2019-07-13 - Last Kiss

It started in the usual way. A gunshot. And with it erased all vision for the future.
He heard voices, men's voices followed by a feminine whimper, and instinctively knowing that wasn't right was reaching for the nightstand before he was even awake. But all his large paw met was an empty hostler.

"Looking for this, you fucker?" asked a voice he recognized but the swift blow to the side of the head cause the memory slow to retrieve. Oh yeah, Dog. His eyes open, just narrowly to adjust to the hallway light being on, but still enough light to focus down the tunnel of a Glock 19; his own probably.
His eyes uncrossed while travelling up the arm holding the weapon. Sure enough, Dog. Sneering sadistically with that one tooth missing, his greasy, dirty blonde hair pushed back. Movement out of the corner of his eye made him glance to his right. Still in bed next to him she struggled lightly under the same accusatory one-eyed stare from Dog's best friend and accomplice, Tick.
He thought to himself, they looked high.

No words passed for a long second until Dog helped himself. "Me and my FRIEND here," gesturing to Tick, with a nod of his head that dislodged a wet strand of hair as he emphasized the word, "just finished up a little business. Thought we would celebrate our new promotions. Only when we get here, we find your bike outside and you in my old lady's bed. What's up with that, motherfucker?" A kick to the corner of the bed follows, doing little other than rising another sound from her -- this hasn't been the first time she's seen him like this, after all -- and more hair to cascade over his face which he brushes back to join the unwashed mess behind his head.

Thinking slowly, still sleepy and weak, he settled instead for glaring while his mind didn't so much race as it did trot carefully. It was she who spoke up, biting, as she sat up, "I'm NOT your old lady! I broke up with you remember? We're through!"

And as Tick withdraw his gun so he could better pull back his left hand and abruptly remind her he was there with a backhand, the rings he used as brass knuckles colliding against her cheek with a dull thud and sent her back to bounce on the mattress, Dog also had a retort. "And I ain't done with you, cunt. Not yet," he added, his eyes narrowing, before returning his attention back over. "You fuck my old lady? You been putting it to her behind my back? You owe me. And I know one way to make sure you're going to pay up."

With something of a fiendish grin, not unlike the joker all the men wore on their leather jackets, Dog aimed the pistol at her.

A gunshot.
Ringing begins in his ears.
The gunshot.
Warm, wet atoms sprinkle over his face, his open astonished mouth.
The gunshot.

He vaults upright to be seated in bed, his hand reaching for the nightstand, but finding only bed, sheets, another person. She groans softly but doesn't wake. In the darkness of the room, the neon lights from outside advertise vacancy in the M-O-T- -L. Staying seated, he lets his vision adjust, lets his panting settle before he pulls the covers over his body and slips out of bed without a sound from or care for his partner. Feet touch short motel carpet, except his right, stepping on his last condom wrapper, which he brings with him to the bathroom, glued by perspiration to his very sole.

Some decency is given, closing the door first before he shortly blinds himself by turning on the light and empties his bladder. Moving to the sink to wash his hands, he looks into the mirror and allows himself the pain of remembering the perfect moment: with her, a sundress illuminated from behind by the falling sun before they settled in at another sneezy little hotel. Her long hair held by the force she created while she twirled, the pollen hanging in the air, and laughed. Oh god, her laugh.

He forced his eyes closed, then forced those feelings down. So very, down. Think about something else. Think about her plan. Think about the money. Think about candy. Think about living on the other side of the world, think about anything fucking else. Do the job; follow her plan.

Get out alive.
For her.