Of Bullets & Breakups

They say that all good things good to an end. That nothing, not even love, lasts forever. I guess it was foolish of me to think that we of all people, as flawed and imperfect for each other as we were, could beat the odds. Go the distance. Run the good race. Cross the finish line. And every other couples cliché you can think of. Boy was I wrong. So wrong, in fact, that it almost cost me my life...

There was blood everywhere. On the floor, on the bed, on my shirt, on my hands...it gushed from my stomach like a fountain and I couldn't get it to stop.
We had another fight. Another argument. About the very same thing we argued about every single time that we had raised voices, broken dishes and punched in walls. False accusations of philandering. We fought about it a lot. Her accusing, me denying. A whole lot more than used to anyway. The one bedroomed box that we had decided to make our home, wearing the scars of our arguments valiantly.
We were both volatile people, impulsive and passionate. Which was probably what made our whirlwind of a relationship so exciting. But as a result, so were our arguments. Often going from a quiet rumble to an explosive eruption within seconds. Spewing lava that destroyed everything and everyone unfortunate to get in its path.
But as volatile as we were, as impulsive as we were, there was always a line. One that we both knew that if either one of us crossed it, there would be no turning back. As angry as we got, our anger was always, without fault, physically aimed at the house. She would smash a glass, I would kick a chair, she would throw a vase, I would punch a wall. Like an unwritten rule, we never physically targeted our assaults at each other.
But that one night, that last night; all that changed. I hit her. SMACK! Across the face. So hard it left a print. Like the sole of a shoe in a square of wet cement. She went sprawling. More from surprise than from the actual force of the blow. She looked stunned. Like she couldn't believe what I had just done. I had just done the unfathomable. Broken our silent agreement. Our unwritten rule. How could I? Although she said nothing, I could see the question creep into her eyes.
“You brought up the one thing I asked you not to.” I said in answer to her unspoken question. My voice was haggard and hollow, the dregs of my suddenly dissipated anger swirling at the bottom of my heart's glass.
She had talked about my father. My father who had died more than 10 years before. His death a result of his sticking his penis in places he had no business sticking it. His death had been a painful one. For him to experience as well as for us as his family to watch. And the scars that he left behind innumerable. A mother, spending every waking moment in a constant battle for her life, a half brother that Ive never met but who I know is out there. And the knowledge that the woman who had destroyed our family was still alive, still breathing and living a productive life while my father was dead, cold in the ground.
She had talked about my father. Said I was toxic, just like my father. That I would end up just like him. Sick and alone. With nothing but the promise of the grave to comfort me...and so I had hit her.
And as she held the side of her face and stared at me in disbelief I was instantly sorry. And not because I was remorseful, either. But because I saw the fire in her eyes and I knew that there was no telling what she might do next.
I looked around the sitting room, tried to locate anything that she might try to use as a weapon. In my distraction I barely registered her walking past me towards the bed room...and then I remembered.
I hurried after her, calling after her. Each time more desperate than the last. I had to get to her before she got to it. But when I reached the doorway to the bed room I knew I was too late. The draw next to the bed had been pulled out. Many of its contents spilled out onto the floor around her feet. She stood facing me, her feet parted like I had taught her to. She pointed the gun at me, like I had taught her to. Removed the safety, just like I had taught her to.
Deep calm breaths, I told myself. Deep. Calm Breaths. I raised my hands in a gesture of surrender. To show her that I had no intentions of trying to hurt her.
Now Lloyd, I told myself, talk her down.
I took one step into the room.
“Angella, Honey, you need to put the gun do-”
But Angella, honey, pulled the trigger before I could finish.
BANG!