weapons † hs

2. to kill or not to kill

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This might not be as easy as I anticipated.

I won't deny that cornering her with a knife was turning me on. Annoyed as I am already, I just nearly went right for it, the voices in my head all encouraged me as it simply felt like her, the knife, and myself were the only things in the world. So easily, I could have had run the silver blade through her skin then and there, and ended this situation before it really began.

But I found myself holding back just as I approached her like some pussy.

She barely looked frightened. Caught off guard and ready to fight, yes, but not frightened. That has to be what put me off. It was a look I had never received. It proves that she might be difficult to charm and get off my back.

However, as I placed the knife behind her instead of through her, she let out a breath she was holding and I saw a distant familiarity in her eyes for a second before it vanished just as she blinked. It was the strangest thing...

Fuck, I don't know if that makes me want to kill her more and end this, or really go through and find my way out of this problem without killing her and get back to living my life.

But which is more fun is the question.

Clearly, I cannot kill her straight away. She'll catch on quick enough. I'm not just messing with a random girl I found at the store, she's an agent, and she knows what she's doing. She knows my life-story for fuck's sake.

As I set a pan down on the stove next to the pasta I'm boiling, and place the chicken fillets to cook, curiosity seeps in. I decide to step back and go to the door of the kitchen, opening it slightly to peek at her as she stands in my living room, irritated. Lost in her mind with a perplexing expression, she seems stunned still by the stunt I just tried to pull on her almost an hour ago. It was a stunt I only created to see her reaction and arrange my game plan, which is probably what she's doing right now too.

"Hey Blondie," I call to her, and she quickly snaps her attention to me, looking seriously unpleased. "Come to the kitchen."

Reluctantly she heads my direction.

The only actual food I had in this refrigerator, since my plans got cancelled and I couldn't go grocery shopping, is actually dinner foods. Now I'm here slaving away, as I am the one who offered to cook something. She better not continue to act this way; I'm not cooking and busting my ass for someone who won't damn well appreciate it.

Her presence behind me in the kitchen has it dawn on me that I haven't made a meal for someone besides myself in years.

"What do you want?" She presses, and when I turn to her she has her arms crossed, and she's keeping a good distance from me.

"Ah, see you're still a little shaken up from my joke earlier." I point out, though I know my pride is obvious that I still have her... well, 'shook' as they say.

"A joke? You threatened me with a knife and I just met you! I can totally take your ass back to the station right now." The whine in her overreacting voice is enough to make me want to wrap my hands around her neck more than I already do.

"Calm down, FBI Barbie," I make my way towards her, hands raised slightly in surrender. "Don't get your knickers twisted. You're trying to find me guilty of murder, and I'm just fooling around. You ought to know me well enough with your stalker documents that I love some good fun. Had you going there that I actually was your guy, and that was pretty good, huh?"