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But as I pointed the gun at him, smuggled in only because it was plastic, 3D printed, with a ceramic bullet, all I could now was,how dare he?
How could he stare up at me like that?
I could sense it, see it, feel it.
There was no denying the love pouring through his eyes, the acceptance in his gaze, the motherfucking gratitude in them. Towards me.
He was grateful to me.
And for what? For killing him? For cutting his blessed light short?
Was he even real?
Knight had never been the kind of man to take things lying down.
He took what he wanted.
He gave what he wanted.
He leftwhenhe wanted.
And it never seemed to matter to him how his actions affected anyone else. Rook and I were both a testament to those facts.
And yet, he dared stare at me with so much passion and love and motherfucking forgiveness that it made my heart stop in my chest. Tears sparked my eyes and overflowed down my face.
Had he felt this way all along? This... love?
Had he been hiding it the whole time? He’d never shown this kind of open emotion to me before.
I shifted, my finger still on the trigger.
It shouldn't matter how he felt.
I was doing this for me. For Rook.
Knight's feelings on his death shouldn't matter.
And yet, I was frozen, my whole body strung tight. My back, legs, hands, and fingers ached.
I'd imagined this so many times, and every time it had gone so simply.
I would stare into his eyes, the goodbye on my lips as I snuffed out the light in his eyes. No hesitation. No regret.
But, my finger wouldn't move.
My arm was beginning to get shaky for holding my position so long.
My mouth was dry, my lips like the desert.
I licked them, tasting the salt from a tear, and could still feel the warm buzzing sensation where he'd brushed them away.
It had felt like he'd been brushing his fingers over my heart, my very soul, when he'd touched me.
I hated it.
Hated him.
Hated how he could still touch me with a gun shoved in his mouth.