Rush of Blood to the Head
I held his hand, slipping his fingers between my own. Our foreheads were pressed together and tears burned behind my green eyes. His hand against my cheek hid half of the redness in my face. He made circles around my birthmark with his thumb as the tears trickled down my cheeks.
I wrapped my hand around the back of his neck and pulled him closer, pressing my lips hard against his.
“I love you,” I whispered, our lips almost touching. When I stared into his eyes one last time, we were so close that I could spot the tiny freckles littering the bridge of his nose and the small dent in between his eyebrows.
He stared back at me, then closing his eyes, pressed his skin against mine and took my hand, wrapping my fingers around the gun. Stepping back, he aimed it at his forehead and continued staring back at me, his eyes beginning to become glossy. He cocked it and placed my finger on the trigger.
A sob escaped my lips and I trembled . “Jonathan. Please don’t make me do this.”
“We don’t have a choice,” he said. He smiled weakly, assuring me of what he told me minutes earlier. We will be together again.
I pressed my lips together to conceal the repeated sobs and firmly gripped the gun.
“I love you,” he said, gazing at me, his eyes solemn but encouraging.
My nose flared from the tears and I took a deep breath through it. I looked at him one last time, closed my eyes, and pulled the trigger.
