Amazing.
Absolutely amazing. What a delicate surprise.
I didn't realize he was standing there until I heard the cocking of his gun, that delicate click sounding very loud in the small confines of my bathroom. It's hard to explain with simple words, but I could feel the barrel pointed at my body. I could feel his fingers wrapped around the cool metal like it was something to take care of because it was precious. Hell, his hate for me was almost touchable as he snarled out words that I couldn't understand because his crying was blurring the words. Words laced in between tears and sobs.
Nonsense, really.
The only thing I could pick out of the words was that he was angry with me. Angry that I had done something so stupid that, with my actions, it sent a very important person into the hospital. After all, I had hurt the one thing that this young man ached for. The one person that this young man dreamed of at nights and longed for in the daytime. I had done everything in my power to take this man's friend out of the picture, and I had failed.
Quatre Raberba Winner was close to death because of me.
Was I guilty? Of course not.
A thrill of dull excitement started to race through my blood at the thought of danger, flicking my gaze off to the side to try and catch a glimpse of him in the mirror. Ah. He stood in the doorway like if he took one step closer, something bad would happen to him. Taking precautions, I guess. No use in him getting hurt when all he wanted to do was to take me down and leave without a trace.
Eyes of a killer.
That's one thing I've always admired about this young man. His eyes always hold this flare of life that I don't see in some of his teammates; funny how this kid manages to be one of the quietest damn bastards you would ever dream of speaking with. Through those glistening eyes, he's a dark individual that hates it when he's wrong, and hates everything negative that happens to his friends.
Loyal?
The poor bastard was shaking like a leaf in a windstorm as he aimed the gun, shied away, aimed the gun.... shied away. I take it he couldn't quite decide whether or not he should pull the damn trigger, or leave before he caused himself any more pain. I certainly wouldn't hold it against him if he just lowered the gun, shot me in the leg, and left me to fend for myself. That seems like it would be a very acceptable punishment for the damage I caused to his friend. Chances are, though, he had completely different thoughts.
"You made a mistake."
Bravo, Mr. Barton, on sounding intimidating even through the crying. I'll have to give you props on that one.
"Getting a little emotional, aren't we, Barton?"
I turn my head slightly in the direction of the mirror, watching his reflection to watch his reactions. His sharp eyes flick in the same direction as mine, and our gazes meet on the side wall. He graces me with a look that can only be described as brutal, and he moves the gun to aim at a new target. It's funny how, just for a second, a stab of fear raced through me as I forgot that we were looking at each other through the mirror and not face to face.
The gun firing off in the small room left me temporarily in a world of haze and distance, but my hearing came back to me quicker than I would have expected. What was left of my already-cracked mirror was nothing more than shards that had fallen to land in the sink and on the black and white tile floor. His breathing had hitched up to a near-desperate gasping almost like he had imagined that I was the one he had been shooting, and not just a mock portrait of me. I guess I can't stop him from having his fun in these kinds of situations. Pleasure comes from numerous activities; he got his jollies from shooting at images of me, apparently.
He wasn't done.
"... a horrible, horrible mistake. Did you think we would let you get away with that?"
I probably should learn how to hold my tongue.
"No offence, Mr. Barton, but it looks like you're flying solo on this one."
Of course I was going to use that to my advantage. Here he was, all alone, and he expects me to drop the fact that his pilot buddies aren't all here seeking revenge? I would bet my life saying that the other pilots hadn't even begun to think about coming for revenge. They would have sat and waited it out until Winner was fine and well, and even then, the kid would've talked them out of it. Easily persuaded, I guess you could say.
Oh...
Maybe Barton knew the kid would tell them not to, so he wanted to get it done with before Winner even had a chance of regaining consciousness. Well done on his part, to be quite frank. Didn't know he would do something even if he knew his love-interest wouldn't even begin to approve of it.
"Fine. Did you think I would let you get away with this?"
Calm, calm, calm...
"Not for a second, Mr. Barton. I'm actually not surprised at all that you are here, but I am a little shocked that you came so soon. If I had known you were coming, I could have made you something to eat-"
He cocked the gun.
"-or something. Would you like to move this to the kitchen? I'm sure I can whip up a little alcohol. That way you can blame the redness of your eyes on the vodka..."
He took a step into the bathroom, his shoes making a small click on the tile.
"I hope you find yourself amusing, because I'm not laughing."
"Isn't this dishonorable, Barton?"
"Isn't what dishonorable? You shooting my friend?"
"No. You shooting me while I have no way of defending myself. If I remember correctly, Winner and I were equal parties in the match. I just happened to come out on top."
Oh, that caused him to pause for just a second. Nothing more. Nothing less.
"You, on the other hand, are going to shoot me from anger... with my back turned... unarmed... in my own home."
"... then I am dishonorable."
"Tell me, Barton... what is it you want from me?"
Probably not the best question to ask under the circumstances, but I guess I figured that I really had nothing to lose. He seemed hell-bent on taking care of me either way. If it were anybody else, I probably would have tried to distract them enough until I could get something that would be remotely useful to me.
My luck is marvelous, though. The one person I can't persuade manages to catch me off guard.
All this over a foolish, kind-hearted, rich boy.
"Apologize."
"To you?"
"No... apologize for Quatre."
"Why? The little brat deserved it."
He fired again.
I couldn't really blame him for his actions as those words left my mouth before I even realized I had spoken them. When my mind cleared itself of the shock, I felt sharp pain cutting through my flesh until it felt like my air supply was being ripped away from me. I suppose one might say I was afraid as my legs betrayed me and I made a horribly slow descent towards the floor, my hands searching for anything to keep me upright. Snagging onto the white shower curtains, there was a brief moment when I realized that I might be well enough to turn and fight back, but luck wasn't with me that evening. The damn thing started to pop off of the shower bar, each of the plastic rings snapping loudly until the curtain was free off its hook. Thank god I managed to turn my body so it was my shoulder that hit the edge of the tub and not my head.
"If I hear you say something like that ever again, I swear to god I will come back and finish what I came to do."
And he left.
That was it.
He fired two shots off in my small bathroom, one at my mirror, one at me, and then calmly stepped back into my room and left. My bedroom door slammed shut as he made his exit, and I was alone in my world again. It was almost funny how I sat in the bathroom with the white shower curtains draping over my body like a blanket. I just sat there with blood rushing from the single wound he made to my side, and I looked out into my bedroom to where my phone was resting peacefully on its hook.
And for the first time in my life, I wished I was a person who asked for help.