Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

“Fuck off!”
“I love you! I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t mean anything, you lying son of a bitch!”
She squirms in my arms, shoving against me, desperate for
release.
I won’t give it to her.
I kiss her instead.
She refuses to open her mouth for me, twisting her head
away. I fist a hand into her hair and hold her head steady, then
kiss her again.
This time she lets me thrust my tongue into her mouth. She
lets me taste her, hold her, as we breathe hard through our
noses, our bodies pressed together tight.
Then I feel the cold muzzle of my handgun pressed against
my temple.
She pulled it out of the back of my waistband and stuck it
against my skull.
I feel a flash of admiration for my brave, clever girl, but
it’s quickly swallowed by despair.
“Back the fuck up,” she says quietly against my mouth.
When I open my eyes, she’s looking straight into them. So
I can see clearly that in her own, there’s no shred of warmth,
love, or mercy left.
My soul is in ashes. There’s nothing inside of me. I’m a
rotted, empty shell.
I slide to my knees at her feet and bow my head. “Do it,
then. Without you, I’m dead anyway.”
There’s a long, tense silence. Then she whispers raggedly,
“I should.”
She digs the muzzle of the gun into the top of my head.
But something in her voice ignites a tiny spark of hope in
my chest. I raise my head and gaze up at her, this woman I
adore who I’ve just wrecked.