What to do?
What do I do?
What do I FUCKING do?
A loud thud rings out in the distance and pulls me from my reverie. I tear my eyes away from the wet, tarred street and watch a round, shadowy figure across from me toss a large, full black trash bag into the brown, rusted dumpster.
Then I hear something…
A soft whisper…
A name carried on the tail-end of the wind.
It’s beautiful, melodic.
Stepping away from the street lamp, taking a few steps to the right. “Hello,” I call out. I get no response, but hear the name again.
The sound is closing in on me.
Followed by familiarity.
My name.
Someone is calling my name. It’s too faint and too distant for me to be able to make out if it’s a man or a woman.
“Hello!” This time I raise my voice.
As I lurch closer, I reach behind me, wrapping my fingers around my gun and squeeze the handle.
Fuck this…
It’s always the mother-fucking cowards that sneak up behind you. They don’t fire at you until you have your back turned. I’ve never been a coward. If I’m going to aim my weapon at someone, I’m damn well going to do it to their face and point it right between their eyes. Now pulling the trigger, that’s a completely different story.
I know this seems kind of soft, but I don’t think anyone deserves to die. I mean when it comes to the brotherhood, you come in contact with plenty of shady people. Me, I tend to be more lenient when it comes to assassinating people. Connie…
That man would shoot a toddler if he thought it would benefit him in some way.
Sometimes thinking about it makes me sick.
A figure appears in the distance…
A soft silhouette.
Pale skin…
Recently high-lighted hair.
She colored her hair dark for a while. Mostly because of everything that happened before. She made mention that she was going to high-light it and I shrugged and told her, “I think you’re beautiful either way.”
It doesn’t matter what she does to her appearance or how her body changes or if she gets old and wrinkled or even gains weight. None of that matters to me. I’ll always think she’s beautiful. And when she walks into a room and I see her, I know she’ll always make my heart race.
I guess that’s what loving someone does to a man.
Their irritating habits become adorable.
When they’re angry they become sexy.
You morph into some whipped bitch, a slightly better version of your badass self.