Secrets? Never.

18. Drown Your Sorrows

The light hung above Aiden's head, swinging back and forth on the thinnest wire possibly able to support its weight. As it swung, it threw its light onto everything in its path; Aiden; a half empty bottle of vodka; five bullets; and a revolver. It made  slight squeaking sound each and every time it neared the end of its arc. Squeak, squeak, squeak.

He drew a mouthful from the bottle, the liquor hitting him, making him dizzier and dizzier the more he consumed. He smacked his lips, recalling one of the more momentous occasions in his life which had involved this particular form of alcohol

Flashback;

As he finished polishing the final glass, and set it next to the others like it on a shelf above the bar, Aiden Mathis looked up to find a woman had strode confidently in. "Dobryy vecher" he greeted, in a thick, Russian accent, which he'd spent years crafting. she smiled, her red lips curling into a thin crescent, as she leaned on the bar with both elbows, "It doesn't suit you." "What? The bow tie or the Russian accent?" he replied. "Both" she stated flatly, seemingly unenthused, and not eager to impress."Well I'm your server, so, what's your fancy; comrade?" "Vodka" he liked her. She played on his fake Russian accent. He poured her a shot and she downed it without hesitation. From that moment on, he'd never felt so conflicted about one woman.

Present;

He spun the cartridge.

Click

No luck. he wasn't dead. He had no reprieve from the pain in which he'd found himself enveloped. He'd found no end to the turmoil of which he was solely bearing the burden, because, if there is one hing he knew for certain, it was that he couldn't tell Aubrey, no, she hated him; and he didn't blame her in the slightest. He was... he was... he didn't really know quite what he was, but whatever it was, it most certainly wasn't good. He had always known heh was different. Most men want a nice woman who'll wait on them hand and foot, and break their necks in the sole pursuit of their husband's happiness; but Aiden had gravitated towards the cold,calculated and seemingly unfeeling Amanda Clarke.

Flashback;

"I have never met such an emotionless female; every girl says she doesn't have feelings, but you literally do not have feelings, do you? It's scary, and so goddamn attractive at the same time. I think I need you because you don't need me, is that a thing?" He drew nearer to her, his eyes flitting between the two of hers, searching for some shred of evidence that she needed him in someway or another. There was none. She was literally the only woman he'd ever known for more than a year, but had never seen shed even the tiniest tear at anything. Not even a sad movie, you know the kind, where the guy has just had the revelation that he's in love with the girl, and then there's a tragic car accident? It was almost as if someone had salted her tear ducts, leaving them barren and unable to cry. He realised, of course, that a childhood as messed up as hers would of course contribute in no small part to such behaviours, but it was still quite a shock to actually meet such a person, so out of touch with their own emotions that they can't let even a single person in. "It's weird, it's' so attractive, so scary, but I can't help wondering who on earth could've done this to you?"

Present;

Beads of sweat clustered on his brow, cooling as he wiped them with his forearm, letting it cool his skin, and mitigate some of the pressure. He watched as each little hair in his forearm sprung up as it dried, the moisture robbing him of his body heat as it evaporated from his skin. He took a deep breath in through his nose, and exhaled quickly through his mouth. He was ready; there were five rounds left, one had a bullet, the other four didn't. If he was left unscathed, he knew what he was going to do, he'd decided before he began.

Click

In through his nose, out through his mouth

Click

His heartbeat began to quicken

Click

His foot began to tap nervously, unconsciously. This was it. This single pull of the trigger would decide his fate, and that of many others, who, in his drunken state, he hadn't taken into account.

He tightened his grip ever so slightly, then a little harder, a little harder, until...

Click

Well, that was that. he knew what he had to do, what he had been certain he would do mere moments before pulling the trigger a final time. He checked the gun a final tie to make sure there was ever actually a bullet in it at all, or if he'd just imagined it to begin with. There was, and he hadn't. He added another to the adjacent cell. He'd need two. That is- if his aim was what he'd remembered it to be.. lethal.

As he said; never in his life had he ever felt so conflicted about one woman.

© Sarah Egan 2014 - 2015. All rights reserved. This story is subject to copyright and may not be copied or reproduced without the express permission of the author.