Contraindication

Five| Crusty Bullets

"Immortality . . . a fate worse than death."
—Edgar A Shoaff

Yes it is a fate worse than death!! Finally someone who agrees with me!!

The hollow, eerie sound of the empty bathroom made my anxiety worse. As I stood there in my clean gym uniform, the feeling of uneasiness spread to my gut.

So I took two more pills.

Steve said I could take as much as I wanted, as long as I was feeling stress. I haven't taken any in months so I didn't see the problem of ramping it up now. As the tiny pills travelled down my throat, I shut my eyes and tilted my head up.

I had better days.

Heavy footsteps raced into the washroom as I kept my eyes closed. I heard the door lock as the girl halted by the door.

I didn't bother opening my eyes. The poor girl probably had extreme diarrhea from eating the cafeteria food or something. Her footsteps slowed as she walked in and out of every stall, checking if there was someone other than me.

The footsteps finally stopped behind me. But right before I open my eyes, I feel something cold press against the back of my head. And the clicking noise confirmed my suspicions.

It was a gun.

"Hello, pizza boy." I sighed with my eyes closed.

The boy who tried to kill me sounded confused, "I'm not a pizza boy—wait, how did you know it's me? Do you have eyes at the back of your head or something?"

I felt the barrel shake, "No..." I opened my eyes, and I met his worried green ones through the mirror. He still had on the same trench coat, but he was missing his dinner knives. Instead, they were replaced by guns and pencils. His untamed black hair made him look like he just rolled out of bed, and he had enormous bags under his eyes. "I don't have 2 sets of eyes." I spoke, "I may be slightly immortal, but I'm not a monster with extra limbs and organs."

"Then how did you know it was me?" He stumbled.

I crossed my arms and turned around. The gun was still pointing at me, this time against my warm forehead. "Who else would lock the bathroom door, check all the stalls, then point a gun at my head?"

The boy frowned, "well, I don't care if you're able to recognize me—"

"—I thought you were a girl who had diarrhea?" I interrupted him, "The cafeteria food is honestly really—"

"Shut up!" He threatened.

Spit laced my face as I looked away. He had the upper hand in this situation, and to be honest, I've never tried shooting myself before—maybe this time I'll go down and stay down.

"You shouldn't be so cocky when you have a gun pointed to your head." He smiled.

I shrugged, "sorry..."

"Anyways as I was saying before you rudely interrupted me." He pushed the gun closer. "I don't care if you're able to recognize me because you're going to die."

Right...

"Any last words, sweetheart?"

I cringed at the word sweetheart. My mother used to call me that before she got her new job, now she just calls me by my name, and on rare occasions my last name. "Um yeah, I have a few..."

The boy frowned, "Make it quick."

"Ok... can I change out of my gym uniform? Umm you see my white top over there?" I pointed to my bag in the corner with my dirty shirt thrown on top of it, "it has some tomato sauce or something on it and it looks closer to the colour of blood and—"

He pulled the trigger, cutting me off.

With a wisp of air, the bullet entered my head—I thought it would be worse.

Soon the bullet lodged into my brain, rendering my body useless in seconds. As the boy stepped back, my body fell onto the dirty ground with an enormous thump. I think I cracked my skull open or something—I couldn't tell. All I knew was that if I came back from this, it would hurt like hell.

The boy's already towering figure stood over me. His fumbling chin showed as he looked down with his menacing yet frightened eyes. To make sure I was down, he shot another bullet through my leg to make me bleed out.

Both wounds would have killed anyone... but sadly they didn't kill me. After a record of 13 seconds, I felt the bullet at the front of my brain slowly push out from my body. The blood from the hole stopped gushing as the bullet made its way to the surface.

The boy didn't seem to notice as he was too busy redialling the same number on his phone repeatedly.

The bullet finally popped out of my skull and landed on my chest. A few moments later, I felt the blood rush into my lungs on command.

The boy turned to see my body moving; his beautiful green eyes blinked at my sight.

Completely ignoring him, I pushed myself up against the wall and cradled my leg. I could tell my body wasn't going to push this bullet out since it wasn't too far in like the one in my brain. So I took a deep breath and dug my fingers through the hole for the bullet.

The pizza boy gagged right before he pointed the gun at me again. "You need to stay down!" He pulled the trigger.

With my finger still in my thigh, I waited for another blast through my brain. But to my surprise, nothing fired.

"Shit!" He quickly stashed the gun and pulled out another one, this time aiming at my heart. He shot the extra gun with more determination, but no bullet fired.

He tried again a few more times, and he even brought out another one.

Still no bullets.

Long before he gave up, I was able to fish the bullet out from my thigh and slowly wiped some blood from my face. I felt dizzy and a major headache was forming.

"No!" He screamed in frustration. And placed the gun back into his coat. "I'll be back when you least expect it!" He screamed and marched out the bathroom leaving a bloody mess.

Wow... this boy would do anything to get his Xbox back.

Once I knew he wouldn't walk back in, I got to my feet and limped over to the mirror.

I looked like a victim from a horror film. Blood stained my face and my gym uniform as well. If I walked out of the washroom like this people would ask questions—questions that I couldn't answer truthfully. I glanced at my top in the washroom's corner. The tomato sauce from that pizza Evan spilled on me looked better than the drying blood on my current clothes, so I made the right call and changed—again.

As soon as I popped out of the stall a small voice screamed to my right, "Ahhhhhhh!" I groaned and turned to the poor freshman who walked in on my murder scene. She held her hands against her panicked face, "What the hell!?"

I let my head drop then I faced the poor girl, "I umm... had a bad nosebleed..." I lied, removing some blood off my face, "and I—I got my first period?" I spoke, watching her wide eyes travel around the blood-filled washroom, "I guess I have a heavy flow."