He didn’t know his body was capable of withstanding such pain. When he mustered enough of his mind to focus on the concrete crushing too many ribs, the weight finally eased off him. He was trying to decide if his visions was flashing white or black before he blinked into his dim surroundings.
Then he made the blunder to sit up. A fitful, wet cough reminded him of his stupidity. How many times was he shot again? He laughed inwardly.
Hey, if agony meant that he was alive, he’s all for it.
Then everything became really funny. He couldn’t contain his laughter as he attempted to wipe his hands clean, gave up, dared to stand up but gravity betrayed him for the first time in a long time. He heard a pathetic cry as he fell back down, realized he was even more pathetic than whoever made that sound since he wasn’t going to admit that it was him.
He rested his pounding head against the pillar he didn’t know he was leaning against. He will just wait it out, he could already hear his bones snapping back to place, scoffed, wandered if he might as well throw himself off the building to make his brother’s job of finding him easier. Or just to end it all. That would be nice.
Then he listened to the ring of silence, the creak of crumbling concrete and a busted pipe somewhere dripping away, each drop shot into the earth, drummed his throbbing skull.
One, he counted. He saw the bullet sailing. He was at his limit, though, he could only hold so many collapsing buildings in place at once. He was desperate enough to resort to misleading human means, pulled a pistol and aimed and shot, twice. She was blind, a blind bitch she was, blind to him and deaf to the clink of his shot colliding into the first, the wet thunk of his second shot enter the thick skull of a dispensable goon.
Still, she didn’t trust him. God he tore his heart out for her, he never was a romantic, never really made the effort to maintain a proper conversation before: whoever he was talking to always label him as an asshole and the “meaner” twin and make some snide comment about their disbelief of someone so nasty being a twin to good, ole, cute, sweet Gabriel.
God, they don’t know Gabe.
Still he said things to her, stupid things like a lovesick teenager…God he should throw himself off the building now. He still don’t know her real name.
She drew her own pistol, that bitch was wrong on so many levels. Did she really think he can’t aim if he wanted her head? Did she think he would bother saving her ass so many times if he wanted her dead?
At this point he still wants himself dead more than her.
He spat, discovering for the first time the iron bar protruding from his chest. He scoffed, plucked it out and measured the warmth and texture of his blood as hands were washed in it again. God, he was still not fucking dying.
The searing heat found his shoulder first, made the building across from them sag from its suspension just a little. It was a mall. A popular one. He can’t drop that one now. Three, found his side, he crumbled to his knees, he could almost hear the screams of the people in that mall, felt the ground beneath him rumble and screech. He called for his brother.
Seven. Oh, shit. He meant six. Ha, he went to college, he can count.
He heard her despair ring in the clicks of an empty magazine. His brother was screaming something. That’s unusual.
He drew a scarlet smile on the concrete he brushed aside earlier, his eyes adjusted to the dark enough.
The voice was a pretty solid croak. He can’t find the powders that was left of the lenses of his glasses. Fuck.
He tried standing again a nap later, stretched and brushed the dust off. He brushed off the notion of throwing himself off that inviting edge.
What a shame, he picked up the broken frame of what was left of his glasses and tossed it up and down.
Two things of his won’t heal themselves. He strolled towards the caved in entrance.