The First Floor Bathroom

I remember this first floor bathroom.
We met here.
Odd isn't it, what the brain remembers?
I was in a hurry that day.
Rushing into the bathroom before class, bumping into you was a faint, distant memory.
Murmuring a hushed sorry, I dashed out, leaving you quite perplexed.
I remember seeing you in Calculus, flying through problems, helping others, correcting them, smiling like a summer dream, a golden halo about you.
I remember you asking me if I needed help.
Wordless and mesmerized, I remember stumbling and tripping over my silent words.
Eventually, I gave up and merely shook my head, and then your friends came and whisked you away, any proof you were even there was gone, save for the faint smell of lilies and morning glory.
You were beautiful.
You smiled cheerily, and I waved back, lips twitching upwards as I thought of your warm spring smile.
I'd never believed in fate and wishy washy concepts like that, but I clearly remember thinking that it was fate, that temperamental thing, that brought us together yet again. However, in the end, it was fate that tore us apart.

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And as we lay sprawled here on the floor in that same bathroom, I reminisce.

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I remember when you took me to your house.
I remember it being silent, not a ghost of a noise.
You called out to an empty house. I stared, confused.
You smiled, but your smile was off. You had a house.
Not a home.
You told me I was your home.
I remember holding on to you as you broke down in my arms.

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I remember that stormy afternoon when we were on the porch swing, gazing over the lightning striking out at the sky. Tentative, yet bold, it reminded me of how I fell for you.

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You're scared, I can tell.
You're shaking as we hear more shots, screams, the rush of bullets whizzing through flesh, sinking down to bone and marrow, the thuds of limp bodies falling to the floor.
I, with my silence, can do nothing but grip you tightly.
Suddenly, tapping.
The sinister tapping of shoes, coming nearer, nearer.
The tap, tap, tap driving me to the edge. My heart's beating out a fierce tattoo, yours in sync with mine.
You look up at me, tear-stained face mere inches from mine.
Another rattling gunshot, the lock on the door coming undone.
The tap, tap, tap of shoes.
I close my eyes, pulling you impossibly closer.
The steps cease.

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For one fleeting second, I open my eyes, and take in a manic grin, bestial even, teeth bared, gun cocked and trained on you.
A gunshot.
Then the tap, tap, tap of shoes walking away.
And I'm terrified.
Even with blood pooled around you, you look ethereal.
The wretched, dark red liquid is coagulating everywhere, dripping from my hands as I desperately try to stem the flow of blood.
I check for a pulse, and you're gone.
Gone, gone, gone, and I'm here with you, the relentless tapping driving me over the edge as we lay sprawled here on the first floor bathroom.

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I loved you and that was the death of me.

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You loved me and that was the death of you.

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Fate brought us together, and it tore us apart.

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A/N: This was in memory of numerous people that have met their end by a gun. Gender/Sexuality is up to the reader.