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Chance after chance and Alex hadn’t played his cards right. Not once. No one said it was gonna be easy but he hadn’t expected his hands to tremble as much as they did when his fingers dug into soft skin.
Of course, something like this shouldn’t come naturally and Alex should feel relieved. He doesn’t like the way his chest grows tight, his heart thumps against his ribcage.
There were knives in their kitchen, of course, there were but he didn’t dare slick that or any others with blood after the resistance Sarah had put up. He’d been unable to even spare her a glance to figure out if he’d at least ended it fast despite the struggle, he didn’t think he did even if the heat that stuck to his skin after the Relentless scrubbing told him otherwise.
He recalls Amy’s eyes boring into him, the pads of her fingers brushing against his trembling hands, palm open, slicked with soap as red trickles down his hand in a mix of suds as it swirls down the drain. Her touch is gentle, his back pressed into her chest, he thinks he’d go slack without the support behind him.
“You’re not hurt,” Amy whispered, her eyes meeting his as she inspected his damp hand. Wiping away, concealing something she doesn’t know about Alex wished he didn’t answer.
Still, a glint of suspicion in her warm eyes, she dries his hands. “let’s get you out of these,” Amy directs, Alex’s hands shot forward, encasing her waist. His face buried into her shirt.
The metal is cold, and heavy in his hand. Alex had only handled guns from Brian and he didn’t know the intricacies of it, there was a science to it and Brian understood it, Alex was spooked by the sounds.
He didn’t stick around to figure it out, hesitant fingers dragged against the smooth finish of it.
“Alex, when did you get this?” Amy’s voice rings in his ears, a small thud rattling from the wooden door table and he peers up at Amy, she’s lingering over his chair and he shuts his laptop.
“Where did you find that?” Alex blurts out, his words are faster than his brain. It sounds horrible and he sees the way Amy’s eyes narrow.
“Your drawer,” answers Amy, she pulls her hand away from the firearm, sliding into the chair next to him. “you never mentioned getting it.”
“I was trying to find Rocky’s leash and I found that instead.” Amy’s eyes gaze at Alex’s hands as they wring against each other.
“I thought you didn’t like guns?” Amy’s hands brush against the table as she cups Alex’s hands within hers.
“I don’t,” answers Alex, his throat constricting. “It’s just in case anything happens.”
Amy nods understanding, she doesn’t press the topic any further.
Alex flips a page of the book he’s reading, the sound of the wind moving against it as his head begins to slip onto the arm of the couch.
The empty side of the couch dips down with weight as Amy scoots close beside him, hand on his knee. “Do you wanna go on a walk?” She asks, her eyes lighting up when Alex nods.
Placing his book onto the coffee table, Amy pushes herself off the couch as Alex heads to retrieve his jacket and sneakers.
“Hurry up, Alex!” Amy calls, standing between the open doorways of the front door.
Alex opens his drawer, the gun resting on some socks inside of it and he grabs it, the metal is cold, weighing his hand down. He doesn’t know if he’s trembling or it’s heavy, he sticks it into the new holster he’d purchased.
“Coming,” Alex calls back, he shuts the bedroom door after petting Rocky and telling him to stay. He follows Amy out the door.
Walking down the sidewalk, there’s chalk staining the concrete from neighboring kids, Amy’s hand in his, fingers tangled. The wind whips her hair against her neck as she walks ahead when she notices the treeline beginning to cover the sky, her hand slips from Alex’s as they walk the adjoining trail.
Amy pauses momentarily, craning her neck. “You always walk so slow,” she comments.
Alex shakes his head, a weak smile crossing his face. “You just walk fast,” he shoots back as their shoulders brush and Amy nudges him.
Slipping off the trail, she walks downhill towards a pathway covered in rocks spanning down. “Look,” Amy says, calling Alex to follow. “There’s so many cool rocks!” She bends down, scooping up a smooth almost pink rock, the pads of her fingers smoothing over the cool surface.
Placing it down, Amy stands up.
Ahead of her is a large oak tree, she stands up. “Alex, look at that tree, it must be so old.”
Alex’s throat tightens, his breath catching within it as his trembling hand inches way to the holster concealed underneath his jacket, he pulls it out.
