"Christopher, she's here!"
Just minutes ago, I had witnessed a grotesque performance. Kate had been trying to split her own lip, desperate to look like a victim for Christopher's arrival. She'd even asked one of her thugs to hit her, but the man had flinched. Hurting the "Mistress" wasn't in his job description.
In the distance, two figures were sprinting toward us. One was leading—Kate, of course, playing her part to the end.
"She's here!" Kate screeched. She snatched the only weapon from the side table—the cold, heavy revolver that had been catching the dim light of the single lamp—and stepped behind me.
"Lily!" Collins's voice cracked with relief the moment he saw me, but the light in his eyes vanished instantly as Kate pressed the muzzle of the loaded gun against my temple. In that moment, she didn't look like my friend. She looked like a hollowed-out monster with dead, manic eyes. "Kate, what are you doing?"
"I love you, Christopher," she whispered, her voice barely audible, her eyes searching his face for a flicker of the love she so desperately craved.
"What...?" Collins froze, paralyzed by a shock so profound he couldn't even finish the word. I held my breath, the cold steel of the barrel digging into my skin. I had never been this close to my own end. Twice now, death had knocked on my door—and both times, it was because of someone linked to him.
"Do you love me?" she demanded.
"Kate, please... put the gun down. Let her go," Collins said, holding his palms out in a placating gesture. It was a useless move, but he was desperate. He spoke carefully, yet with a sharp edge of command.
Oh, Chris... why are you so naive? In stories like this, the villain always pulls the trigger. And this time, I was the target.
"Say you love me!" Kate hissed, shoving the gun harder against my skull. I gritted my teeth, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a scream, even as a sharp pain radiated through my head.
"I love you, I love you!" Christopher repeated frantically. "Now let her go. Please."
"No... she's in our way," Kate sighed. Even with my terrible eyesight, I could see the beads of sweat forming on Christopher's forehead. He looked utterly lost. It wasn't every day you found out your close friend was a psychopath who'd kidnapped your girlfriend to execute her.
"Don't do this," Chris took a small, cautious step forward.
"Why not?"
"You can't kill people for your own convictions, Kate."
Really, Chris? Again? Now was not the time for a philosophy lecture. People kill for convictions all the time. They just have to pay a devastating price for it afterward.
"I thought you felt something for her," Kate muttered, her voice dripping with sudden disappointment.
"Just... put the weapon down. Walk away."
"I dreamed of being the reason you smiled," she whispered, her voice breaking. "For so long, I waited. But you never smiled for me. I was never the one. I just wanted to be the one..."
"Drop the gun!"
"No!" Kate screamed, cutting him off. She jammed the barrel so deep into my temple I thought the bone might snap before she even fired. My heart stopped. I couldn't feel my pulse anymore. I wasn't even in my body.
They say your life flashes before your eyes when you're about to die. They lied. All I saw was him. Christopher. My only hope. And a pretty pathetic hope at that.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because I love you!"
"And you want to hurt me? Because this will kill me too."
The suggestion made her waver. I felt the pressure against my head ease for a fraction of a second as her grip loosened.
"Drop it," Chris urged. But the momentary haze in Kate's eyes cleared, replaced by a renewed, frantic defiance.
My eyes filled with salt. I was writing a mental suicide note, desperate to spill my final thoughts onto paper, but I was trapped. Silent tears finally spilled over, carving hot, wet paths down my cheeks.
"Now!" Christopher shouted—not to Kate, but to the shadows.
A second later, the silence was shattered by a deafening roar. "Police! Get on the ground! Hands behind your head!"
The SWAT team swarmed the room.
Everything after that was a blur. A haze of motion and noise. Before I knew it, I was wrapped in his arms—the arms I had yearned for, the man I had loved so fiercely. But something inside me had snapped. The love was still there, but the strength to carry it was gone.
"I'm sorry," I whispered into the crook of his neck, my breath hot against his skin. "I can't."
"What are you talking about? It's over, Lily. You're safe."
"No... I'm sorry."
I tore myself out of his embrace. I didn't look back. I ran—away from the crime scene, away from the madness, and away from him. A cold, heavy apathy had settled over me, numbing me from head to toe.
I can't do this anymore. Forgive me.