The sound took her by surprise. She’d thought he was dead, as she’d held his loose body to her own, staring at him, now shocked.
She’d thought that the bullet had killed him, after all, it had been shot with utmost precision, though it’s true he’d turned away with a swift movement, so that instead of his heart, it had went right through his shoulder and out the other side, leaving behind a hole that looked like a small galaxy, seeping blood onto his blue shirt and blackening it. He’d surely fell down fast enough, as if he’d died.
She’d then climbed onto the roof, over the railing like the acrobat that she was, and set her gun down beside it, thinking that she’d done, that she’d finally broken him, finally it was him who was the victim, not her, her the predator and him the prey, their roles reversed. Finally. She’d ambled up to his limp body, thinking it dead, and had been slightly disappointed that she hadn’t had the chance to see the life bleed out of him, his face when he discovered it was she, his ever falling, ever breaking tragic heroine, who had been his undoing.
His eyes were open and appalled. Those blue eyes which had held her captive with their control, their love, their anger, the ones which had looked on merrily a he’d tuned her dreams to ashes, leaving her crumbling, drowning in her sorrow, now shocked. She smoothed down the black hair away from his face in a manner reminiscent of the lovers that they had once been.
She gazed into those eyes now, and then brought her lips next to his ear.
“I’m the villain now, darling. It’s your time to drown.”
Drown in your blood, hurt, sorrow. She smiled triumphantly. It was then, with his head near hers, bloody body close, that she’d heard it.
His eyes flashed with life. They met hers. She felt a cold prickling in her back. Her elation, her triumph, they all left her.
He smiled. Predatory. His hand held her shoulder, viselike grip, hands like claws digging into her skin. She squirmed to move, but of course she couldn’t get away when he had her. She never could.
A sharp pain in her chest. Skin slicing open. The squelching, disgusting sound of flesh. Ice cold horror digging into her marrow as she stared at him, those malice filled eyes the color of Hell’s sky.
He leaned in close, as if to let her in on all the universe’s secrets.
“Don’t you see, my darling? You will always be the victim, and I will always be the villain.”
To her, death tasted like pain and poisoned lead in her veins. To him, it tasted of blood on his lips, his hand, and the triumph of taking her along with him as he fell, like every other lifetime they had spent playing this endless game of cat and mouse.