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Kit holds a gun. Shiny metal. She shifts it from hand to hand. Kit's insane, Dawn realizes. Completely and totally insane. Dawn loves it, loves her. She makes her blood rush, her heart pound and her head spin, and for once Dawn feels alive.
"Let's play russian roulette," Kit says with a mischievous smirk. She points the gun at Dawn, point blank.
Dawn's breath catches in her throat. This is new, she thinks. Looking down the barrel of a .45 was definitely a novel experience. "O - or not," she stutters.
Kit's grin spreads across her face. She looks mad and maniacal. She cocks the gun and the sound echoes in Dawn's ears.
"Kit - " Dawn says pleadingly. "Kit, please. Come on. This isn't funny."
But Kit doesn't seem to hear her - or if she does, she doesn't acknowledge it. Her finger strokes the trigger and Dawn can't remember being this scared. Ever.
"Please," she begs.
And Kit squeezes the trigger. Dawn closes her eyes and sucks in her breath. She waits to hear the shot, waits to die.
Nothing.
Kit's laughter breaks the tension and Dawn finally allows herself to exhale. Her breathing is shallow, rapid. Her hear is pounding faster than if she had just finished running in a marathon.
"Chill, Summers," Kit says with a giggle. "It's not even loaded." She holds it to her own head to demonstrate.
Dawn rolls her eyes. "That was so not funny. I mean - "
And then Kit pulls the trigger. And this time there is a shot.