Venom

30

"Cher," Dallas spoke lowly, stepping towards me. "Put the gun down."

"No!" I objected. My voice wavered and my hand trembled. My mind was racing like a lightning bolt and all I could think was of worse and worse explanations for the drugs and the gun.

Dallas laughed. He actually had the nerve to laugh. "You're not going to shoot me."

"Yeah? Try me." I hissed, my index finger resting against the trigger.

"Cherry. Give me the gun."

"No! I'm not lowering this gun until you explain what the drugs in the kitchen are and why you even have this thing in the first place!"

Dallas looked between my eyes and the gun in my hands.

He stepped forward, placed his hand over the muzzle without a trace of fear. And within seconds, he'd turned me around so that both of my hands were pinned behind me and pressing against his chest.

I felt the cool metal of the gun press into the side of my head.

"You smell different. Nice, but different." He whispered in my ear. "New conditioner?"

I moved my head away from him. "Let me go." I seethed, hating myself for feeling flattered that he'd noticed the new conditioner. It was cinnamon, a new favourite. "If you shoot me, you'll have to hide my body as well as the evidence, and I don't think you're capable of doing that. You struggle to keep the apartment clean."

Bold, Cher. Bold to insult someone with a gun to your head.

"Relax," Dallas chuckled lowly. "No one's shooting anyone here."

He let go of me, I stepped away immediately. He tucked the gun into his waistband.

"Start talking or I swear, I'll call the cops." I threatened.

Dallas sighed. "Have a seat." He nodded at the bed.

"I'm good here." I crossed my arms.

"Suit yourself." He shrugged, sitting on the bed himself. "A short explanation for the drugs: I used to deal, but I haven't for almost three years now."

"And the gun?"

He smiled. "I'm twenty-one. I'm allowed to own a gun, it's America."

"Okay, but why didn't you tell me there was one in the house?"

"To avoid a situation like this one."

I frowned. "That makes no sense."

He shrugged. "Any other questions?"

Did he think he was off the hook just like that?

"Yeah, if you're done with the drug dealing, why are the drugs hiding in the cereal boxes?"

"I used to hide them all over the apartment in case any cops ever came over," He justified, "I completely forgot about those cereal boxes. The cereal is ancient by the way, you might get food poisoning.

I shook my head. "I didn't eat any, I was too baffled by what I'd come across."

He nodded, "And if you're not convinced that I'm done with that life, I was able to afford this place alone, for years. When I stopped dealing, I still had some money, but then I ran out. And then you enter the picture." He added.

Okay, fair play, fair play.

He waited for my next question.

Venom. Venom. Venom.