Weaponry As An Equivalent To Intimacy

He knew I wouldn't shoot him.

He knew that I couldn't. He smirked at me, the exact same smirk he'd given me this morning as he walked out my door. He looked at me the same way when I was holding a gun as he did when I was holding a bed sheet.

"What are you waiting for?"

I turned to the one behind me, the one I was supposed to be in love with. My gun never left _his_ forehead.

"I don't know," I whispered. "What _am_ I waiting for?" The crowd was silent and my whispers echoed like screams. I turned back and grinned, lowering the gun.

"We both know what's going to happen," I said. "We know what has to happen."

"You'll never tell him, will you?" he asked, gesturing to the man behind me.

"Maybe. I don't think _you_ ever will."

The gun's blast was quieter than my whispers had been.