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Sebastian
Inarrow my eyes, focusing on my target—the next can in line along the dry stone wall at the very back of the graveyard.
No one ever comes back here at this time of night. I should know; I've spent enough time here over the past few years.
I squeeze my finger, and the gun in my hand ricochets as it shoots, the can I was focusing on crumpling and toppling over the back of the wall with all the others.
The scent of the gunpowder from the shot settles something inside me and my muscles relax for a beat, but it's not enough. It's never enough to calm the beast that lives inside me.
Blowing out a long breath, I curl my free hand into a fist, allowing my short nails to dig into my palm, cutting into the skin and giving me the pain I so desperately crave.
Lowering the gun, I stare down at the black metal casing of my pistol, of my fingers wrapped tightly around the handle. It would be so easy to put an end to it all. No one would even find me here for a few days, I'm sure. Whether it's day or night, this graveyard is always deserted.
Sadness and pain tug at my heart that the others who have ended up here have been forgotten by those they loved, that the ones they've left behind can't even find the time to come here and bring some flowers, to show that despite the fact they're no longer here, that they’re still a part of their lives.
No matter how many times I've had the same thought, about putting an end to the pain and joining those who left me, I know I could never do it.
My need for vengeance burns too hot. It eats at me, consuming a little bit more of me every single day, extinguishing my light one piece at a time.
With a sigh, I raise my arm once more, aiming for the next can I've lined up.
With precision that only comes with years of practice and training, I shoot off one after another as the gunshots echo in the silence around me.
My chest heaves as I line up my next shot. My finger twitches and my body tenses, but before I can pull the trigger, something cracks to my right and I immediately twist around, aiming my gun at whoever is stupid enough to approach me.
The only people who might know where to find me know better than to interrupt.
My eyes blur a little as I try to focus on the figure in the shadows instead of the cans that were illuminated by the moon.
"What do you want?" I bark, irritated that the person won't show themselves yet were brave enough to stand there in the first place.
The silence stretches out between us before they step forward and into the light.
My breath catches in my throat when I realise the person who's interrupted me isn't a guy like I first thought, but a young woman. A really fucking hot young woman.
But the sight of her curves, of her light hair hanging around her shoulders, doesn't make me lower my gun. And she doesn't look the least bit fazed that I'm pointing it right between her brows.
"What do you want?" I ask again, a frown forming as I try to figure out why she didn't run the moment she realised I have a gun.
She takes another step forward and my brows shoot up in shock.
"You do realise I've got a gun pointed at your head, right?"
"You won't shoot me," she says with a confidence she really shouldn't feel. But it's not just that which surprises me. She's American. Her light but slightly raspy accented voice flows through me, making my hairs stand on end.
Who is this girl? And why do I want her to keep talking?
"You don't know me. You have no idea what I'm capable of."
"That may be true. But you won't shoot me."
Once she's close enough, she lifts her hand and wraps her fingers around the barrel of my gun, showing just how unconcerned she really is, before putting a little pressure on it until my arm drops.
If she were anyone else, I wouldn't allow it, but I'm too flabbergasted to fight her.
"You need to leave," I tell her.
"You're probably right. But I'm here now."
