Call it Fate, Call it Karma

A Bullet through his Head, a Knife through my Heart (Chapter 1)

Seven months.
It had been seven months since the god had showed up. No post cards, no sights of him at work. Nothing. Not even a sign that he was still alive.

I often find myself crying myself to sleep at nights. Adonis was my crutch, I realize that now. He was no punishment. He was a gift. He kept me sane, otherwise what was I?

I knew going into my line of work I wouldn't be seen as human anymore. I'd be seen as a weapon to the people who required my services and as a murderer to anyone else who found out. Yet to him, I was so much more.
I was human.

Not even I see myself as human anymore. I feel like machine, moving on autopilot. I don't know what he saw in me really. Whatever he saw; it wasn't enough to stop him from leaving. I moved on eventually, going back to my husk of a person.

It was a cool night, I had just gotten to my next job. My gun was in hand as I found a good position to stay in so that I was hidden. It was just another day. Just another person I took the life of.

It came so naturally to me, my hand on the trigger aiming at the man or woman I had to shoot. But I never expected in my life to shoot him.

The bullet went straight through his head and his disguise dropped as he fell against the brick wall next to him. I dropped my gun, my breath wavering as is realized what I had done.

My feet moved faster than my brain did, carrying me down the many flights of stairs and into the alleyway. it was far, far too late by the time I reached the gods body. He was pale and freezing. I pulled his lifeless body into my eyes, sobbing.

Is this what I do to people? I kill their love ones for a quick buck? I make them feel broken? Perhaps this truely was a punishment, my own eternal hell.

I had passed out there, his lifeless body in my hands; but when I awoke, I was in my bed. It confused me immensely, I could hear movement in the kitchen. Whatever it was it was getting closer. Was it coming to kill me?

He opened the door and stepped in, a bandage around his head and soup in his hand. His eyes blinked as the landed on me. Had they always been that beautiful of a blue?

He was dead. I remember the feeling of his cold body against mine. How was he alive, as I moved slightly and felt a pain in my chest. I realized I was shirtless and wrapped in bloodied bandages.

"How?" I asked him, but he stayed silent for a while.

"Henrold, you should be dead you know.." He spoke in a way that made my heart ache. He was saddened.

"But.. no.. you. You were dead. I saw the life drain out of your body.." I sat up but he quickly lied me back down. I hadn't even noticed how weak I felt.

"I told you, I'm a god. To bring a god back I needed a sacrifice. Unfortunately, my colleagues saw the man who killed me as a worthy one.. you got lucky. They missed your heart just barely. I was able to save you.. you should be dead."

I laid there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling

"But why would you care?"

He gave no response, only placing down the soup. He gestured at it for me to eat before leaving the room.

I noticed a post card next to the bowl and picked it up quietly, ignoring the picture. It never really interested me, but whatever the 'god' had to say was important to me.

His hand writing was always so beautiful, he put so much care into it. Each letter written in perfect cursive. I's hearted instead of dotted. I briefly wondered if he wrote to anyone else like this.

'My dearest, Henrold ,
I'm sorry for all the pain my absence has caused you. I had other matters to attend to and did not have time to write you. I will be back January 4th. Once you wake up I'll be leaving again. Don't look for me. I don't want this to happen again.
~ Yours always,
Adonis.'

And just like that, I hated him again.