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34

ANOTHER TRIGGER WARNING - KIND OF-

*part of this chapter has to do with chapter 33, and how Ryan and Taylor ended up getting themselves in the situation they're in*

Taylor's pov

After talking to Alex while she cooked and ate, I went to go take a shower for the first time since we left for Cerro Gordo. I replayed the night that I could have killed him; it was the first time, but definitely not the last.

"I don't want you to die," I said quietly, crawling up the ladder to our treehouse where Ryan sat, his head low. I could feel the cold butt of the revolver pressed against my stomach as I moved. I faced him, sitting crisscrossed and folding my hands in my lap.

"But I want you to be happy. So let's make a deal," I tilted the corners of my mouth up, pulling the gun out of my shorts. I snuck it from my mother's room, figuring she would never notice.

"Why do you have that?" He asked cautiously, leaning forward to get a better look at the gun.

"Because," I said simply, "Hear me out. Every day, until the day we die, there will be one bullet in this, one bullet for each of us, with our initials carved into it. We will play russian roulette like they do in the movies, every day, until we die. ,"

I showed him the bullets, one with a T and the other with an R in the bottom. He looked up at me with an expression of interest, a light in his eyes I haven't seen in nearly two weeks since his father died.

"And until then," I pulled two bullets out of my hoodie pocket, one for each of us, "We live life like we could die at any moment, because we really could, now. We do our best to live the best lives, and we do it together. Promise?"

Ryan stayed quiet, staring down at the revolver that sat between us. I basically gave him the closest things to an opportunity of a lifetime, or an opportunity of death.

"Yeah. Yeah," He said slowly, grabbing the gun and spinning the barrel, "Do we start now?"

I could clearly see his hand shaking as I nodded. I quickly reached out, covering his hand with my own, "Wait, we have to shake on it,"

He shook his head, pulling out of my reach, "My dad shook my hand once and told me he'd never leave me. That gesture means nothing to me now,"

"How about something that means a little more?" I asked daringly, pointing to the pocket knife that we kept in between the boards that made up the treehouse floor.

Ryan shot me a glance before grabbing it and pulling out the blade that shined in the moonlight filtering through the glassless window. He grabbed my hand, flipping it so the palm of my hand faced upwards.

Within moments, our palms would forever be marked with each other's initials. With time, they would fade to look like the creases of our hands.

"Now that's a promise," He whispered, grabbing his bullet and putting it in, spinning the barrel and pointing it to his head. Ryan shut his eyes, and time seemed to slow as he put pressure on the trigger, only to hear a click and a sigh of relief.

I repeated his actions. We both did, once a day, for eight years. Until the day he died. Just like we promised, just like we promised each other.

With the same gun, and the same bullets as the first night.

I had always thought about cheating on the nights I felt uncertain, to slip out the bullet before spinning the barrel and holding it to my head.

But I never did, I could never do that to Ryan.