I was doing so well. For years I kept myself balanced. For years I kept myself away from anything that could set me off. Then she fell directly into my lap. Jasmine Rose isn't just my rival at work- she is everything my therapist could never have known to warn me about. I only wanted to be a good writer. I only wanted to be a good friend. I only wanted to be a good man. So why did the safety switch off when she smiled? Why did I hear that familiar click when she laughed? Maybe she's too perfect to be toxic. Maybe I'm too damaged to be saved. And if she ever pressed the barrel to my temple and asked me to pull the trigger... I can't promise I'd say no. Which leaves me with one impossible question: Am I the the target? Or am I the gun?