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The Last Second
"So are you gonna answer me or not?!?"
It's really hard to come up with an answer on demand, especially at gunpoint. And right now, that's pretty much what I was dealing with. Lisa, my ex-girlfriend for all of one day, had somehow cornered me in this parking garage and was pointing a loaded gun at me. I was guessing it was a .357 or something like that, cause the hole at the end of the barrel was big enough to put a fucking golf ball in.
"Answer me!!!" she shrieked once again, drawing back the hammer.
"Awright, awright," I yelled, throwing my hands up. "Jesus! It's not like it's one of those questions that I can come up with right off the goddamn bat! Especially when you're pointing a fucking gun at me. When the fuck did you turn crazy?" Right after I said that, I knew it was a bad idea. It's not good to call a jilted lover crazy. It's especially not good if she's holding a gun large enough to blow bowling ball-sized holes in your body. "Ignore that last comment."
"It's really hard to maintain a coherent train of thought when you're pointing that hand cannon at me. Put yourself in my shoes: do you think you could pull it off?" Her head tilted in that way a dog's does, you know, when you think it's trying to understand what you're saying. How cute. She thinks she's people...
"I wouldn't be in this situation because I wouldn't have broken up with you. When you put as much time into making a relationship work as I have, you owe it to yourself and the other person to see that it works out, to make sure it works out." This is your captain speaking. If you'd look out your window, you can see one crazy bitch on your left. If you'd look to your right, you'd see one poor bastard about to lose a majority of his organs.
"Listen: it's not fair to you for me to stay with you when I'm not happy in the relationship. Not every relationship works out. Sometimes they-"
"Two fucking years!! I invested two years in making this relationship work and you think it can end just...like...that?!?! I got news for you, asshole. It is not going to end like that." Yep. Right over the edge. Tumbling in the ravine. Boom.
"This-" The confrontation in the parking garage, the yelling, the fucking gun. "Is not how one generally salvages a relationship. I mean, couldn't you just go with the traditional route?? We could go out for coffee, talk about why it didn't work-" Cos you're obviously fucking nuts. "We could do the friends thing for a bit. Whatdya say? Could you please, for the love of fuck, put down the gun?" She hesitated for a bit, and for a second, just one second, I could swear I saw the malice, the insanity, I thought it left her eyes. But it came back just as fast.
"Fuck that. I put the gun down, you're going to try and take it." She was right. If that gun even so much as pointed at the floor, I was going to hit her like a goddamn linebacker. Girl or not, the bitch had a gun. Tackling her to the concrete wouldn't hurt nearly as much as a slug from that gun tearing through me. "You still haven't answered my question: are we going to get back together or am I going to have to kill you?"
One- Lie to her; tell her yes, you will get back together and everything is going to be sunshine and roses and happy thoughts. Not only will it be like old times, it will be better than old times. You will fall back in love, you will get married, you will have 2.5 kids and the two car garage. You will go to old age loving each other. There will be simultaneous orgasms, kissing despite morning breath, and no forgotten birthdays/anniversaries.
Two- The truth; tell her the truth and get a bullet. Remember how your parents told you to always tell the truth and you'd never get in trouble? I think that bleeding to death on the cold concrete of a parking garage is worse than fucking trouble.
"Lisa, seriously now-"
"Answer." Fuck. I didn't know if I could stall her anymore. I wasn't going to lie to her. I couldn't. I knew that it would probably save my life, but I just couldn't do it. Maybe there was some part of me that was in love with her still, I don't know. She still had the same beautiful eyes(clouded with hate as they were), the same gorgeous body, and I was pretty sure that intelligence and cynical humor were still there, unless they decided to pack up and move out once the insanity moved in.
"Lisa, I don't think it's going to happen. I just can't do it. And especially not after this. You're pointing a gun at me, a loaded gun. Do you honestly expect that I'm going to go back out with you after that? I mean, really now-" Her face didn't change at all, except for maybe a little pout. I think that once it got past the armor that her psychosis had errected, my answer really hurt her. The gun wavered a little bit. She was going to shoot.
That's when I decided that I wasn't going to go down like this. If I was going to die, which I more than likely was, I was going to die putting up a fight. After I made that decision, everything slowed down. I could feel every muscle in my body contract, I could feel myself go into a crouch, and then I was lunging.
The first round tore most of my right shoulder muscle off in a spray of blood. If it hurt, I don't remember. I was too commited on my course of action to worry about it. The only thought that did register was: "the bitch just fucking shot me".
The second round caught me right in the chest, blowing a massive portion of my right lung clear out my back and splattering it all over my Golf. I figured I didn't really need it anymore, seeing as how I was probably dead in a couple of minutes, anyway. For some odd reason, I hoped that my brother didn't have too much trouble cleaning the lung off my car.
I managed to hit her before she snapped off the third round, and the look on her face was fucking priceless: complete surprise. And once I got my hands on her, something in me took over, something I didn't even know was there. That something wasn't nice, either. Cos it made me snap her wrist up(breaking it), jam the gun barrel into the underside of her jaw(with such force that several teeth were chipped), and pull the trigger(you know what this did). If the top of her head wasn't gone, I'm sure the look would have been that of shock. In the two years that we'd dated, I'd never hit her, never grabbed her forcefully...shit, I'd only yelled at her maybe five times. She sure as shit did not see this coming.
But to be fair, neither had I.
It was all over in about a minute. Her brains on the ceiling, my lung and muscle tissue on the car, the floor. She collapsed in a heap on the floor, the stink of gunpowder and insides all over the place. I soon followed. It's funny. When you're dying, they say that your whole life flashes before your eyes. There was none of that. Just the ceiling of the parking garage. I lay there bleeding and I thought to myself, "It doesn't hurt at all".
Your first job.
That one time when you thought it would be really cool to jump your bike off the skate ramp.
Sleeping with that girl from your psych class that turned out to be the best fuck you ever had, even if she was a total bitch.
Going to Canada with friends and getting so drunk that you don't remember anything after the strip club.
Watching your dad hit your mom for the first time.
Your first car.
The first time you ever got high.
The first time you realized you were in love.
The first time you got drunk.
The first time you did anything.
When you're lying on what's left of your back, bleeding to death in a parking garage, you realize that life is nothing more than a series of firsts. Everything after that is just filler.
Date Written: January 21, 2005
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