The gun clicked, but I was still there, standing the same as I was before. I was the same man, the same irredeemable me… I brought the gun to where it was in my vision again, inspecting it.
It was loaded, same as it was before I took it to my hand. I knew Dad kept one in the chamber; he didn't fuck around when it came to our safety, but why fail now? The moment that was supposed to end this, remove the stain I've caused.
I was a disgrace, and if anyone knew I'd been raped last night, it'd cause even more trouble.
As I looked into the reflection once again, I thought to myself, trying to find a reason God would choose to spare someone like me— by what means.
Then it hit me.
'The gun jammed.' I concluded, scoffing. 'It fucking jammed.'
That scoff slowly turned into a giggling, then into a chuckle. I laughed; what else could I do with that random string of fate? Rolling along the ground, all I could think was, 'I'm such a bitch; look at me.' If not humorous, what was it; sad?
Maybe that was why the tears began to fall.
Maybe I was wrong this entire time. I wasn't tired of anything; my life and such was not tragic. I just wanted the attention, same as Baun said. I only think about myself, and it's because of that that I ended up this way, looking at the ceiling with the gun on my chest.
I caught my breath, and on that popcorn ceiling I saw myself, empty yet with many bumps and extrusions. It was withered, nasty and a festering ground for bugs, but it was undoubtably a ceiling. No one could say otherwise.
What I'm trying to get at is, I think, that I should just give up hiding who I am. No faces, no bullshit, just me. Unfortunately, it took nearly blowing my brains out to realize something so painfully simple.
I won't force myself to be what they want me to be; I'll do what I've always wanted to, change that school system for the better, and I know the real me is the only one capable of doing that. I'll show them the purest, unadulterated me I could possibly be.
It was finally the return of the 'Goliath.'
However, it'd never be that fantastically easy; even I knew. I guess when I allow myself to think, shit actually happens. Just lying there, I felt like I could flip Butcher Cross on its head, same as then. Still, I know that I couldn't maintain the same sort of friendship with Baun and Tora. Seeing me like that, they'd likely hate me again, but maybe it was for the best that I distance myself from them rather than end it outright.
It was time I lived my senior year, lived as nothing other than myself.
I rose from the ground, and at the apex of my ascent, I stretched, releasing all the tension holding that thing in my hand gave me. Holding a gun was no joke; I could never get used to the feeling. Yet, when I was so determined to die, it was so comfortable within my grasp... the way the mind works...
I opened the cabinet once more and placed the gun gently in the drawer, but just as I was about to close it, my hand still halfway inside, a voice called me back to reality.
"Amson?" The voice of a woman called from my side, beckoning my attention.
I knew who they were; I didn't need to look. She'd opened the door without a sound, or maybe, I was so engrossed with the world inside my mind. Hearing her voice now was comforting; that was the one woman I loved unconditionally, but all the same, I knew the situation I'd landed myself in.
"Lorelai." I whispered, looking at my hands.
They shivered, knowing what trouble we'd just landed ourselves in. Still, it was better than ending it there myself, for if I was forced to see her mortified face from Hell, my soul would've broken on its own.
I thank God for stopping me, though I'm hardly religious.
The room was quiet, but I could feel that investigative, offended stare upon my body, tracing my skin throughout. She'd assessed the situation as well; she wasn't stupid. The real question stood: Who would break this palpable silence?
It felt like an eternity before it was broken, and inside, I breathed a short-lived sigh of relief.
"What..." She started. "What are you doing inside that drawer, Amson?"
I finally looked her in the eye.
"I-I don't know." I mustered. "I don't know, anymore."
Looking in those eyes, I could feel a switch flip inside me. Tears fell from her eyes, flowing down her face and soaking her lingerie. She tried to wipe them away, running the wet hands through her white and black hair, but they wouldn't stop. I couldn't say a word, but the more I was forced to look at her sorry state, the more I felt the urge to move to her.
But my legs wouldn't move.
There was nothing I could do to comfort her; the guilt I knew she felt must have been breaking her inside, as well. She was there, and she saw the aftermath of my violation, done through the weakness brought about by her "liver killer." I couldn't bring myself to be mad at her, only at myself for allowing this to happen to her.
"I'm..." I tried. "I'm sorry, Lorelai."
Lore rushed me, her collapsing body embracing mine. I felt her tremble with every breath, but she made effort to strike me with what little strength she had. I was powerless against her, an immobile statue, or more accurately, a punching bag. I couldn't find the will-- the right to reciprocate her hug, so I stood there, taking each strike with my heart and mind.
Maybe then, I would be set straight, without such painful thoughts.
"Lore..." I whispered. "I--"
She interrupted me, shutting me up thoroughly.
"Don't talk, Amson." Lorelai told me, her voice invading my mind. "There's nothing to say."