Regret (Ianthony)

The Answer

As the months before flashed in his mind, Anthony could not help but try to raise his lips weakly in a smile. There wasn't much left in him, but he could at least express the emotion he had come to know so clearly in the last year. He could already feel his heartbeat begin to slow thickly, and he couldn't contain his ragged gasps for the oxygen he so dearly clung to. He didn't like this fading sensation; he didn't want to leave Ian, even if in his current condition he was incapable of sensing him anyways.

Waves of exhaustion washed over him. God, he was so tired. His eyes slowly came to a close and his world began to darken. He was going to die here, in this little cafe where he and his best friend had decided to visit at the wrong time.

He felt like he was falling in one of those dreams that made you wake up and sigh in desperation, except he wasn't waking up. He just kept falling in the blackness as the the world he knew came to a close around his very being. He was gone.

At least he could die knowing that he had saved the one he loved.

No regrets.

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In anguish, humans tend to do things that seem emotionally right but are truly wrong. It was this that had Ian pinning the man who had shot Anthony to the ground, beating his face into a pulp with his flying fists and pure rage. He felt the delicate bones of his knuckles crackle and snap, but the pain only highlighted the beating. He was going to show this son of a bitch what happened when he killed someone's boyfri- best friend. The glock was lying on the ground a good ten feet away; otherwise, Ian would have probably unloaded the entire clip into the man's stupid head.

"FUCKING BASTARD, I'M GONNA DRAG YOU TO HELL AND TEAR YOUR GODDAMN SOUL APART MYSELF!!!" Ian bellowed, pounding his cracked knuckles into the man's face, which was now coated with a sheen of crimson. Good thing his face was no longer visible; Ian couldn't imagine how much it would hurt to see those insane green eyes staring into his soul. There was no way he would be able to survive with that kind of contempt in his heart. With that thought in mind, Ian's anger plowed through the man beneath him even harder than before. There was a woman in the background crying into her phone about how the ambulance needed to get there fast and oh God that man was going to be killed if they didn't get there soon.

Ian suddenly felt someone, no, two someones dragging him off the man's chest. Ian quickly shut up. Although Ian would have liked to continue to destroy the man, he allowed the arms that were tightly curled under his armpits to yank him away. The two deposited Ian in a chair at a large table for five before attempting to calm him down. Ian became suddenly very aware of the screaming around them.

"It's alright, the ambulance'll be here soon," the taller of the two that was wearing a beanie with strands of black hair poking out from beneath it spoke soothingly.

"Yeah," the one with short, spiky blonde hair and a set of grey irises urged. He had a cool Aerosmith shirt on. "It's fine."

As much as Ian wanted to be dramatic like a lunatic from the movies and flip the table over, he decided to remain silent. He suddenly realized that there was a wetness seeping down his cheeks. He delicately swiped it with a finger (since his broken knuckles were beginning to bother him) and looked to see that they were tears. Since when had he been crying?

The two teenagers saw a distant look overtake Ian's features and decided to be silent. There was no use talking when no response came of it.

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