It weighs heavy in his hand, the metal is cold to touch. His hands slick with beads of sweat, he raises the gun, extending his arm, and his hand trembles as the barrel is pointed toward Amy’s head.
He cocks the gun, his eyes burning.
“-Lex? What are you doing—“ Amy turns around, her hand resting on the oak tree, her eyes widening.
Her face crumples.
Alex’s finger inches toward the trigger, he presses it and the sound resounds against the trees, his ears ringing as he screwed his eyes shut.
Red begins to soak, staining the green grass, and leaking into the dirt. Alex finds himself on his knees, his legs wobbly as he scrambles for Amy, weight heavy in his arms, body slack against his chest, a steady trickle staining blonde hair, soaking into his jeans.
Alex’s trembling hand presses to Amy’s still-warm cheek, her head falling languidly to his arm. Quickly withdrawing his hands, they scramble in a futile attempt to staunch the bleeding, the red sticking to his skin, warm to the touch.
“I’m sorry,” Alex croaks, throat tight. “I’m so sorry,” he repeats a litany of apologies falling from his lips as if some sort of panicked prayer.
“It had to happen,” he choked out, his fingers combing through bloodied hair, pushing it behind Amy’s ear as his grip on her tightened. “It spreads, it’ll keep spreading… it can’t hurt you now.”
Alex’s shoulders haunch over, fingers threading through Amy’s hair, his eyes screwing shut, brimming tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, trickling down onto Amy’s head, mingling with damp hair, diluting some of the red soaked into once bright hair. “You’re safe now, you’re safe now,”
she can’t hear him, why is he even talking? Did he want some sort of closure? He isn’t sure. He isn’t sure whether he’s trying to justify it—trying to soothe himself or her.
She Couldn’t hear or at least that’s what he thought.
Hearing is the last thing to go when you die, Brian had told him that a while back. Quite morbid considering Brian’s interests in medical care and psychology, the morbid nature wasn’t out of the ordinary.
Alex recalled recoiling away from Brian, a smirk crossing the other’s face and he glared, discomfort forming on his face. Why the fuck would you tell me that?
It’s interesting, Brian had shot back.
Could she hear him?
Did she understand? Was she angry? She had every right to be angry.
Alex is, does he even have the right to be mad when he’d done it? He’d been the one to pull the trigger, he’d been the one to wrap his hands around her neck and not pull tight.
It’s like a murderer showing up at a funeral to observe the damage they had inflicted, the red stains on Alex’s hands, soaked into his skin, into the creases of his hands.
Something hard bubbles within his throat.
He’s angry it’s come to this, that he has to do this. He’s angry she didn’t try to run or reason—she’d looked at him, her face crumpled but she hadn’t moved, she wasn’t frozen, she’d moved but she didn’t move out of the way. A hint of resignation, was it?
Move, run, do something. He held his tongue. It was fast like he’d wanted. Some part of him still wished she would’ve done something at least—she doesn’t.
Alex presses his forehead against Amy’s, attempting to steady his breathing, but it’s futile—a strangled sound escapes his tight throat, he doesn’t know whether it’s a cry or something else.
A few rapid intakes of breath, his chest heaving. Blinking away the tears, attempting to wash away the burning sensation they renew.
The door pushes Open, Alex doesn’t recall when he’d left. Barking sounds as he walks into his bedroom, Rocky trotting beside him and Alex ushers him the other way, slipping into the bathroom.
Alex’s hands trembled as he pressed down the soap dispenser, cold soap covering his open palms, he wet it, scrubbing vigorously.
The door creaks, and Rocky pushes it open. He sits down beside Alex, nose nudging Alex’s legs, ears folding behind his head, and he lets out a low whine.
Alex’s eyes screw shut. Another nudge, heat building up behind his eyes, seeping to the corners of his eyes.
The hiss of the water swirling down the white porcelain of the sink, his elbows digging into it, staining the white and suds red.
Alex keeps his eyes shut, a steady ache blooming behind his eyes, throughout his head. He dries his hands, the skin looks irritated, but it doesn’t matter.
Rocky follows Alex out of the bathroom, leaping onto the bed, padding to where Alex had laid down, nudging him with his head, brushing against him until Alex responded, petting him.
Rocky rests his head on Alex’s lap.