Run Away With Me

Chapter 30: Dead man walking.

I never meant to make things go so wrong.

When did I start getting used to having my life be in danger? When did I start living a turbulent life with so many obstacles? When did I start getting used to not having the chance of enjoying life without misfortune looking over my shoulder?

It was daunting, really, the sort of life I have become accustomed to living.

Where a gun, pressed against my forehead, would be the last of my worries. I'm almost bored at the turn of events, wishing for something more... mundane to happen.

Can't I be spilled with coffee for once, and not have to face the craziest of odds? Can't I be welcomed for once, and not be sneered at? That would be good, I would like that.

A sense of tranquility washes over me. My heartbeat slows, my breathing calms and my hands stop shaking. I climb down my high when I realize I've been in worse situations before and I've always managed to get out of them one way or another.

Why should this be any different?

"Before you off me," I break the tense silence, "can you at least tell me how you're still alive."

I have no shit memory. Cowboy here had slumped against the wall and slid down, blood oozing everywhere while a knife was lodged inside his head. He may be a sorcerer, but sorcerers are still human and by human laws, a knife in the head means death.

He pushes the gun's barrel deeper into my skin, surely making an indent there. I don't change my expression, knowing how crucial it is to let your enemies believe you're the one with the cool head.

"Where are your friends?"

I look him in the eye and answer. "What friends?"

He doesn't like my tone. I don't like my tone. He can suck on it. He bashes the gun against my forehead and I take it head on, not moving an inch. He doesn't like my apathy. I don't like my apathy. I feel dead and emotionless.

He pushes the gun against my cheek next.

Is he trying to be threatening? If I had the wrong kind of common sense, I would've snorted.

"Enough about me, what about your friends?"

"This isn't about me," he sneers, digging his weapon against my face until my cheek pools in. Was he always this eager and... disorganized? Cowboy, as I remember him, was the kind of guy that always grasped for the game controller. The one who called the shots and even if he didn't he would try to.

"Oh, but it is," I comment, letting my shoulders sag. "You aren't here on Cenderbees' orders. Acting all lone wolfey now? Seeking revenge for a failure that was bound to happen?"

He's bottom lip twitches and I would've been blind if I hadn't caught that. Cowboy has turned into an open book, with letters blown up to the point that even the illiterate would have no choice but to understand.

"You are going to die..." he mutters through gritted teeth.

I shrug, a part of me laughing. "Won't we all?"

He shoots and the bullet goes whizzing by my ear and into the air. My ear begins pounding and ringing, my drum damaged. The pain seeps through the side of my head like blood, dripping from a wound that has no hope of healing soon.

I always found that internal injuries were a little more difficult for my body to deal with.

"Where are your friends?" He keeps mentioning them, why? Oh, he wants to do something to them?

Them? That doesn't sound right. The only one who actually hurt him was Nao. He wants information on Nao. Can't he search for it by himself, I'm sure with his abilities he will be able to accomplish it.