Escape - Chapter 51.1

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“…!”

Unable to even whimper, she trembled as she drew her pistol. The click of the safety echoed as the dark muzzle pressed against his forehead, a stark contrast to his pale skin.

But can you kill me?

The man’s expression seemed to ask the question. Adeline squeezed her eyes shut, plunging herself into darkness, yet her mind was a blank canvas, incapable of thought.

She couldn’t breathe. The pain was unbearable. She needed to do something, anything, inhale or exhale. Her face contorted, and her hands, gripping the pistol, trembled uncontrollably. She was at her limit.

Choking was one thing; having her carotid artery constricted was quite another. If it hadn’t been Damian, she would have already put a bullet through his head.

Yes. Do it. Blow his brains out. What are you waiting for? If you don’t shoot, you’ll die.

A seductive voice whispered from the depths of her mind.

Adeline gave a hollow laugh. If only it were that easy. If only their mutual need hadn’t twisted into this obsessive dependency.

Fourteen-year-old Adeline might have been able to kill the boy she loved under these circumstances. Twenty-seven-year-old Adeline couldn’t. It would be like shooting her own reflection. Killing another part of herself, an act of self-destruction, of self-harm.

Tears welled in Adeline’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

“Shoot.”

A raspy voice commanded. It wasn’t some strange, unintelligible language. The moment Adeline’s vision focused as she looked up, the pressure on her throat eased.

Air rushed into her lungs, and she erupted in a fit of coughs.

“Cough, hack. Hack.”

She coughed and cried, her vision blurred. Her lungs screamed for air, leaving her gasping. For a moment, her ears seemed to become her respiratory system, registering nothing but the sound of her own ragged breathing.

How long did it take for her breathing to return to normal? Even with the threat gone, Adeline remained rigid, the gun still pressed to his forehead, her finger still on the trigger.

She remembered the basics of firearms safety. Never touch the trigger unless you intend to fire. Accidental discharges happen even with the best intentions.

Which meant she had intended to kill him. The conflicting actions tangled her thoughts. Then he spoke again.

“Aren’t you going to do it?”

His large hand slid from her throat to cover hers, adding weight to her finger on the trigger. Adeline’s eyes widened in disbelief. Surely not…

Bang!

“Are you insane!?”

If she hadn’t reacted quickly, the bullet would have pierced Damian’s forehead, not the wall. Gasping for breath, Adeline lashed out.

“Do you have a death wish? What were you thinking, pulling the trigger like that?”

He didn’t answer. He simply stared up at her, expressionless, like someone waking from a dream, then wiped away the tears that had fallen to her chin. His voice was low, a whisper.

“Do it next time. Kill me.”

His voice, dark as if light itself was being consumed by shadows, silenced her.

“You won’t die, no matter how many times you shoot me.”

His gaze drifted to the base of her throat, hardening. He repeated the words, etching them into the air.

“So, next time, do it properly. Kill me.”

A deathly silence followed. Next time implied that this outburst wasn’t a one-time occurrence.

She had suspected it, hadn’t she? The lingering looks he gave passersby, the way his eyes had fixed on the furnace as he drank.

Adeline slowly lowered her arm, holstering the pistol. She placed a hand on his chest for support, feeling the frantic beat of his heart beneath her palm. The rising and falling of his chest reminded her of a caged animal struggling to contain its primal urges, or perhaps a deeply wounded monster. She couldn’t explain the sudden surge of sadness.

“How could I ever kill you, you idiot?”

She leaned closer, her brown hair, tucked behind her ear, falling loose. She lowered her head and gently captured his lips.

Their gazes locked, their breaths mingled. As they parted, he reached out, his arms circling her waist and the nape of her neck, as if trying to hold on.

Then it hit her.

“Ow.”

A sudden, sharp pain shot through her shoulder. At her cry, Damian instantly recoiled, his face creased with concern.

She looked down to see blood flowing freely from the wound she had forgotten. Now that she was aware of it, the burning sensation was intense.

“Ah, that woman from before…”

A groan escaped her lips as Damian straightened. He moved with the practiced efficiency of someone who knew exactly what to do, unbuttoning her shirt and pulling the fabric away from the wound. The sudden exposure to the cool air sent a shiver through her.

The wound must have been worse than she thought, judging by the grim set of Damian’s jaw. He paused, then spoke.