Russian Roulette {Zustin Mieber One-Shot}

This is a Zustin Mieber one-shot based on the actual game and the thoughts and consequences faced during the duration of the game. People risk their lives sometimes to prove a point and show they are in no way weak, which is stupid to be honest.

But one of the good things about Russian Roulette is that unlike other gambling games, you can only get addicted if you're the winning player.

I was listening to the song by Rihanna and thought to myself that this would be a really great one-shot because I don't understand how it could make a story.

I don't know if this will become successful or not, but I hope you guys enjoy.

Onward with the story.

~~~

Say a prayer to yourself

He says 'close your eyes, sometimes it helps

And then I get a scary thought

That he's here - means he's never lost

And you can see my heart beating

No, You can see it through my chest

Said I'm terrified but I'm not leaving

Know that I must pass this test

So, just pull my trigger

Russian Roulette // Rihanna

~~~

The room was silent, dark, cold, and depressing. The walls were made out of metal, ugly and rusty metal. A mirror covered part of the wall to both the player's left, the mirror that allowed them to be watched from the other side.

Only four objects were in the room; one metal table, two uncomfortable metal chairs, and the gun. The one gun that determined the future of either one of these two men.

Two pairs of brown eyes gazed into each other's. One filled with fright and worry. The other filled with sympathy and determination.

Zayn. He didn't know exactly what caused such stupidity. Why in the world would he even think to play such a lethal game. But then he remembered, it was his pride and stubbornness that led to what could be his death. He was so sure that he could do this and come out alive, but now, he's not very sure anymore.

Justin. The opponent who has been blessed with winning this game more than once. It was now an addiction. Thirteen times, that's how many times Justin has competed. And he's still standing on his two feet till this day. He's known around Europe for this. People call it a specialty, some go as far as to say he had summoned the devil to help him through this. None know the truth though. None shall ever know the truth.

Exactly seventeen minutes have passed since the two men have been sitting there staring at each other. None had made an attempt to take the revolver.

Zayn gulped, sweat trickling down his face partially because of the heat and partially because he was nervous.

But what exactly was he nervous for? Wasn't he suppose to show how tough he really could be? Wasn't he suppose to show that the oh mighty Zayn had no fear? Yet here he was not knowing any other word aside from fear.

He took a deep breathe clearing his mind and mentally stacking up words of encouragement.

Before he could rewind his thoughts and think this through a little more, Zayn had reached forward and grabbed the gun.

Justin smirked. He was impressed indeed. Others would've lasted longer before taking the gun.

With a shaky hand, Zayn brought the six cylinder revolver up to his temple on the left side of his head.