Love of Addiction

A Story by Wonderwalled

I stood there in complete silence, other than the slight ruffle heard as my body shook inside my clothes with full, uncontrollable force. A wave of cold shuddered down my spine and left my stomach feeling heavy and dark. Joe was shaking with equal voracity, although his condition was much more concerning as he placed his index finger on the trigger. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. All I could do was stand there dumbfounded, seized by fear, not of the gun or it’s possibility of wounding me, but instead of it’s current intended purpose. As I moved my head back and forth, scrutinizing the faces of my companions, I could see both their lips moving as if in enraged conversation, but couldn't discern what either was saying. Even with my sense of hearing failing me, I could tell on a primal level that this situation was reaching it’s apex. I screamed for them to stop…or did I? It’s so hard to know thinking back on it now. I felt like I did but it produced no reaction from either party so I can’t be sure. No more than three seconds passed and I saw Joe’s arm stiffen, pointing the weapon more directly at it’s target. Paul stood up straight, throwing his arms up across his chest and out towards his assailant. Without even thinking I leapt away from the wall I clutched to in my terror towards Joe. The whole room moved as if stuck in the slowest motion scene ever. I thrust my arms out in an attempt to grab the firearm, and as my hands were within millimeters it seemed of victory, my hearing suddenly returned in full force. A deafening bang shook all my senses. Fire shot out from the barrel of the gun spraying my face and completely blinding my vision. The only sense that was courting me at the moment was touch as the bullet grazed through two of my fingers as they clutched down on the pistol. Not long after touch came pain. Joe and I both fell to the floor and I felt it when he released the gun. I clutched to it for dear life, curling up in fetal position to ensure it’s safety while I furiously attempted to restore my vision by wiping the gun smoke out of my eyes. Once last wipe and I opened my eyes to survey my surroundings. Joe sat huddled behind me in the corner with eyes full of terror, pushing himself back against the wall with his feet with maniacal fury. I quickly wielded by newly gained weapon in his direction, which inspired even more feverish pushing. I stumbled to my feet and backed up to come to Paul’s side but within a few steps I hit an obstacle which caused me to again lose my footing. As I hit the floor I nearly dropped the gun but regained my grip and sight of Joe as quick as I could. It was then that I realized what the obstacle had been.

I’m not entirely sure about the series of events that followed. I felt an ache come through my entire body, starting in my gut it seemed and radiating out until it reached every extremity. Every movement I made seemed slow and decided. As I placed my hands on the floor to help put myself on my knees, I remember how cold and hard the concrete floor felt under my fingers. I thought about how it is unforgiving and yet still without remorse. I reached my knees and sat the gun down on the ground, using both free hands to grab Paul by the shirt collar and hoist his upper body up to my eye level. He made no effort to assist my actions. Once lifted up a dark stain began to discolor his shirt around his waist. It looked to be the darkest blood I’d ever seen in all my life. Tears welled up in my lower lids, quickly spilling over and running out of my horrified eyes and down my face. I screamed his name, how many times I do not know, and although his eyes were looking straight at me, there was no life left in them. He was gone…gone that fast. In less than the blink of an eye. One of the most important people in my life was now dead in my arms. My mind reeled with thoughts, most I could not remember now if I tried. I have no idea how long I knelt there, holding him, sobbing, wishing to wake up from this nightmare.

I do remember, however, a small noise as Joe attempted to exit his corner and leave the room. With unexpected ferocity I released Paul, picked up the pistol, and jumped to my feet. Joe stopped in his tracks. I’m not sure if he was paralyzed by fear or the mere uncertainty of my next actions, but he was not left wondering long. Tears still poured from my eyes but I felt that I could see better than I ever had. I held the gun with both hands, looking straight down the iron sight at Joe’s chest. I lifted my eyes to meet his and began walking towards him as I spoke:

“You miserable wretch!” I exclaimed, slamming the butt of the pistol into the side of his head as soon as I was in arm’s reach. He fell to the floor and began crying too, professing his guilt and begging for forgiveness. I can not recall his exact words now, which is actually a larger cause of regret for me than my actions, since these words may have very well been the most important he ever spoke.

I grabbed a chunk of his hair with my left hand, pulling his head back and eyes upward. I placed the barrel of the pistol directly on his left temple.

“I shall have my leave of you now!”

He fell silent. If the gun ever made a noise I did not hear it, or perhaps my mind has chosen to forget. I released his hair as blood began to run down my forearm and he fell lifeless to the floor. This may sound horrible, but I felt no pity. No remorse for his evil soul or it’s eternal resting place. All I felt was hatred.

I felt something wet on my feet and looked down to see a river of blood rushing over them. I stepped out of it’s path and turned around to once more see my dear Paul lying motionless on the floor. I walked again to him and fell to my knees, sobbing uncontrollably. How could I go on without him? How could I ever forgive myself for this, for being here? For being the reason he is here? The emotions felt as if they were taking over my entire being, not just my body but my soul as well, filling me with a black, putrid type of regret that consumes everything in it’s path. I wailed out in an attempt to rid my body of the nauseating sentiment but was left feeling even more despaired.

I have no idea how long I stayed there in torment. It could have been hours or days. Time was immeasurable, hateful, profane. Every second brought us further apart and there was nothing I could do to halt the progression. What is time but a curse when it keeps you from the ones you love?