He fell. It was a thud that replayed over and over again in my head. Boom, boom, boom. I swallow hard, still pointing my gun in his direction. I shot somebody, I fucking shot somebody. I can't move from my position, my body is stuck, shocked by what's just happened. It takes everything in me to approach his body slowly, watching the blood drain from the wound I put in his chest. A loud wheezing noise comes from him; he's still fighting for oxygen despite the gaping hole in his chest.
He's still moving, he's still alive and he's still feeling the pain I've inflicted on him. The nicest thing I could do now would be to put him out of his misery. I look at his face before I do, he has a goatee and slicked back hair. He's Latino (probably Mexican), tall, wears an expensive, shiny suit-that was now covered in blood-and Versace dress shoes. He was clearly wealthy, so it confused me as to why he broke into our house.
Nevertheless, I point my gun back at him and he looks at me, his eyes filled with fear and confusion. Gun pointed in between his confused eyes, I pull the trigger: once, twice, three times, four times, five times. I keep squeezing the trigger over and over until the wheezing sound stops and the gun clicks in my hand.
I drop my gun and kneel down next to his body. A sudden feeling of sadness rushes over me and brings tears to my eyes. I don't know why, I never even knew this man and he broke into Lizzy's home anyway. I wipe my eyes, trying to collect myself before she comes home; but the amount of guilt that weighs me down is overwhelming. The man's face was unrecognizable now, ruined by bullets and covered in brains and blood. I had no idea what I could be capable of.
Just as I'm about to find a blanket to cover his body, the door opens again and Lizzy walks inside. She locks the door and turns around, her face immediately changing. She drops the plastic bags and looks at me, my tear stained face and red eyes. "WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?" She screams, rushing over to the man's body.
I wipe my face again, trying to clear away the tears that just keep coming. "He- he b-broke in..." I say, my voice is shaky, "So I shot hi-im. I'm-I didn't kn-know what to-to do."
I remember the confusion in his eyes before I shot him and begin sobbing into my hands, unable to stop. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE BROKE IN?" She's still screaming at me and I want to tell her to stop, I'm still shaken up and she's stressing me out even more. "HE LIVES HERE."
My face moves up from my hands to look at her. The tears finally stop coming and I stand up so I'm face to face with her. There are tears in her eyes too, probably overwhelmed by seeing a fucked up body lying on the floor of her home. "What the fuck do you mean 'he lives here?'"
She swallows hard and glances at the corpse before reconnecting her gaze with mine. She shakes her head and grabs my hand. "I'm so sorry," she says, a tear escaping her eye. "I'm so sorry, I-"
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. "Lizzy, if you don't tell me what the fuck is going on, I swear to God I'm-"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, fuck, fuck, I'm sorry," she says, forcing me into a hug. I feel her tears wet my shoulder, but she doesn't cry. She only lets a few escape before she collects herself and wipes her face.
"Tell me the truth," I say. I pull away from the hug and push a strand of hair from her face, trying to calm her down and gain her trust. "Tell me the truth now and I won't be mad."
She takes a deep breath in and looks over at the man; the blood from his head and chest crawl toward us, only inches away from the soles of our shoes. His expensive suit that was once a steel grey is now crimson red, soaked with his own blood. Her eyes shoot downwards, finally having enough of the disgusting sight.
"This isn't my house," she finally says, her voice is just over a whisper. "It was his, and, he was my ex-boyfriend." I stare at her, unable to speak. "I don't want you to feel bad about it though... he was a fucking asshole he's killed, I don't know, hundreds of people." Not going to lie, hearing this man was a murderer definitely took a load off my chest. I suddenly don't feel as bad about killing him as I did moments ago. I just wish that feeling of relief would have lasted. "But, he was the biggest distributer for the Zetas cartel north of the border. He was fucking huge down there," she continues.
I look at her before glancing down at his body. "So? That's good isn't it? Like... I killed a bad guy, right?"
She shakes her head and pushes her hair back out of her face; I notice how sweaty she gets when she's nervous. "Yes, yes you did," she says, "but I don't give a fuck about him, I give a fuck about the organization he was a part of. He was one of their leaders..." She places her hands on my shoulders and keeps me at arm's length. "They will fucking hunt us down and kill us, babe."
I stare at her, not knowing if she's speaking in sarcasm. For a moment, I think she's just being over dramatic, but then I think back to those documentaries I saw moments after I found out about Lizzy's involvement with the cartel. I bite my tongue, unsure of what to say.
"You have to leave me, okay?" Her hands move down to mine and she looks into my eyes. "You don't have to fall for this petty shit, they don't even know you exist yet."
I shake my head, still unable to comprehend what she's saying. "No," I say. Lizzy ignores me and walks away from the crime scene, toward the stairs. I watch her before following her into our temporary bedroom. She takes my suitcase out and packs it for me, without even looking at me or hearing what I have to say. "Do I get a say in this?" I ask and she stops. "If what you're saying is true, why the fuck would I leave you here?"
She turns to face me and leans in so close, I can smell the breakfast on her lips. "You want to come with me, is that what you want?" I nod and we hold each other's gaze for a long time. She's searching my face, as if looking for something that shows weakness so she'd have an excuse not to take me, but she must see nothing. She moves away from me and walks toward the bed, overturning the mattress.
"Come here," she says. I follow her instructions and walk to the king sized bed and to my surprise, just underneath the place where we slept last night, there was a giant makeshift bedframe full of weapons.
"Holy shit," is all I can say.
Machine guns, handguns, knives, machetes, ammunition and even hand grenades lay just below the place where Lizzy and I lay our heads. I stare at it in awe, the natural light catching the blades of the custom made gold knifes carved with intricate designs. I pick one up and examine it, feeling it's smooth, dull side. I lay it back down on the frame and turn to Lizzy, unsure of what she expects to do with all these weapons.
"We're going to take everything valuable out of this fucking place," she says.
"Why?"
"Because," she starts, "we're going to burn it to the ground."
