguish twists her face, her eyes flood with sadness and it captures you. This sight, her hands cupping your cheeks.
She cries and you don't understand, why a stranger would be crying for you. It rattles, you and this room steadily falling apart. She whispers, "Please..." as the ground shifts under your boots, as the floor starts to give away.
You look to the dividing crack in the space between where you both stand, wondering if there's more to what she's asking, but not for long. An explosion sounds close by, closer than anticipated, and the chaos outside finds you.
"For godssakes!" You shove her away just as the floor caves in. She falls to safety on the other side of this once small break, now massive crevice split across the length of the room. You stagger and stumble backwards on a floor as sturdy as thin ice, until your back hits a wall. Nowhere left to go, nothing left for this black hole to swallow except for you.
"Shaw!" you hear her scream. You watch the bright red light of the door get smaller and smaller as you plummet into the darkness.