Max lowers the black pistol to his side as I approach him. While I stare at his profile, he doesn't seem able to break his pointed watch of Erik—or maybe he just can’t look at me...
His eyes glisten in the low light of the courtyard. Something is very wrong in his dark mien... irredeemable pain. Unimaginable rage.
My gaze bounces from the lethal look in my lover's eyes to the look of fear in Erik's. Briefly, Erik looks relieved to see me standing over him. Doesn't he know he's going to die? I told him as much a few minutes ago and now his blood is pooling around his neck so deep it appears near black.
Max grabs the barrel of the gun and offers me the black handle to take.
"Max, no," Xander begs. "She shouldn't?—"
"Hush, Xander," Bronson orders.
I blink at the gun for a moment... And then my fingers enclose the cool, hard piece with little more thought.
"Both hands," Max states, his voice toneless—almost disembodied.
Clenching my jaw, I grip it in both hands. It's not nearly as heavy as I'd originally envisioned. Should I feel remorse right now? Or is this just another contradictory piece of myself being discovered? A piece that's sick of people underestimating me. Sick of people calling me weak and fragile. A piece so very sick of peoplefuckingwith my family! I lift the gun, stare at the whites of Erik's eyes and pull the trigger.
I feel the power in the piece as it unloads. Like a pulse within my palms. The bang should be loud, but I'm not sure Ican hear it properly. A kind of fog has settled in my mind and it's as if my feelings have been cauterised to the point they no longer exist. It's like confusion, but without the loss of information. I understand everything happening, but my response isn't natural—isn't Cassidy.
I pull the trigger again. Before I can pull it a third time, Max wraps his hand around the barrel and takes the gun off me.
Erik isn't choking on his own blood anymore.
There are secrets here
It's only beena few minutes, but as I try to recall what just happened, it feels like I'm reaching for a vague memory from childhood. I envision myself holding the gun and shooting Erik in the face, but in my memory I'm a spectator. Not the one holding it. Not the one shooting. There is a disconnection between my body and my mind—a severance of soul from form.
Sadness. Desperation. Feelings are slowly re-emerging inside me, but they have nothing to do with Erik's death. Or the fact that I've killed someone. A person. A person who has people like me who care about them. None of my feelings are for him or them. They centre around Max. My Max. The man unable to tear his eyes away from the corpse on the floor.
I squeeze my eyes shut and pray this is nothing but a nightmare. That I'll wake up and be back in bed with him. We won't go to the auction. Instead, we will stay cuddled up together in the peace our love offers us. I'd stare at his relaxed mien and he'd touch me, fingers declaring his love for me more strongly than any word could.
But now, as I open my eyes to the dark courtyard and that corpse... our peace and his relaxed face are a distant memory.
And so I don’t care that Erik's dead.
"Dustin wants my revenge as well, ya know?"
"Dustin..."I murmur the name as Erik's words tumble back to me. "He sent me out here."Oh God, is that what my voice sounds like?
"Fuck!" Max barks and strides towards the door, but his brothers form a barricade with their bodies. I take a step backwards, my hand now gripping the fabric around my gashed forearm. It stings. Like a burn.
"Don't open the door, Carter!" Bronson yells through to the man on the other side.
"Open the fucking door, Carter!" Max states.
"Don’t be stupid, Max. What are you going to do!" Xander yells.
"I'm going to shoot Dustin in the fucking head," Max replies, his voice lacking any warmth. Or rationality. Or hope. His face is racked with grief.
I'm frozen in place, wanting to reach for Max's arm. Wanting to comfort him, but I'm in slow motion compared to him because he's pulling his gun out now and pointing the muzzle at his brothers. His arms shake violently with restraint. His heart may be broken, but his body is a live wire ready to burn anything or anyone that gets in his way.
"Get out. Of the. Fucking. Way," he hisses.
Something inside me screams for him to stop, but the words won't reach my tongue. His brothers stare down the barrel with understanding; both sets of eyes are pained and sympathetic. The whole scene makes my soul shudder.
"Max, don't be stupid," Xander pleads, his brows slumped.
"Put the gun away, you crazy son of a bitch," Bronson orders, pulling Xander behind him, clearly unsure at what length Max might go to avenge me.
