A World of our Own | K.TH *COMPLETED*

Death Wish

Beautiful?

Beautiful.

Lord help me, I can't get that word out of my head ever since he'd said it to me. It'd been an entire five hours since I'd last seen him, and already I missed his lyrical voice, his intensely gentle eyes.

The bed I lie on is very simple— a basic twin, and nothing more, nothing less. Just what I would've expected from my parents— even though the flatscreen TV had been hoped for.

Blowing out a hot breath for what seemed to be like the millionth time, I toss and turn another full circle as I throw the suffocatingly warm blankets away. Even though they're thinner than paper, my body temperature felt so high. Why was I feeling this way?

"Pathetic—"

I freeze. The cold instantly tickles my fingertips as another word pounds itself deep into my ears.

"Worthless—"

Holding my rising breath, I listen as carefully as I can. I don't dare make a single noise as I lean in closer against the wall.

The sickening sound of flesh making contact with flesh makes my heart jump out of my throat. The noises were coming from V's apartment— and the voice earlier was nothing like his. It was someone completely different, and whoever this person was— there was no doubt that something was going on in his house.

Without much thinking, I rush out of my apartment and head for his own. There was no time to waste— and was his door even unlocked?

Thank the Heavens.

Releasing a deep breath of relief, I push open the door and rush inside. Believe it or not, the smell is the first thing that makes me flinch.

That enchantingly addicting smell has now been overwhelmed with the metallic tang of blood, something that I know so well about myself. There are shattered glass everywhere, each and every one shaded a familiar green color.

Alcohol bottles.

Why would there be—

Then the sound that had sickened me so much earlier repeats itself again, louder and accompanied by a barrage of curses, a hiss of pain.

It's coming from his room.

Sucking in mouthful of air, I quickly reach behind the kitchen counter. Earlier in the day, I'd seen him return his gun there, and now I was so, so glad that I'd been paying attention.

When I feel the familiar coldness of the gun, I don't think. I just wrap my hand around its holster and tug it out from its hiding place, because I don't have time to be courteous.

Gripping my hand tighter around the handgun for emotional support, I dash into the room without a single second thought. I'm only half prepared for what I'm about to see, and it nearly drives me over the edge.

V. His beautiful features are now stained with crimson, his body crumpled up against the wall spattered with even more of his blood.

And when his surprisingly calm eyes meet with my deathly panicked ones, his eyes go circular with shock.

The figure hunched over him notices.

I force the trembling to stop as I pour steel and fire into my gaze, thick and hot. The figure is a middle-aged man, his eyes bloodshot with alcohol and undoubtedly drunk.

The gun in my hand and V's steady stare is the only thing to keep me moving as I cock the weapon, making a dramatic show out of it. This was a stupid plan— I'd been hoping to scare him off with the prospect of the gun itself, because never in this lifetime am I shooting a person. Besides, I'll just probably miss and hit V instead— which would be hazardous.