𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐓𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫

15. Breaking Bad

𝐷𝑒𝑗𝑎ℎ 𝑀𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟 ¹⁸

Arriving at the paint ball place. I looked around excitedly remembering how good I was at it as a kid.

But I couldn't help but wonder if I'd still be good at it now.

"Do you even remember how to shoot." I asked myself as Kimalie drove into the parking lot.

I mean, I have a gun yes, but a long time mi nuh use it, supposed mi lose mi touch.

"Wah yah think bout?" Kimalie asked as he found a parking spot.

"I don't think I remember how to do this." I pouted.

"Do what?" He asked, trying to concentrate as he parallel parked.

"This....shoot." I said, gesturing around.

Stopping abruptly, he looked over at me and started laughing uncontrollably.

"Then Dejah....after yuh whole me up wid gun weh night....yah tell mi seh yuh nuh know fi shoot." He said in between laughs.

"Never did a plan fi shoot yuh. Just did wah frighten yuh likkle bit." I sulked, looking away from him.

Idiot.

"Yuh nuh easy a ratid." He chuckled, finally parking the car properly.

"It nuh hard anyways, yuh muscle memory will kick in after a while."

After he finally parked, we stayed there for a while not moving, not doing anything really. We just looked around at the environment.

Then at each other.

"Who gave you the gun that you pulled on me the other night?" He questioned.

No sign of amusement present in his voice, or in his poster.

"My mom." I whispered, looking at his nonchalantly expression.

He looks better when he smiles.

"Oh."

"Yeah." I answered.

"So if yuh never get wah yuh did want out a mi, yuh woulda pull the trigger?" He asked looking out.

"I planned to, but knowing that it was you I don't really think I could have." I said honestly.

"Mhmm." He hummed turning to look at me.

"Are we going to argue right now?" I questioned internally, looking over at him.

"So." He paused briefly before speaking again.

"If I weren't who I am, would you have done to me what you did to those people?"

Wow.

I mean, why would he even bring that up?