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The title didn’t feel derogatory or like it took something from me.
It gave me something… Something I wasn’t worthy of.
His heart.
Going there had been a mistake. A huge mistake. I hadn’t thought through all of the ramifications, hadn’t factored in that Elliot wasn’t afraid of commitment. Commitment to me.
Before I could say anything, a low pop sounded. Then another. Then I felt a sharp pain in my arm, like a bee stung me. I was not proud of it, but I’d been rendered so speechless that I didn’t recognize the gunshots nor the bullet entering my flesh.
Elliot did.
His eyes went wide, then he tackled me to the ground, covering me with his body.
More pops…
I tasted dirt and blood in my mouth as my cheek pressed against fallen leaves. My arm burned. I calmly catalogued all of these things in my mind.
I struggled to think of a game plan. I was in unfamiliar territory, getting shot at by someone who had an obvious advantage. And as much as I was confident in dangerous situations, most of those were in boardrooms wearing designer armor, not face down in the dirt wearing fucking Lululemon while facing actual bullets.
“Calliope?” Elliot’s voice was urgent and worried.
“Alive,” I ground out, not letting the panic I felt seep into my voice. “Is it too much to ask that you be armed for your little nature walks?”
“Haven’t needed to be before now,” he said tightly.
Another pop then dirt kicked up to the left of us. Close. Far too close. My terror kicked in at the thought of one of those bullets hitting Elliot. His body was draped over mine, ensuring that I would not get shot.
“We can’t stay here.” I struggled from under him.
He had at least fifty pounds on me and was exerting his strength to keep me down. “I don’t disagree, but that’s making you vulnerable when you’re already hit.” His eyes were darting around the dense woods, likely looking for the attacker.
“I don’t give a fuck,” I hissed. “You’re not going toabsorb the bullets.”
A split second. That was all it took. Elliot didn’t freeze under pressure. He made decisions. And in a split second, he was up, and we were running through the woods.
Or he was, with me in his arms.
“Put me down!” I demanded. “This is far too dramatic.” I didn’t struggle, because that could’ve caused him to trip, and we didn’t need him tripping in the midst of that shitshow.
Elliot didn’t look down, surprisingly stoic despite being under gunfire, the curve of his jaw rock-solid.
“We’re being shot at. I’d say dramatic is appropriate.” He was barely breathing heavily as he ran faster than I thought he’d be able to with me in his arms.
Another pop sounded, bark shattering from a tree somewhere nearby.
We were heading back in the direction of his house.
“Please tell me you’re a believer in the second amendment,” I said.
“You mean the law that was designed in a time when citizens might’ve been called to take up arms against tyrannical rules and people were being owned as property?” he replied, still somehow not at all breathless.
“As much as I’m fucking glad you’re a liberal, supporting women’s rights and human rights that aren’t old white men, I kind of wish you had a little bit of toxicity in you,” I bit out. “Then you’d own a gun. I own a gun.”
I didn’t tell him I owned multiple weapons. Didn’t seem like the time for it.
Focused, he still hadn’t peered down at me. Somehow, he was running through the woods and evading gunshots while having an entirely inappropriate conversation with me. And barely breaking a sweat.
“I’m not surprised you own a gun,” he replied.